In the Italian's Sights

‘You had not done this before?’ Sophia was clearly amazed.

Cherry shook her head. ‘My father died a few years ago, and—and I don’t get on with my mother and sister.’ Understatement of the year, but how could she explain to a virtual stranger how it was? ‘My sister saw Liam and wanted him.’ She shrugged. ‘Within a couple of weeks he told me he’d been seeing her on the nights he didn’t see me, and that he’d fallen in love with her.’

‘Your sister did not confess?’

‘She lives at home with my mother. I live—lived—in a bedsit and we never met up. Angela…’ She tried to find the right words. ‘She’s a year older than me and was always the beautiful, clever one and my mother’s favourite. For some reason, even as a child, she always wanted what I had and my mother would insist I gave it to her. Presents, clothes, whatever. Even friends. After I’d escaped to university I never went home to live again.’

‘Had your sister done this before? With a boy?’

Cherry nodded. ‘That was the reason I didn’t introduce Liam to them until I was sure about him.’ She shrugged again. ‘But it was clearly a mistake.’

‘I think not, Cherry.’ Sophia leaned forward, her hair rippling like a black curtain. ‘This Liam—he was not for you. A man who can behave in such a way—’ she flicked her hand, Latin-style, expressing her disgust ‘—he is weak, no good. Without the backbone, you know? You deserve better.’

‘I came to that conclusion a little while ago.’ Cherry smiled at Vittorio’s sister. ‘It took some time, but one day at work I looked at him and didn’t like what I saw. I decided I wanted a change—a real change. So I gave in my notice forthwith, told my landlady I was moving out, and took out all my savings and decided to travel for a bit. Italy is my first port of call, but I intend to see all the Mediterranean and then who knows?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘My mother said I was having a tantrum when I rang to tell her what I was doing. She called me ridiculous and impetuous and told me not to ring her if I got into any trouble—not that I would have, of course.’

Sophia shook her head slowly. ‘They do not sound nice people, your sister and your mother.’

‘No, they’re not,’ Cherry said candidly, ‘but my father was a love. At least I always had an ally in him when I was growing up. He was more than a dad. He was my best friend too.’

‘A divided home.’ Sophia’s voice was soft. ‘This is not good. It must have been painful for you.’

Cherry stared at the Italian girl. Vittorio had said his sister had the mind of a sixteen-year-old and had intimated a young sixteen-year-old at that. She didn’t agree with him. Sophia was very mature for her years, and very sweet.

The other girl’s genuine sympathy and kindness brought sudden tears to her eyes, but Cherry blinked them away determinedly. ‘It wasn’t the happiest of childhoods,’ she admitted quietly, ‘but better than some. Some children have no one, do they?’

Sophia nodded. ‘I have only a vague memory of my father and mother, but we have the—how you say?—the films. Camera films? Of us as a family before the accident.’

‘Home movies.’

‘Si, home movies. Vittorio, he was born a year after my parents married, but then there were no more bambini. My madre—scusi, my mother—was very sad and they saw many doctors. Then when all hope was gone I was born—on Vittorio’s twenty-first birthday. Vittorio said the party went on for days, and everyone was very happy.’ She beamed at Cherry. ‘Vittorio, he says he has never had another present to equal me.’

Cherry smiled. ‘I can understand that.’

‘But then the accident—a car accident when I was six years old, just before Vittorio was going to be married.’ She shrugged. ‘Caterina, his fiancée, would not come here to live and so…’ She shrugged again. ‘Vittorio gave her the house he had bought for them in Matera and after a while Caterina married someone else. I do not like her,’ she added, somewhat venomously.

Fascinated by the story, Cherry couldn’t resist asking, ‘Do you still see Caterina, then?’

‘Si. She married one of Vittorio’s friends. Lorenzo is a nice man. He does not deserve to have such a wife.’

Sophia was certainly a girl who said what she thought. Hiding a smile, Cherry said, ‘Didn’t Vittorio mind her marrying a friend of his?’

‘I do not know. I know they quarrelled because Vittorio would not hand me over to be brought up by our grandmother. He knew my parents would have wanted me to continue to live here under my brother’s protection.’

And so he’d sacrificed his own happiness for Sophia. This revelation didn’t fit in with her summing up of Vittorio. It was disturbing. Wriggling into a more secure position on the hammock, Cherry said, ‘He must love you very much.’

‘Si. And I love Vittorio. Although he is the most…’

A string of Italian words spoken at great speed followed. Cherry didn’t understand one, but she didn’t have to to get their meaning.

Eventually Sophia stopped, shaking her head. ‘He makes me mad,’ she said, an unnecessary statement after what had preceded it. ‘He thinks I am still a bambino, a child, but I am not. I know what I want and it is not to go to the finishing school he has arranged.’

Cherry thought she probably knew the answer to her next question, but she asked it anyway. ‘What do you want?’

Sophia flicked her hair over her brown shoulders, her full rounded breasts straining at the thin material holding them as she did so. ‘I want to be with Santo. I want to be his wife. But—’ she sighed heavily ‘—Santo is poor. At least compared to us and the families of the girls at school. His family have a small vineyard at the edge of our property and a pretty little farmhouse—trulli farmhouse, you understand? They produce the Uva di Troia grape and it is very good. It gives the fine red wine, si? But Vittorio has forbidden us to meet.’

‘Perhaps he thinks you are too young to think of settling down yet?’ She actually agreed with Vittorio on that score, at least. Sophia was sixteen years old; she had years and years in front of her before marriage and all it entailed.

Sophia tossed her head. ‘I have known Santo all my life and there will be no one else for either of us. And he is not a young boy. He is nineteen years old this summer.’ This was said with an air of proving Santo was as old as Methuselah. ‘He is a man. And he is kind, good.’ The slightly defiant tone vanished in the next instant. Tears in her eyes, Sophia whispered, ‘I would run away and get married, but Santo will not hear of this. If I go to the finishing school I shall not see Santo for a long time and I cannot bear it. I would rather kill myself,’ she finished tragically.

‘Oh, Sophia.’ Cherry slid off the hammock and knelt down beside Vittorio’s sister, taking one of her hands. ‘If you love each other as much as you say, it will work out in time. I know that’s not much comfort now, but you are still young, you know.’

‘I do not feel young.’ Eyes as green as grass held hers. ‘I do not think I have ever truly felt young as my friends are. I have always felt different. And I know what I want, Cherry. I want to marry Santo and have his babies. That is all I have ever wanted. Everything else does not count for me.’

Oh, dear. Somewhat at a loss, Cherry squeezed the slim fingers in hers. ‘Then it will happen,’ she said simply. ‘When it’s right. He’ll wait for you, if he is the one.’

They talked a little more. Cherry told Vittorio’s sister about her job in marketing, and what it had entailed, adding that she was glad she had left when she had and that she was considering a change of career when she returned to England eventually. ‘Perhaps local government—something like that. My degree is in English and Business Studies, but I think I’d find social services more interesting. I’m not sure. Time will tell. For now I’m looking on the next few months as the gap year I never had before university.’

Sophia nodded, but clearly had no interest in a career herself, only becoming animated when she told Cherry about Santo and how wonderful he was. ‘He has never looked at another girl. I know this,’ she said passionately, ‘and I could never love anyone else. It is foolish to make us wait. I tell Vittorio this but he will not listen. He has the heart of ice, not of fire.’

After a while both girls settled down for a siesta in the shade of the trees, the chirruping of birds and the lazy hum of bees in the surrounding vegetation the only sound disturbing the warm scented air. Cherry could hardly believe she’d told a virtual stranger about Liam and Angela, but then maybe it was because Sophia was a stranger that it had proved so easy. That and these incredibly beautiful and surreal surroundings.

This whole interlude felt like a step out of time, she thought drowsily in the moments before sleep overcame her. It was as though she had been transported to another dimension—a dimension ruled by a dark and autocratic overlord with a heart of stone.

CHAPTER THREE

WHEN Cherry awoke it was because some sixth sense was telling her to beware. From a deep sleep her eyes flew open, and she raised her head to stare into the beautiful smoky-grey eyes that had featured in a dream she now couldn’t remember but which she knew had been disturbing.

‘Sleeping Beauty.’ Vittorio’s voice was soft and deep. ‘This is a fairytale, si?’

It might be—but never had the Prince been dressed in nothing but a brief pair of swimming trunks, and she didn’t think even Prince Charming’s body could compete with the man in front of her. The flagrant masculinity had been raw enough when Vittorio had been fully dressed. Now it was positively alarming. His thickly muscled torso gleamed like oiled silk, and he had obviously just been in the pool because the tight black curls on his chest glistened with droplets of water. The hair on his chest narrowed to a thin line over his flat belly, disappearing into the trunks, and his thighs were hard and powerful. He looked lean, lithe and dangerous, and undeniably earth-shattering.

Cherry swallowed. There was something about Vittorio Carella which made her feel completely subjugated and painfully feminine. She could cope with the second emotion, but the first was causing her hackles to rise again. Nevertheless, she did what she’d promised herself she would do the next time she saw him and said quickly, ‘I must apologise for not thanking you properly for allowing me to stay. I’m not usually so rude.’

He eyed her speculatively for a moment, then stretched out on the sun-lounger his sister had used earlier. Lazily, he drawled, ‘Then why so remiss today, Cherry?’

She might have known she couldn’t expect him simply to accept her apology and leave it at that. It took all of her considerable willpower to bite back the tart retort hovering on her tongue and say flatly, ‘Probably because we got off on the wrong foot.’

‘The wrong foot?’ He was clearly amused. ‘This is an English expression, si? But why did we get off on this “wrong foot”, eh? I think I know the answer to this.’

She stared at him, not knowing what to say.

‘For some reason you do not like me. This is true, si?’

She could tell he was enjoying her discomfiture, playing with her like a cat with a mouse, and nothing could have stopped her next words. ‘As it happens, you’re dead right.’ So much for the apology. But it was his fault, not hers.

‘You are an independent woman, I think. Strong. And surprisingly unmaterialistic.’

She didn’t know if she agreed with his opinion—certainly with regard to the first two attributes. She hadn’t felt very strong lately. Weakly, she said, ‘Surprisingly?’

‘I have found most modern women are driven by avarice and greed when it comes to looking for a partner in the opposite sex.’

Cherry reared up like a scalded cat, glaring at him with shocked eyes. ‘That’s absolutely ridiculous.’

‘You think so?’ He smiled coldly. ‘But this is not a criticism, Cherry. Most mothers want their daughters to marry well and live a life of luxury. It is natural. And most daughters are only too pleased to be guided by Mamma in this respect. Over the last years I have had a whole host of such daughters paraded before me by hopeful matrons who probably know to the last euro what I am worth. And of course there have been other women—socialites and so on—who thought they would like to become Signora Carella and continue to live in the manner to which they were accustomed. A few have even said this outright.’

She stared at him. ‘Are you saying women only want you for your money?’ Had he looked in the mirror lately?

He laughed—a throaty chuckle. ‘Not only my money, no. If there was a choice between a rich old man and a rich young one most red-blooded females would prefer the latter, I have no doubt. But wealth and position are powerful aphrodisiacs.’

Cherry thought he was doing himself—and probably the vast majority of the women he’d spoken of—a grave injustice. Vittorio Carella was the epitome of a man with everything, and she didn’t doubt women would find it easy to fall in love with him. She found the thought uncomfortable, and because of this her voice was uncharacteristically sharp when she said, ‘Something tells me you have been mixing with the wrong type of woman. Or maybe it’s a case of “live by the sword, die by the sword”?’

‘An interesting suggestion.’ His voice was smooth, silky, but there was the slightest of inflexion in the cool foreign voice that hinted he wasn’t as relaxed and nonchalant as he’d have her believe. ‘You are intimating I get what I deserve, signorina?’

‘My father always used to say that water finds its own level.’ She smiled, determined not to be intimidated by this arrogant individual who had put womankind into a box. ‘And I happen to have lots of female friends who couldn’t care less about the balance of a man’s bank account but put a high price on faithfulness and commitment.’

‘And you, Cherry? Do you put a high price on faithfulness?’

For a second she wondered if Sophia had told him about Liam and Angela, but almost immediately dismissed the thought. Brother and sister weren’t into cosy conversations just at the moment. She took a deep breath and spoke from the heart. ‘It’s priceless.’

The grey eyes narrowed before he raked back his wet hair with bronzed fingers. Changing the subject with an abruptness which was unnerving, he said, ‘I saw Sophia talking to you earlier.’ He gestured towards the house. ‘From the window. The conversation appeared… intense.’

Cherry’s chin tilted upwards. To anyone who knew her it was a warning signal, but her voice was controlled and without heat when she said calmly, ‘I have no intention of repeating my conversation with your sister, Signor Carella.’

‘I didn’t think you would, Miss Cherry Gibbs from England. Not for a moment. You think Sophia is hard done by?’

The overt mockery was galling. He was galling, with his to-die-for body and filmstar good-looks. Horrified such a thought had entered her mind, Cherry said crisply, ‘I would just say that I consider your treatment of your sister archaic at best and stupid at worst.’

The smile hovering about his mouth disappeared. ‘Stupid?’ he ground out. Clearly ‘archaic’ was permissible, but ‘stupid’ had most definitely touched a nerve.

He sat up on the sun-bed, the subtle sensual odour of his brown skin overlaid with the tang of the swimmingpool water filling her senses as he leant closer. ‘Why stupid?’ he murmured, his eyes like cold steel. ‘Explain yourself.’

He had asked. ‘I happen to think Sophia is far more emotionally mature than you intimated,’ she said carefully, ‘but when all is said and done she is still a sixteen-year-old girl. I’ve been that age, and if there is one thing absolutely set in concrete it’s that you do whatever the older generation says it’s foolish to do. Call it rebellion, finding your own feet, whatever, but it’s guaranteed you’ll go against the grain. And that is what Sophia is doing.’

‘Santo?’ he said flatly.

‘Santo.’ Cherry nodded. ‘You are driving her into his arms by trying to keep them apart.’

‘The problema romantico?’ The hard, autocratic face was thoughtful. ‘Si, maybe. Perhaps you have a point.’

‘Yes, definitely.’ Her voice was cool. ‘It’s Romeo and Juliet all over again.’

‘An exaggeration, but I get your drift,’ he drawled mockingly.

Hateful man. ‘Of course it’s none of my business,’ she said crisply, sliding out of the hammock and walking towards the swimming pool. ‘And I’m sure a man as well acquainted with the female sex as you obviously are knows exactly what he’s doing.’

She dived into the cool water before he could reply, needing to put some space between them. It didn’t work. When she surfaced he was right there beside her, grey eyes glinting in the baking hot sunlight.

He didn’t mince his words. ‘You think I am a womaniser?’ he asked, treading water by her side. ‘A philanderer?’

Feeling far more vulnerable than she would have liked, Cherry blinked and shook her hair out of her eyes. ‘I’ve no idea what you are,’ she prevaricated. ‘I don’t know you, do I?’

‘This is true, but I do not think it has stopped you forming an opinion.’ As she began to swim, he kept by her side. ‘Are you always so quick to make erroneous judgements?’

His voice was mild, but it didn’t fool her for a moment. She had got under his skin, it was obvious, but any satisfaction she might have felt about denting his giant ego was negated by a feeling of defencelessness. Not that she thought he would hurt her—she didn’t—but…

Forcing a calmness into her voice that was all at odds with her wildly beating heart, she said, ‘I told you. I have no opinion about you one way or the other, OK? You might have a woman for every day of the week or you could live like a monk. You were the one who talked about all those daughters of marriagable age being paraded before you, remember?’

They had reached the shallow end of the pool, where large circular steps led gently into the water. Cherry didn’t know whether to climb out or continue swimming, but in the next moment Vittorio murmured, ‘Ah, here is Margherita. I thought it would be nice to have cocktails by the pool tonight before dinner.’

He seriously expected her to sit half-naked drinking cocktails with him? Worse, the scrap of material posing as swimming trunks which all Italian men seemed to favour left nothing, absolutely nothing, to the imagination. The water was cold but Cherry felt hot all over as she watched the housekeeper’s approach.

Would she be reacting differently to his intimidating masculinity if she’d gone to bed with a man before? she asked herself feverishly as Vittorio stood up, offering his hand to her as he stood on the bottom step leading out of the pool. Possibly because she knew Angela had always slept around, even having two or three boyfriends on the go now and again, Cherry had always determined she would wait for ‘the one’ before she gave herself body and soul. She supposed in hindsight it said a lot for her lack of confidence that she and Liam would actually last, that she hadn’t given in to his constant demands that their lovemaking progress beyond the petting stage. Introducing him to Angela had been the big test. And he’d failed. Spectacularly. But had it really been a surprise?

Realising she couldn’t do anything other than take Vittorio’s hand, she, too, stood up, blessing the fact she was wearing her chaste swimming costume, its colour and cut modest. What she didn’t comprehend was that when the material was wet it clung to her body like a second skin, showing every dip and curve in a way more skimpy bikinis couldn’t hope to achieve. And then she glanced at Vittorio and saw the blazing animal desire turning the grey eyes into hot glittering orbs, before his lids came down and hid their expression from her.

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