The Revenge Collection 2018. Кейт Хьюит
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CHAPTER NINE
WAKING ALONE IN Gabriele’s Florence home, a penthouse apartment spread over two floors overlooking Palazzo Tornabuoni, Elena wandered from the bedroom in search of coffee.
Even larger than his Manhattan apartment, it managed to be lavishly decorated and adorned yet remain homely. It had touched her to find he’d hung a Giuseppe Arcimboldo painting in the room he’d designated as her office.
Since their visit to his mother there had been a definite shift in their attitudes to each other. Family was a word no longer uttered between them. But it was constantly on Elena’s mind.
How had her father been able to denounce Alfredo in such a way? And Gabriele, his own godson too. Why hadn’t he helped their defence? Of course he hadn’t been involved himself, but loyalty should have counted for something. Family loyalty was the crux of her father’s personal philosophy and the Mantegnas had been family to him. She’d seen the photographic evidence with her own eyes.
And how could she not have known the full extent of their families’ ties?
These were all questions she could not bring herself to ask him.
She had just settled on the balcony with a caffè e latte and fresh pastries made for her by Gabriele’s housekeeper when he walked through the open French doors.
Her heart did that familiar little skip to see him.
‘Good morning, tesoro,’ he said, putting his hands on her shoulder as he leaned down to brush his lips against hers. ‘You’re up early.’
‘Not as early as you.’ She turned her cheek so he couldn’t kiss her mouth.
In the ten days since they’d married her refusal to kiss him had become an unspoken rule. She would only allow him to kiss her when there were people around to witness it.
It was the only measure of control she had to hold on to. He never said anything to the contrary but she knew it got under his skin.
He hadn’t been joking when he’d said they would spend the flight from New York getting to know each other better. Half an hour after take-off and they’d been locked in his jet’s private bedroom. By the time they’d landed he’d made love to her so thoroughly and so often her legs had struggled to remain upright.
He’d kissed every part of her. He’d discovered erogenous zones on her body she hadn’t known could be erogenous zones.
Every touch, every kiss, every murmur, every breath against her skin sent her senses into orbit and she had to fight to keep her responses contained.
As this was their so-called honeymoon period they spent nearly every waking minute together. They’d settled into a rhythm where the first hours of the day were spent working on issues for their respective businesses, then they would head out into Florence, or take a drive through the Tuscan hills. They’d visited museums, galleries and vineyards, eaten at a variety of restaurants and simple cafés, all the things Elena had never done before.
Growing up in the Ricci household, culture and days out were things people did on the television. Her father’s idea of culture was a night out at the greyhound races.
While she and Gabriele didn’t always agree on what made great art, often their views did concur. Arcimboldo wasn’t the only artist they both admired.
She had to admit, she enjoyed his company. Their debates were always lively when they disagreed. He was opinionated and arrogant but he listened to her without the smug ‘humouring you’ look she was so used to seeing from her male family.
And they spent more time in bed than she had dreamed it was possible to spend. Only a fraction of that time was spent sleeping.
Gabriele was insatiable and, though she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of vocalising it, her desire for him was equally acute.
The only thing she wouldn’t allow him to do in the privacy of their bedroom was kiss her on the mouth. That would be a betrayal to her family too far.
Because she had to remind herself frequently that the only reason she was there with him was to save her family. She was not with Gabriele for herself. Gabriele was her enemy and she would not allow herself to forget it, no matter how much she might enjoy his company or how much she secretly looked forward to going to bed with him every night.
Now he flashed her with a gleam of white teeth and helped himself to a banana.
‘Have you been for a run?’ she asked, taking in his workout attire. The apartment had a gym but neither of them had used it in the time she’d been there.
He nodded. ‘I went down the Arno and up to Ponte Vecchio.’
‘Sounds nice. When I’m at home in Rome I like to jog along the Tiber.’
‘You’re welcome to join me.’
An automatic refusal formed on her lips but she found herself saying, ‘I might take you up on that.’
‘I run every morning. Name your day.’
‘I’ll get back to you on that.’
He grinned. ‘Don’t worry—I’ll slow down enough so you can keep up with me.’
‘You don’t think I can keep up with you?’
‘You’re half my size,’ he pointed out, amusement lurking in his eyes, ‘and I run every day. There’s no question I’ll have more stamina than you.’
If there was one thing Elena never backed away from it was a physical challenge. ‘Tomorrow morning. What time do you want to leave?’
‘I normally go as soon as I wake but I’m happy to wait until you get up.’
‘No, no, you can wake me when you’re ready.’
He fixed her with a wolfish grin and swallowed the last of his banana. ‘It will be my pleasure to wake you up.’
* * *
Gabriele had known exactly what to say to get Elena out running with him. From everything she’d said about her childhood, the competition between her and her brothers had been fierce. Tell Elena she couldn’t do something on account of being a woman and she would work twice as hard to prove she could.
It was a quality he admired.
He’d woken her at five, knowing to leave it much longer would mean losing the tranquillity of the early morning sunrise. While he loved Manhattan in the early hours, no city on earth could match Florence for beauty.
Apart from a tiny yelp when she’d seen the time, she’d thrown a pair of running shorts and a plain white T-shirt on without speaking. They’d set out at a gentle pace, jogging down Via degli Strozzi and on to Via della Vigna Nuova. Now, as they crossed Ponte alla Carraia, one of the bridges over the Arno River, she finally seemed to be waking up, continually scanning the skies to watch the sun make its first peeks.
‘The best view to watch the sunrise is Piazzale Michelangelo,’ he said.
‘Can we go there now?’
‘There isn’t time—we’d need to leave at least an hour earlier than we did today.’
She made a noise under her breath that sounded remarkably like a curse.
‘Early mornings not your thing?’
‘Not that early.’ Suddenly she turned to look at him, still keeping her stride. ‘Have you been running every morning since we arrived here?’
‘I told you, I run every day.’
‘So you go for a run, get home and have a shower, all before I’m up?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you a masochist?’
He