The Forced Marriage. Sara Craven
I’d rather go to a place where we can create memories together, especially for our honeymoon. We can go to the Bahamas another time.’
‘Of course.’ He glanced at his watch, clearly bored by her marital plans—which was exactly what she’d intended, she told herself.
‘You will make out a written report of your recommendations for Vittoria? With a note of your fee?’
‘I’d prefer it if you simply passed on what I’ve said.’ Flora lifted her chin. Met his glance. ‘Treat it as cancelling all debts between us.’
‘As you wish,’ he said courteously.
It wasn’t what she’d expected, Flora thought as she trailed downstairs. She’d anticipated some kind of argument, or one of his smiling, edged remarks at the very least.
He’d clearly become bored with whatever game he’d been playing, she told herself, and that had to be all to the good.
She’d intended to continue down the stairs and out of the front door without a backward glance, but Malinda was coming up, carrying an ice bucket, and somehow Flora found herself back in the drawing room.
‘Champagne?’ Marco removed the cork with swift expertise.
‘I really should be going.’ Reluctantly she accepted the chilled flute and sat on the edge of a sofa, watching uneasily as the maid adjusted the angle of a plate of canapés on a side table and then withdrew, leaving them alone together. ‘Are you celebrating something?’
‘Of course. That I am with you again.’ He raised his own flute. ‘Salute.’
He was lounging on the arm of the sofa opposite, but she wasn’t fooled. He was as relaxed as a coiled spring—or a black panther with its victim in sight…
The bubbles soothed the sudden dryness of her throat. ‘Even if you had to trick me into being here?’
‘You didn’t meet me for dinner the other night.’ Marco shrugged. ‘What choice did I have?’
‘You could have left me in peace,’ she said in a low voice.
‘There is no peace,’ he said with sudden roughness. ‘There has not been one hour of one day since our meeting that I have not remembered your eyes—your mouth.’
She said in a stifled tone, ‘Please—you mustn’t say these things.’
‘Why?’ he demanded with intensity. ‘Because they embarrass—offend you? Or because you have thought of me too, but you don’t want to admit it? Which is it, Flora mia?’
‘You’re not being fair…’
‘You know the saying,’ he said softly. “‘All is fair in love and war.” And if I have to fight for you, cara, I will choose my own weapons.’
‘I’m engaged,’ she said, with a kind of desperation. ‘You know that. I have a life planned, and you have no place in that.’
‘So I am barred from your future. So be it. But can you not spare me a few hours from your present—tonight?’
‘That—is impossible.’
‘You are seeing your fidanzato this evening?’
‘Yes, of course. We have a great deal to discuss.’
‘Naturally,’ he said softly. ‘And have you told him about me?’
‘There was,’ she said, steadying her voice, ‘nothing to tell.’
He raised his brows. ‘He would not be interested to learn that another man knows the taste of his woman—the scent of her skin when she is roused by desire?’
‘That’s enough.’ Flora got up clumsily, spilling champagne on her skirt. ‘You have no right to speak to me like this.’
He didn’t move, staring at her through half-closed eyes. She felt his gaze touch her mouth like a brand. Scorch through her clothes to her bare flesh.
He said quietly, ‘Then give me the right. Have dinner with me tonight.’
‘I—can’t…’ Her voice sounded small and hoarse.
‘How strange you are,’ he said. ‘So confident in your work. Yet so scared to live.’
‘That’s not true…’ The protest sounded weak even in her own ears.
‘Then prove it.’ The challenge was immediate. ‘The day we met I wrote the name of a restaurant on a piece of paper.’
‘Which I threw away,’ she said, quickly and fiercely.
‘But you still remember what it was,’ he said gently. ‘Don’t you, mia bella?’
‘Why are you doing this to me?’ she whispered.
He shrugged. ‘I am simply being honest for both of us.’ He smiled at her. ‘So, tell me the name of the restaurant.’
She swallowed. ‘Pietro’s—in Gable Street.’
He nodded. ‘I shall dine there again this evening. As I told you before, you may join me there at any time after eight o’clock.’ He paused. ‘And it is just your company at dinner I’m asking for—nothing more. You have my guarantee.’
‘You mean you don’t…? You won’t ask me…?’ Flora was floundering.
‘No,’ Marco Valante said slowly. ‘At least—not tonight.’
‘Then why…?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t understand any of this.’
His smile was faint—almost catlike. ‘You will find, mia cara, that anticipation heightens the appetite. And I want you famished—ravenous.’
She felt the blood burn in her face. She said, ‘Then find some other lady to share your feast. Because, as I’ve already made clear, I’m not available—tonight or any night.’
All the way to the door she was expecting him to stop her. To feel his hand on her arm—her shoulder. To be drawn back into his embrace.
She gained the stairs. Went down them at a run. Reached the hall where Malinda appeared by magic to open the front door for her and wish her a smiling good evening.
‘It’s all right,’ Flora whispered breathlessly to herself as she crossed the square, heading for the nearest main road to pick up a cab. ‘It’s over—and you’re safe.’
And at that same moment felt a curious prickle of awareness down her spine. Knew that Marco was standing at that first floor window, watching her go.
Yet she not dare to look back and see if she was right. Proving that she wasn’t safe at all—and she knew it.
She got the cab to drop her at her neighbourhood supermarket and shopped for the weekend, spending recklessly at the deli counter and wine section.
She needed to get herself centred again, and what better way than a happy weekend with the man she loved, preparing for their future? she asked herself with a touch of defiance.
They could picnic while they worked, she thought, sweetening the pill by buying the things Chris liked best.
As she came round the corner, laden with bags, she saw that his car was parked just down the street from her flat, and felt her heart give a swift, painful thump.
She found him in the living room, sprawled in an armchair, watching a satellite sports channel, but the glance he turned on her was peevish.
‘Where on earth have you been? I was expecting you ages ago.’
‘I had a job to fit in on the way home, and I shopped.’ She held up a bulging carrier. ‘See? Goodies.’
‘Ah,’ he said slowly. ‘Actually, I can’t stay. That’s what