Latin Lovers: Italian Husbands: The Italian's Bought Bride / The Italian Playboy's Secret Son / The Italian Doctor's Perfect Family. Кейт Хьюит
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.
Allegra sank onto the bed, overwhelmed and overawed. Even though it was only early afternoon, she stripped off her clothes and slipped beneath the cool, smooth sheets.
She could hardly credit that she was here, in Stefano’s house, in Stefano’s bed … one of them, anyway. She laughed aloud, but the sound held no humour. Alone in the huge bedroom, it sounded lonely. Little.
Allegra closed her eyes. Emotions had been flickering through her since she’d first seen Stefano again, flickering to life after seven years of numbness, and she was tired of them, tired of feeling. She didn’t want to analyse how she felt, what she thought, what Stefano felt or thought.
She just wanted to be. To do her job, as Stefano had told her to. She hoped, when she finally met Lucio, she could forget about Stefano completely …
On that hazy thought, sleep overtook her.
She woke to a light knock on the door as late afternoon sunlight slanted across the floor.
‘Allegra?’ Stefano called softly. ‘You’ve been asleep for four hours. We need to get ready for the dinner.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, pushing a tangle of hair from her eyes. Stefano opened the door and Allegra was conscious of her dishevelled appearance, the fact that, even with the coverlet held up to her chest, it was quite obvious she was wearing only a bra and panties.
Stefano’s gaze swept over her for one blazing second, and Allegra felt an answering awareness fire her nerve endings, turn her breathless.
Then his face blanked and he gave her a polite, impersonal smile. ‘There is a selection of evening gowns for you to choose from downstairs. I’ll bring them up.’
‘A selection?’ Allegra repeated in surprise, but Stefano had already gone.
Allegra took the opportunity to slip out of bed and throw on the clothes she’d left discarded on the floor. She was just tying her hair back when he reappeared a few moments later with several elegantly embossed carrier bags.
‘Everything you need should be in there,’ he said. ‘We need to leave in a little under an hour. Anna is going to bring you up some antipasti. You missed lunch.’ He smiled briefly, a teasing, affectionate look in his eyes that did something strange—something pleasant—to Allegra’s insides.
‘Thank you,’ she managed, ‘for being so thoughtful.’
He inclined his head. ‘You’re welcome.’
It was a simple exchange, almost meaningless, and yet, as Stefano left, closing the door behind him, Allegra realized she’d enjoyed it. She liked things simple. She liked not wondering what the hidden meaning or feeling was.
She wanted to enjoy. Enjoy an evening playing dress up like a little girl let loose in her mother’s wardrobe.
Smiling at the thought, Allegra reached for the carrier bags.
Stefano had provided everything—three different designer gowns, all with matching shoes and wraps, as well as undergarments and tights.
She let the silky, luxurious fabrics slide through her fingers. She hadn’t had such beautiful clothes in seven years. Hadn’t needed them and certainly hadn’t been able to afford them.
She was touched by Stefano’s thoughtfulness, even though she knew it was simply his way of operating. She was in his care, so he would provide for her. Everything, always, whether she liked it or not.
She chose a slim-fitting knee-length gown in taupe silk. It was simple yet elegant and clearly well made. She liked the way the silk rippled over her, smoothing to a silhouette as she tugged up the zip.
In the bottom of one of the bags, Stefano had left a small velvet box and when Allegra opened it she let out a small shocked gasp.
They were the earrings he’d given to her the day before the wedding. The earrings he’d told her he couldn’t wait to see her wearing. The earrings she’d never worn, just as there had been so many things she’d never done.
She slipped them from their velvet bed, saw the way the lamplight glinted off their myriad facets, and blinked back tears.
She didn’t know why she felt like crying; she couldn’t untangle the way she felt. Yet, at that moment, she didn’t feel like a possession—she felt like a treasure.
This was dangerous, she knew. Dangerous to let herself feel this way, to flirt on the blurred edge of friendship. It would be far safer to keep her distance from Stefano, to maintain that professional facade.
Yet