Notorious. Emma Darcy
of his cousin. If she played that role well enough, she’d be free to go at the end of it. That was what she had to aim for. Feeling swamped by this man’s magnetic attraction could only create a problem for her and she had problems enough.
So don’t go there.
Ever.
Dante was sharply aware of steel sliding into Jenny Kent’s backbone as he walked her down to the car that would take them to the heliport. She held her head high, straightened her shoulders and adopted an aloof air, ignoring the fact that he was still holding her hand. He briefly wondered if the idea of having some blackmail power over him was inspiring the change. Or was she simply taking courage from his assurances?
For the most part, she’d given him passive obedience since he’d forced her to take on the role of Isabella. The only rebellion she’d staged was her refusal to talk about her own life, flatly telling him he didn’t need to know. He wanted her to be Isabella and that was his only claim on her.
Oddly enough, it wasn’t easy to shrug off his curiosity about Jenny Kent, probably because most of the women he met were only too eager to tell him about themselves, courting his interest, wanting him to know them. Of course, none of them had been an unwilling captive in his company, but he was willing to bet that a week of being pampered with luxury, beautified, outfitted with ‘fine feathers’ would normally thaw any resistance they might have to giving him whatever he wanted.
Not his manufactured cousin.
She didn’t even speak unless spoken to. She soaked up what he told her about the Rossini family and offered nothing about herself. He wished there’d been time to have Jenny Kent investigated. He was taking a risk in trusting her to fulfil the role he’d insisted upon, trusting her fear of the alternative. His gut instinct told him she would deliver, which was all he should care about, yet it was definitely tantalising that she held herself so rigidly apart from any personal connection to him.
It gave him a perverse kind of pleasure to take possession of her hand. The urge to break her passivity kept niggling at him. But she didn’t fight the contact, didn’t respond to it in any way, just waited until he released it when she was stepping into the car, then sat with both her hands linked on her lap—a pointed picture of self-containment.
She did not so much as glance his way on the drive to the heliport, staring out the side window, apparently immersed in the sights and sounds of the streets they travelled. Dante felt himself challenged by her silence, by her stubborn determination to ignore him.
‘What do you think of Rome?’ he asked.
‘It doesn’t matter what I think,’ she said dismissively, still not turning her head towards him.
‘Nonno will ask. You might as well practice a reply.’
‘Then I’d sound rehearsed. Better that I don’t.’
‘I’ve been rehearsing you all week. Why stop now?’
‘Because time’s up. I’m about to go on stage and stuffing any more into my head at this point will only make me more anxious about my performance.’
It was a fair argument so he let his frustration with her slide. Whoever Jenny Kent was, she was far from stupid. Not only did she have street smarts, but also quite an impressive natural intelligence, making his task of coaching her into meeting any expectation of Isabella a relatively easy one. Her life experience was obviously a far cry from his, yet he was confident she could now fit in to the family without feeling too much like a fish out of water.
In fact, she wouldn’t just fit in, she’d shine. He’d been right about how she could look. Nonno was going to be proud to own her as his grand-daughter. She was beautiful. Quite enticingly beautiful. But he couldn’t afford to think of her like that. Nonno might see it in his eyes. Just one slip—revealing that she stirred a devilish desire in him—and the deception might unravel.
They arrived at the heliport. As Dante escorted his newly found cousin across the tarmac he watched his pilot’s reaction to her. Pierro was standing by the opened door of the helicopter, waiting to greet them and help them to their seats. He’d seen Dante with many beautiful women in tow. ‘Isabella’ lit up his eyes with a look that said ‘Wow! Knockout!’ in no uncertain terms.
Pierro couldn’t do enough for her, fussing over getting her comfortably settled in the helicopter. It won him a smile and sweetly appreciative words, neither of which had come Dante’s way all week. It was absurd to feel a twinge of jealousy, but damn it! He’d done a hell of a lot for her and she was barely civil to him.
You’ve done it to her, not for her, he reminded himself, but he was still piqued that with him she wrapped herself in a cool dignity he couldn’t penetrate. But he would. It was only a matter of time, and he’d make sure he had plenty of that with her while she was on Capri.
They landed at the villa just before noon.
Lucia, of course, was hot to meet her Australian cousin and size her up, actually coming down to the helipad instead of waiting in the shade of the colonnaded walkway. Dante felt the rush of adrenaline that always fired him up for critical meetings.
Game on! he thought, and hoped ‘Isabella’ was up to it.
‘Your cousin, Lucia,’ Dante murmured as he took Jenny’s arm, holding her steady for the high step down from the helicopter.
Jenny had already mentally identified her. Due to the shopping experience with Dante in Paris, she instantly recognised French chic. Lucia Rossini personified it: short black hair artfully cut in an asymmetrical bob; a gorgeous scarlet-and-white dress that skimmed her slim, petite figure; elegant white sandals with intricate straps around her ankles. She also carried herself with the same arrogant confidence that Jenny now associated with great wealth.
Without Dante’s intervention in dolling her up, she would have felt like dirt beneath the other woman’s feet. The style he’d chosen for her was very different, but it had more than enough unique class to make Lucia look quite miffed as she eyed her newly arrived cousin. It made her wary as Dante moved her forward for introductions.
‘Lucia, how sweet of you to welcome Isabella so eagerly!’ he drawled, his lightly mocking tone putting Jenny even more on guard.
‘Well, naturally I’m curious about a cousin I’ve never known, Dante,’ she tossed back at him, a flash of venom in her dark eyes.
Certainly no love lost between these two, Jenny thought.
‘You’ve had her to yourself for a whole week. Now it’s my turn,’ Lucia said, re-arranging her expression into a smile which didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Welcome to Capri, Isabella. I aim to make you feel at home here very quickly.’
She stepped forward, put her hands on Jenny’s shoulders and air-kissed both cheeks. Jenny instinctively reared back, not used to people invading her personal space and not liking the over-familiarity, particularly since she felt no warmth coming from this cousin.
‘Thank you,’ she muttered. ‘Very kind.’
‘Isabella is Australian, Lucia,’ Dante dryly reminded her. ‘She’s not accustomed to the Italian style of greeting. A hand-shake is more their style.’
‘Oh! How stand-offish!’ Lucia shrugged. ‘I thought Australians were known for their open friendliness.’
Jenny flushed at the implied criticism. ‘I’m sorry. I guess I’m feeling a bit strange at the moment. All this is very new to me.’
‘Well, you’ll have to learn to be Italian, too, if you want to fit into this family.’
The sheer arrogance of that statement stung Jenny’s deep resentment at being forced into this situation. ‘Maybe I won’t want to fit in.’ The words were out in a flash and she didn’t regret them. In fact, it gave her a fine satisfaction to see Lucia’s eyebrows shoot up in unplanned astonishment, as though being in the Rossini family was