Alessandro's Prize. Helen Bianchin
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His dark eyes captured her own. ‘Much like a woman,’ he said smoothly, and glimpsed the momentary uncertainty before she quickly covered it with a degree of humour.
‘Achieve the necessary work to reach your goal.’ She paused imperceptibly. ‘Then move on to the next challenge.’
‘Inevitably with bricks and mortar,’ he drawled, pinning her with his dark gaze. ‘But not always with a woman.’
Why did she get the sudden impression she was verging into dangerous waters? ‘Yet you have not taken the plunge into marriage.’
‘Are you concerned for my marital comfort?’
Oh, my. Erotic images momentarily filled her mind before she successfully dismissed them. ‘Your progeny,’ she managed evenly. ‘And the future generation of Del Marco Industries.’
For a moment she thought she caught a wicked gleam in those dark eyes, then it was gone, and she put it down to her vivid imagination.
Sophia nodded. ‘It is something of which I remind him on occasion.’
Why did the thought of Alessandro married cause her heart to plummet? And imagining him with another woman, a child or three … hurt?
It didn’t make sense.
‘Shall we order coffee?’ Alessandro queried, and Sophia sent him a wry smile.
‘Always you evade the issue.’
‘And always I promise you will be the first to know when I find the right woman,’ he said gently.
The sky was a dark indigo, and the air held an icy chill as they emerged from the restaurant a short while later.
It was a relief to reach Alessandro’s car, the heating welcome as he took the north-west route to Magenta.
His apartment was situated on the P.za Sant Ambrogio, comprising two levels, and the height of luxury with marble-tiled floors, elegant oriental rugs, beautiful rosewood furniture in the lounge and reception rooms. Four guest bedroom suites were situated upstairs, including the master suite.
It wasn’t the image Lily held of a bachelor pad. Somehow she’d expected something less … refined. Instead there was a quiet elegance apparent, simpatico with the building itself with its stucco exterior and ornate window framing illuminated by street lighting.
Whoever had organized the restoration had ensured the renovations combined modern-day luxury while maintaining the feel of a former era.
It was in a word … lovely. And Lily offered the compliment with sincerity.
‘Grazie,’ Alessandro inclined. ‘It pleases me you approve. Will an hour be sufficient in which to shower and change?’
‘With ease,’ Sophia assured. ‘Lily?’
‘Of course.’
It took only minutes to unpack her overnight bag, discard her clothes and slip into the decadent marble en suite. For a moment she took an envious glance at the bath with its marbled surrounds and elegant fittings, before moving to the shower. A luxurious soak in decadent scented water was out of the question, and she quickly quelled the image as she turned the water dial.
There was no need to rush, and she took her time before drying off, then she wound a towel turban-style over her hair before slipping into fresh underwear, and tended to her make-up with a light hand, merely emphasizing her eyes, a touch of bronze blusher to each cheek, followed by a light gloss to her lips.
The classic little black dress with black stilettos was a safe choice.
She decided to sweep her hair into an elegant twist, which took several minutes to pin in place, and she added a subtle perfume to a few pulse points, attached diamond and ruby ear-studs and added a matching bracelet to her wrist.
Then she placed a red coat over her shoulders, collected an evening purse and joined Sophia at the head of the stairs.
‘You look lovely, cara,’ Sophia complimented, and Lily smiled as she tucked a hand inside her aunt’s elbow.
‘So do you.’ For Sophia bore a timeless elegance in whatever she chose to wear, she accorded with genuine admiration as they descended the stairs.
Alessandro was in the process of ending a call as they reached the spacious lounge, and she watched idly as he slipped the device into the inside pocket of his jacket before moving forward to greet them.
Attractive, intensely masculine in impeccable tailoring, white shirt in fine cotton, silk tie—he was something else, Lily perceived.
There was a depth to him, well hidden beneath the outer trappings his wealth could provide.
For a brief moment she sought to define it, and failed to adequately pin it down to any one quality.
Yet there was an instinctive sense of a need for self-preservation, a wariness that warned that when he played, he played to win. In any situation, be it a business deal, or a woman.
It wasn’t difficult to imagine the type of woman he would seek. Tall, slender, beautiful, a socialite who would be the perfect hostess, please him in bed, bear him the requisite heir and turn a blind eye when he sought out a mistress.
‘Charming,’ Alessandro accorded with a smile that encompassed both women, and Lily caught the faint gleam of humour as his eyes caught and held her own.
For a brief moment she had the uncanny feeling he’d read her mind. Something she immediately dismissed as being ridiculous, for she wasn’t that transparent … surely?
‘Shall we leave?’
The hotel was situated adjacent the neighboring Botanical
Gardens, and entrance into the hotel’s exclusive lobby revealed beautiful fittings and furnishings.
Directions to a private lounge where the designer after party was being held were on display, and Security checked invitations at the door.
Once inside, Lily was met with a wave of the beautiful people, a few recognizable actresses, a model or three among them, and an abundance of glitz and glamour.
Members of the paparazzi were there with camera flashbulbs snapping the rich and famous, and the not too discreet journalists rapidly recording names as they matched who was with whom.
Voices filled the room, vying with background music which fought to be heard above snatches of Italian, French and English.
The people, the fashions, the sheer ambience … It was, in a word, amazing.
‘Darling, you look absolutely stunning,’ a light feminine voice offered in gushing tones. ‘Who are you wearing?’
‘A British designer who’s making quite a name for herself.’
‘Really. Who?’
The name was lost as another voice intruded, male, this time.
‘Alessandro. Sophia.’ Dark eyes settled on Lily. ‘And this is?’
‘Francesco,’ Sophia acknowledged with polite charm. ‘Allow me to introduce my niece, Lily. Francesco Alverro.’
A tall man, whose practiced smile appeared exactly that—practiced—as Lily took the hand he extended. And ignored the silent invitation in the intimate press of his thumb against her palm.
‘We must get together.’
Not going to happen, she silently declined as she freed her hand.
‘We have a number of social engagements planned over the next few weeks,’ Sophia relayed with seeming regret.
‘At a few of which we’re bound to meet again.’
Lily felt the light touch of Alessandro’s hand at her waist,