It Happened In Rome: The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge. Julia James
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When she carried the tray of poached eggs and coffee into the living room she discovered that the fire was crackling briskly in the grate and Raf, soberly clad in khaki trousers and a black woollen long-sleeved shirt, was kneeling on the hearthrug, adding more coal to the blaze.
‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I meant to do that.’
‘From now on, I will attend to it.’ He gave her a brief smile as he got to his feet, adding lightly, ‘I do not wish you to ruin your hands, cara. Or give your admirer another excuse to call.’
She said between her teeth, ‘Once and for all, he is not my admirer.’
He gave her a dry look. ‘No longer, certainly,’ he agreed, as he sat down at the table.
She was trying to think of a suitably chilly riposte when her attention was suddenly distracted.
‘Oh, God, it’s snowing again.’
‘We were warned that it might.’ Raf poured the coffee. ‘Is it a problem?’
‘Your car,’ she said. ‘I thought we might be able to dig it out—and leave.’
‘To go where?’ He sounded politely interested as he cut into his toast.
‘Does it matter? Just—away from here. After all, we—we both have lives to get back to.’
‘And it would suit you much better if those lives were resumed hundreds of miles apart,’ he murmured. ‘No deal, carissima. The forecast in the newspaper warns that roads in this area may become impassable for a while and only essential journeys should be attempted in the rest of the region. Your reluctance to be alone with me hardly justifies the risk.’
He paused. ‘And you made the decision to come here.’
‘I had no idea it would be like this,’ she said. ‘What’s more, I bet you didn’t realise that we might be marooned here when you set the arrangement up.’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, God, I was so damned stupid. I should have realised it was a trap.’
‘Is that how you see it?’ Raf asked silkily. ‘Yet I find it delightful. Quiet, remote. The ideal place to begin married life. Don’t you think?’
‘You don’t want to know what I think,’ she said bitterly.
‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘If you relaxed a little, Emilia, you might enjoy being here too.’
And he was not simply referring to the environment, Emily thought, biting her lip.
When the meal was over, Raf cleared the table, in spite of her protests, and carried the used cups and plates into the kitchen. Emily followed unwillingly and found him crouched in front of the fridge studying the chicken.
He said, ‘Do you wish to cook it in wine? Shall I fetch some from the cellar?’
‘No, thank you. I’m simply going to roast it.’
‘And these are the vegetables?’ He looked at them with an air of faint disbelief. ‘May I help prepare them?’
‘That won’t be necessary.’ She hesitated. ‘As you can see, this is a very small kitchen, so could it be designated as my space? Please?’
There was a brief silence, then he said too courteously, ‘But of course. Forgive my intrusion.’
He disappeared into the living room and Emily tackled the washing-up. When it was completed, she cleaned all the surfaces until they shone, then wiped them over again. She was tempted to scrub the floor—anything that would delay her from having to join him in the living room—but she didn’t want him to think that she was nervous. Even though she was.
But when she eventually ventured in he barely seemed to notice. He’d discovered a box of chessmen and a board somewhere and seemed absorbed in a problem he’d found in the newspaper.
She sat on the sofa opposite, her legs curled under her, and watched the leaping flames in the grate. But she realised, after a while, that she was also stealing covert looks at Raf. It occurred to her that she’d never before spent such a long time completely alone with him. And that, for at least half of it, she’d been naked. And so, of course, had he…
‘Do you play chess?’ he asked suddenly and she jumped, colour flooding her face, as she realised where her thoughts had been drifting.
‘I know the basic moves,’ she said. ‘Nothing else.’
‘Would you like to learn?’
‘No, thank you. I always preferred backgammon.’
‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I remember.’ He paused. ‘There is a set in the cupboard over there, if you would like a game.’
‘Oh, no.’ Her disclaimer was hasty. ‘I—I only ever played against my father.’
‘And a different opponent would naturally be out of the question,’ he said expressionlessly and returned to his chess problem.
There was another silence.
‘I see there are books here, but I brought some others with me,’ Emily mentioned eventually. ‘They’re upstairs. But they might not appeal to you.’
‘They are romantic books, perhaps—for women? The search for Mr Right?’ His faint smile did not indicate any particular amusement.
She said coolly, ‘One of them’s Anna Karenina. I don’t think she fits that category. And there are some detective stories too. You’re welcome to borrow them—if you want.’
‘Grazie,’ he said. ‘And the cupboard also contains a radio, a pack of cards, three jigsaw puzzles and a game of Snakes and Ladders. Even without television, we do not lack for entertainment,’ he added sardonically.
‘Never a dull moment,’ Emily commented and got to her feet. ‘I’ll go and find the books.’
She had to steel herself to enter the bedroom. She didn’t want to look at the bed either but, to her annoyance, she found her glance drawn to it. She was surprised to see that it had been neatly made, its pillows plumped up and the covers smoothed. As if it had never been occupied. His handiwork, she realised with bewilderment, and quite the last thing she would have expected.
She lifted the bag out of the bottom of the wardrobe and turned, only to cannon into Raf who was standing right behind her.
Her mouth went dry. Oh, God, surely he couldn’t have construed her departure upstairs as some kind of invitation? she thought, hugging the bag defensively against her body. ‘What—what do you want?’
‘To help you with these,’ Raf told her curtly, taking the bag from her slackened grasp. ‘What else?’
He walked away from her out of the room and, after a brief hesitation, Emily followed him downstairs.
She said stiltedly, ‘I’m sorry. I—I thought…’
‘I know what you thought.’ He was putting the chess pieces back in their box. ‘But you were wrong.’ His tone bit. ‘So let us leave the subject.’
‘But can’t you see now why I want to leave here?’ She looked at him pleadingly. ‘It—it’s so cramped. And if we keep—bumping into each other, it’s bound to lead to—to misunderstandings,’ she ended miserably.
‘Only in your own head, cara.’ He sounded bored, his attention now focused on the contents of the book bag. He went through them all, then chose the new Patricia Cornwell, which Emily had mentally reserved for herself.
Not that she intended to argue about it, she told herself. Anything at all that might keep his mind off her had to be a bonus.
It was almost a relief when she could disappear into the kitchen and begin preparations for supper.
But once the chicken had begun to sizzle in the oven and the vegetables were prepared, there