Latin Lovers: Italian Husbands: The Italian's Bought Bride / The Italian Playboy's Secret Son / The Italian Doctor's Perfect Family

‘It never is,’ he agreed, and Allegra was silent.

Their desserts came and Stefano turned the conversation to easier topics—films, the weather, London’s sights. Allegra was relieved to talk without considering how every word she said might be interpreted, and what every rejoinder of Stefano’s might mean.

It was quite late in the evening when they finally left the restaurant. Stefano’s car was waiting as they left the hotel, and Allegra wondered how he did that.

Had Stefano rung the driver? Had the driver waited there the whole evening? How did everything come so easily to people in power?

Except, perhaps, where it mattered. She thought of Lucio, and how much he obviously meant to Stefano, with a compassionate pang.

They drove back to Allegra’s flat in virtual silence. Allegra didn’t know if she was imagining the heavy expectancy of that silence, as if something had already been decided.

As if something was going to happen.

A light, misting rain was falling, softening the street into a grey haze, as Stefano pulled up to Allegra’s building.

‘You don’t have to come in,’ Allegra protested vainly, for Stefano was already through the front door.

‘I’ll see you safely to your door,’ he said, but there was nothing safe about his presence, filling up the tiny hallway. He was too big for the space, she thought, too much. He towered over her, near her.

‘It’s perfectly safe,’ she protested and Stefano just smiled. He was gazing at her, that familiar glint in his amber eyes, a spark Allegra knew could become a fully-fledged blaze. She swallowed, pressing against the wall as if she could put some distance between them.

‘Stefano …’ she began, and then stopped because she didn’t know what else to say.

‘I wondered what it would be like, when I saw you again,’ Stefano said. His voice was pitched low, a husky murmur that still managed to make Allegra tremble.

‘I have too, of course,’ she said, and tried to keep her voice light, friendly. She failed.

‘I wondered if you would be the same,’ Stefano continued. He lifted his hand as if to touch her and Allegra held her breath.

‘I wondered,’ he continued, his voice turning huskier, ‘if you would look at me the same way.’

‘We’re different, Stefano,’ Allegra said. She wished she could tear her eyes away from his burning gaze, wished she could keep her body—and perhaps even her heart—from reacting. Wanting. ‘I’m different,’ she added, but it was no deterrent. He smiled, his fingers touching her cheek, tucking a tendril of hair behind her ear.

‘Yes,’ he murmured, ‘you are.’

The light touch of his fingers was enough to send sensation spiralling through her. Enough to make her dizzy, to close her eyes. She snapped them open.

‘Don’t do this, Stefano,’ she whispered. She didn’t have the will power to pull away and it shamed her. ‘You’re hiring me in a professional capacity. You shouldn’t do this.’

‘I know I shouldn’t,’ Stefano agreed, but there was no regret in his voice, only decision.

He was moving closer, his body inches from hers—chest, torso, stomach, thighs. She felt his heat come off him in intoxicating waves and she took a deep, gulping breath.

‘We should say goodnight,’ she managed, her voice turning breathless because suddenly it seemed as if there was no air in the hallway, no air in her lungs. Her body was transfixed, her eyes on his, watching his lids lower, his lashes sweep his cheeks and still he moved closer. ‘We should shake hands,’ she added desperately, for she knew it wasn’t going to happen.

Something else was.

‘We should,’ Stefano agreed. His fingers drifted down her cheek, traced the full outline of her lips. His fingers left a trail of tiny shocks along her skin and Allegra forced herself to remain still, not to lean into his hand, into him, because at that moment she wanted nothing more.

‘Of course,’ Stefano continued, ‘we could seal a business deal with a kiss.’

‘That’s not how I do business,’ she countered, choking on air.

‘Don’t you want to know, Allegra?’ he whispered, his lips a scant inch from hers. ‘Don’t you want to know how it is between us … how it could have been, for all these years?’

She tried to shake her head, tried to frame a word, a thought. Why was it so hard to think? Her mind was as misty as the evening outside, her thoughts evaporating into haze.

Then his lips came down on hers, a mere brush turning into something hard, demanding, a possessive brand.

Mine.

His.

Allegra realized dimly in the last cogent part of her brain that Stefano had never, not even remotely, kissed her like this before. The kisses they’d shared all those years ago had been chaste pecks, brotherly brushes, and she’d thought those had sent a spark spiralling through her body!

This kiss turned her to fire.

His mouth moved on hers, his tongue tasting, testing and finding.

Her arms came up around his shoulders and she revelled in the sheer size and power of him, her hands bunching on his arms, her nails digging into his skin.

Stefano’s arms came around her, holding and supporting her for Allegra realized she’d sagged bonelessly against him, needing his strength.

When he finally lifted his mouth from hers, his arms still around her, she had not a single thing to say. To think.

The feelings blazing through her were simply too much.

‘Sealed with a kiss,’ he whispered in satisfaction and stepped back. ‘I’ll ring you on Wednesday,’ he promised. ‘But now I’ll leave you to your dreams.’

Dream of me.

‘Goodnight, Allegra.’

Wordlessly she nodded, watched him open the door and disappear into the drizzle. In the shattered silence of the hallway she let out a choked gasp, a half-laugh, her mind and heart seething with both confusion and unfulfilled desire.

She touched her fingers to her lips as if she could still feel him there, his sure possession, and thought numbly that the past was not forgotten.

As his car pulled away from the kerb, Stefano could still see Allegra in the hallway. She sagged against the wall, one hand touching her lips, and he smiled—smiled with a hard satisfaction that settled in him, through him, with savage pleasure.

She wanted him. Just as before. Perhaps, he thought musingly, more.

She wanted him, even though she didn’t want to, even though she denied it. Denied it to him as well as to herself.

And yet that kiss, wonderful as it was, had been a mistake. He couldn’t afford to tangle with Allegra, for Lucio’s sake as well as his own.

Wouldn’t.

He’d been down that road once before, knew where it ended, and it was nowhere he wanted to be.

He leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes. He’d kissed Allegra because he’d wanted to; he’d wanted to feel her lips under his, her body against his. He’d wanted to discover if the reality lived up to his dreams.

And did it? he wondered with a cynical smile.

Perhaps, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to kiss Allegra again.

She was Lucio’s therapist, nothing more.

Never, he told himself savagely, anything more again.

CHAPTER FIVE

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON FOUND Allegra in her office, Lucio’s case notes scattered on her desk. She gazed unseeingly out of the window at a dank, grey London sky and waited for Stefano’s call.

She’d been quite determined, after that shocking, shattering kiss, not to take Lucio’s case. The personal conflict was obvious and overwhelming.

There were plenty of other art therapists, she told herself. Ones who were more experienced as well as not personally involved.

Yet was she personally involved? Her mind staunchly said no, but the rest of her, her body still remembering that tide of desire, spoke differently.

Yet she wanted to take the case, she realized. She was professional enough to separate any feelings for Stefano from her work with Lucio, and she wanted to help this boy whose case notes spoke of a tragic, silent eight months. She wanted to help him for his own sake as well as for her own.

The idea of working intensively with one child for a prolonged period of time was inspiring, exciting. No more forty-five minute slots while parents waited, desperate for her to have made a difference.

No endless slog of case after case without hope or happiness.

She wanted this change, this chance.

Even if Stefano was involved.

Especially if Stefano was involved.

For while this could be an opportunity with Lucio, it was also an opportunity to put the past to rest. Redeem it, even.

And show Stefano, once and for all, that she was not that girl any more, the girl he thought he knew, the girl who’d loved him.

The phone trilled, startling Allegra out of her thoughts. She picked it up.

‘Hello?’

‘Allegra.’ It sounded like a caress somehow, even though his voice was brisk. ‘You’ve seen Lucio’s case notes?’

‘Yes.’

There was a moment of pulsing silence and Allegra realized how hard her heart was beating.

‘And?’

‘Yes, I’ll take the case, Stefano. Although …’

‘You have some reservations.’

‘Yes.’

‘Because of our kiss the other night.’ He spoke steadily, without apology or concern, yet Allegra found her hand gripping the telephone receiver far too tightly.

‘Yes,’ she said after a moment of tense silence. ‘Stefano, as we’ve said, I’m coming to Abruzzo in a professional capacity. There can’t be—’

‘There won’t.’

She blinked, swallowed, strangely, stupidly stung that he sounded so certain. ‘Even so,’ she forced herself to continue, ‘I don’t want there to be any … tension … because of what has happened between us. It would be best for Lucio, as well as for ourselves, if we could be friends.’

‘Then we will be.’

Allegra gave a shaky laugh, for she knew it wasn’t that simple, and surely Stefano knew it as well. You couldn’t will yourself into being friends; you couldn’t will feelings or memories to disappear.

You could just put them in a box.

‘You never kissed me like that when we were engaged,’ she blurted, and then wished she hadn’t. Stefano was silent although she could hear him breathing.

‘You were nineteen,’ he finally said, his voice flat. ‘A child, as you pointed out to me. I was taking my time with you, Allegra.’ He paused, she waited. ‘You weren’t, however, a child last night. But have no fear. It’s an incident that will not be repeated.’

He spoke so firmly and finally that Allegra was left with nothing left to do but accept.

‘All right, then,’ she finally said. She knew there was no point trawling old ground over the telephone.

‘I’m flying to London next Friday,’ Stefano said. ‘That should give you time to hand off any cases, and you can return to Rome with me. From there we’ll go to Abruzzo.’

‘All right.’

‘Email me with anything you’ll need for your work,’ Stefano said, ‘and I’ll arrange for it to be there when you arrive.’

‘Fine …’

He gave her his email address and then, when the only thing left to say was goodbye, he surprised her.

‘Allegra,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome,’ Allegra said. ‘I’m looking forward to it, Stefano. I want to help Lucio.’

‘So do I.’

More silence, and Allegra longed to say something, but she didn’t know what it was. What did you say to someone you’d been planning on spending the rest of your life with? Having his children?

Loving him?

What did you say to someone who had never loved you back, who had planned to marry you for your name and your status and nothing else?

What did you say to someone who had broken your heart?

‘Goodbye,’ she finally said quietly, and put down the telephone.

In the end, it was remarkably easy to hand off her few cases. Since she freelanced, her work wasn’t permanent anyway, and within a week she’d cleared her desk, sublet her flat and packed two suitcases with the things she thought she’d need.

It was strange and a bit disturbing to realize how easily she’d dismantled her life, a life she’d built with her own sweat and tears over the last seven years. None of it had been easy, and yet now, for the present, it was gone.

It was a cloudy day in mid-September, the leaves drifting down in lazy circles under a wispy blue sky, when Stefano arranged to pick her up.

Allegra waited outside since it was warm, felt nerves leap to life as she gazed down Camberwell Road for the first sign of Stefano’s luxurious black car.

When it finally pulled sleekly into view, she was calm, focussed on the firm purpose of her journey and its destination.

Stefano exited the car. He was dressed in a dark suit, a mobile phone pressed to his ear, and his manner was so abrupt and impersonal that any anxiety Allegra had felt about seeing him again since their kiss trickled shamefacedly away.

At the moment, he looked as if he didn’t even remember her, much less their kiss. She wondered if he’d spared it a moment’s thought, while she’d given it several hours’ confused contemplation.

Stefano was still on his phone as the driver put her bags in the boot and Allegra climbed into the car.

They pulled away from her street, her home, her life, and Stefano hadn’t even said hello.

Twenty minutes into their journey, Stefano finally finished his conversation.

‘I apologise,’ he said. ‘It was a business call.’

‘So it would seem.’

He smiled, his eyes glinting with a rare humour. ‘I told Bianca about your arrival, and she’s looking forward to meeting you. You’re providing a new hope for all of us, Allegra.’

Allegra nodded. ‘Just remember there are no guarantees, no promises.’

‘No, but there aren’t with anything in life, are there?’ He spoke lightly, yet Allegra heard an undercurrent of bitterness, saw it flash across his face. Was he referring to something else? Their own disappointed dreams?

She gave herself a little shake and gazed out of the window as they came on to the motorway. She had to stop reading innuendo and remembrance into every word Stefano said.

The past was forgotten.

It felt like a prayer.

They took a private jet to Rome. Allegra realized she should have expected no less, yet the blatant, if understated, display of Stefano’s wealth and power awed her.

‘Are you richer now than seven years ago?’ she asked curiously when they were seated on the plane, the leather seats huge and luxurious.

Stefano glanced at her over the edge of his newspaper. A bit.’

‘I know my father was wealthy,’ Allegra said, ‘but, to tell you the truth, I don’t feel I saw much of it.’

‘You were comfortable?’ Stefano asked, his eyebrows raised, and Allegra laughed.

‘Yes, of course. Trust me, I’m not giving you some poor little rich girl story.’ She shrugged. ‘I just saw very little of life, and I think that’s why I was so swept away when I met you.’

‘I see.’ His voice was neutral, betraying no indication of agreement.

Allegra gazed out of the window. The plane was rising above the grey fog that covered London and a bright, hard blue sky stretched endlessly around them.

She had a strange urge to talk about the past, even though she knew there was no point, no purpose. She wanted to exorcise it, to show Stefano how little it mattered, how utterly over it she was.

It was a childish impulse, she knew, and worse, she wasn’t even sure if she could pull it off.

Yet what was there to talk about? What was there to say, that hadn’t been said that night?

Do you love me?

What more is there?

Even if their marriage hadn’t been a business arrangement, Allegra knew, it wouldn’t have been a good match. It wouldn’t have made her happy. Stefano hadn’t loved her, not in a real or worthwhile way. He’d only thought of her as a possession, something to be protected and provided for, tucked on a shelf. Taken care of.

Nothing else, nothing equal or giving or real about it.

And he’d shown her in a thousand tiny ways since then that he was the same. Thought the same, loved the same, which really wasn’t love at all.

Worthless.

Allegra turned back to Stefano. He was reading the paper, his head bent, his legs crossed.

‘You have a flat in Rome,’ she said. ‘Which part?’

He glanced up, smiling at her faintly, the glint in his eyes making Allegra feel as if he were simply humouring her. ‘Parioli, near the Villa Borghese.’

‘I’ve never actually been to Rome,’ she admitted, a bit embarrassed by her own inexperience. Her life in Italy had consisted of home and convent school, summers at their villa by the lake, and nothing more.

‘I’d show you the sights, if we had the time,’ Stefano said.

‘We’ll leave for Abruzzo right away?’

‘Tomorrow. I have a business dinner tonight. A social occasion.’ He paused, his gaze sliding away from hers. ‘Perhaps you would care to come with me.’

Allegra stiffened, felt the confusion of conflicting emotions. Alarm, surprise, pleasure. ‘Why?’ she asked. Her question was blunt but necessary.

Stefano raised his eyebrows. ‘Why not? Most people bring dates and I don’t have one.’

‘I’m not a date.’

‘No, you’re not,’ he agreed, unruffled, unconcerned. ‘But you’re with me, and there’s no point in you staying alone in the villa, is there?’ He smiled again, humour flashing briefly in his eyes. ‘I thought we were supposed to be friends.’

‘We are,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s just—’

Eyebrows still raised, Stefano waited. Allegra realized he’d tangled her up in her own words. Yes, she wanted them to be friends, and therefore these innocent, innocuous occasions should provoke no alarm or anxiety. And yet …

And yet they did. They did, because they weren’t just friends. No matter how much she wanted to dismiss their kiss, their entire past, she couldn’t. Not as much as she wanted to.

And yet she couldn’t avoid it. Perhaps the only way across this swamp of memory and feeling, Allegra thought, was straight through. It might mean getting muddy, wet, dirty, and even hurt, but she couldn’t avoid Stefano, or what was and had been between them. She didn’t even want to.

The past, forgotten as it might be, had to be dealt with. Directly.

‘All right,’ she said, and gave a little nod. ‘Thank you. That should be …’ she sought for a safe word and finally settled on ‘… pleasant.’

‘Pleasant,’ Stefano repeated musingly. He turned back to his paper. ‘Yes. Indeed.’

She turned back to the window.

They didn’t talk again until the jet landed at Rome’s Fuimicino airport, and Stefano helped her from the plane.

The air wrapped around her like a blanket—dry, hot, familiar. Comforting.

Home.

She took a breath, let it flood through her body, her senses. The air was different here, the light brighter.

Everything felt different.

‘It’s been a long time,’ Stefano said, watching her, and Allegra shrugged.

‘Six years.’

‘You came back for your father’s funeral.’

‘Yes.’ They were walking across the tarmac to the entrance to customs, and Allegra kept her head averted. Her father’s funeral. Her father’s suicide. More things she chose not to think about. To remember.

‘I’m sorry about his death,’ Stefano said after a moment, his voice quiet and far too understanding.

Allegra shrugged. When she spoke, her voice sounded as hard and bright as the sky shimmering above them. ‘Thank you. It was a long time ago.’

‘The death of a parent still hurts,’ Stefano replied, his gaze searching hers, and Allegra shrugged again and looked away.

‘I don’t really think of it,’ she said, and felt as if she’d revealed something—had exposed it to Stefano’s unrelenting gaze, unrelenting knowledge—simply by making that throwaway comment.

Mercifully Stefano dropped the subject and they spent the next short while dealing with customs and immigration.

Stefano had all of their papers in order and it didn’t take long. All too soon they were pulling away in yet another hired car, the ocean a stretch of blue behind them, the flat, dusty plains in front and the scattered brown hills of Rome against the horizon.

Allegra felt exhaustion crash over her in a numbing wave. She’d been physically busy these last few weeks but, more to the point, emotionally she’d been in complete overdrive. She leaned her head against the leather seat and closed her eyes.

She didn’t realize she’d actually dozed until Stefano nudged her awake. The sedan had pulled to a stop in front of a narrow street of elegant town houses, all with painted shutters and wrought iron railings.

‘We’re here,’ Stefano murmured, and helped her from the car. Allegra followed him into the town house. It was elegantly decorated with antiques, sumptuous carpets and priceless paintings, yet it did not have the stamp of individuality on it, of Stefano.

It was impossible, Allegra thought even as she admired what looked like a Picasso original, to know anything about the person who lived here except for the fact that he was fabulously wealthy.

She wondered if Stefano wanted it that way. She was realising, more and more, that she’d never really known him when they’d been engaged. She’d thought that before, of course, when she’d overheard that terrible conversation with her father. Yet now she thought of it in a different, more intimate way, a way that wasn’t fraught with anger and hurt, only a certain sorrowful regret.

She wanted to ask him what books he liked, what made him laugh. The things she should have known and delighted in when she’d been his almost-bride.

And she wouldn’t ask those questions, she told herself sternly, wouldn’t even think of asking them, because there was no point.

Professional.

‘I know you’re tired,’ Stefano said, ‘and you can rest upstairs if you like. I’ll have the cook prepare something light for lunch.’

‘Thank you.’ Allegra hesitated. ‘The dinner tonight … I assume it’s a formal occasion?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t have anything appropriate to wear, I’m afraid,’ Allegra said. She kept her voice light, even though she felt embarrassed. ‘Evening gowns aren’t usually required in my line of work.’

Stefano gazed at her, his face expressionless, yet Allegra saw—sensed—a flicker of something in his eyes. She wished she knew what he was thinking, wished she could ask.

He gave a brief nod. ‘I’ll send someone to the shops to select something for you. Unless you’d prefer to go yourself?’

Allegra shook her head. She wouldn’t know what to choose, and just the thought of wandering around Rome by herself exhausted her.

‘Very well. I need to attend to business, but Anna, my housekeeper, will show you your room.’

As if on cue, a kindly, slight, grey-haired woman emerged from the back corridor.

‘This way, signorina,’ she said quietly in Italian.

‘Grazie,’ Allegra murmured, and the language—her native tongue—felt strange to her ears. She’d spoken English, only English, for years.

Had it been a deliberate choice? A way to forget the past, harden her heart against who she was?

A way to become the person she was now—the English Allegra, Allegra the art therapist. Not Allegra who had stood at the bottom of the stairs, her heart in her eyes for all to see.

She followed Anna up thickly carpeted stairs to a beautifully appointed bedroom. Allegra took in the wide double bed with its rose silk cover, the matching curtains, the antique walnut chairs flanking a marble fireplace. It was far finer than anything she’d ever known, even in her father’s villa.

She smiled at Anna. ‘Grazie,’ she said again and Anna nodded and left.