"The designer has himself selected several gowns for
your consideration, and they have been couriered here
from Milano."
They were being left in no doubt as to the great
honour being bestowed on them, Jodie reflected, but
she had to admit that it was equally obvious that the
direttrice was very impressed by Lorenzo.
She turned to look anxiously at Jodie and then exhaled
slightly. "Bene, your fiance.e is not tall, it is true,
but she has the right slenderness for our clothes. If
you will come with me…"
"I am afraid that I have several business appointments
I must keep," Lorenzo apologised. "But I know
I can leave my fiance.e safely in your hands. I shall
return for her in two hours."
The direttrice looked disappointed, but resigned,
whilst Jodie watched Lorenzo leave and told herself
that it was ridiculous for her to feel somehow abandoned.
She was taken to a private room, where she perched
on a small gilt chair as label-clad acolytes reverently
presented her with a selection of wedding gowns from
what she understood from the direttrice was the very
latest collection.
Jodie was no designer label junkie, but these were
very special, and she was forced to admit that she
was in danger of losing her heart to them all. But in
the end there could only be one choice, and she made
it, rebelliously selecting a gown that was in fact a
tightly fitting corset bodice with an elegantly draped
skirt that fitted it so perfectly it looked as though it
were actually a dress and not two pieces.
The direttrice beamed her approval.
"Yes, that is the one I would have chosen for you.
It is very simple, but very elegant, very regal — truly
a wedding gown for a princess. We have guessed your
size from the Duce’s description of you. So many
times a man tells us one thing and we discover…"
She gave a small resigned shrug. "But fortunately the
Duce was correct."
Half an hour later, Jodie faced her own reflection
in the mirror. A young woman who was almost a
stranger to her looked back. Jodie blinked and felt her
eyes blur with emotional tears. If only her parents,
her mother, could have seen her dressed like this. The
gown made her look taller, and emphasised her tiny
waist. A fitted lace jacket with three-quarter sleeves
concealed any bare flesh. The train was so long and
so heavy that Jodie worried that she wouldn’t be able
to manage it.
"It is perfect for you," the direttrice sighed ecstatically.
"The maestro will be so pleased. Now, for the
other things you will need…"
It was another hour before the direttrice finally declared
herself satisfied, by which time Jodie had been
provided with a deliciously curvy suit that could be
dressed up for evening or worn more simply during
the daytime, along with a selection of tops to go with
it, two pairs of impossibly flatteringly cut trousers, a
summer-weight coat with a matching skirt, two pretty
silky dresses, plus shoes and handbags, and what
seemed like an enormous amount of "everyday
things", as the direttrice had called them, from the
designer"s more casual jeans-based range. The only
way she could assuage her guilt over such blatant
consumerism would be to insist that Lorenzo made
good his promise to make a charity donation equivalent
to the cost of her new clothes, Jodie reflected.
She was just beginning to get tired, and felt relieved
when the door to the private room opened and
Lorenzo walked in.
"You have everything you need?" he asked her.
Jodie nodded her head.
Thanking the direttrice, who promised that those
items that were in need of small alterations would be
delivered to the apartment by the following afternoon,
Lorenzo ushered her back out onto the now dark
street.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
"Very," Jodie admitted.
"There is a restaurant a short distance from here
where they serve simple but excellent local food."
The restaurant was down a narrow street, its tables
set out on the pavement, and they had to edge their
way to one of the few tables that was empty.
"If you would like me to recommend something for
you?" Lorenzo offered once they were seated and the
waiter had brought menus.
"Yes, please — but nothing too heavy," Jodie begged
him, "otherwise I won’t be able to sleep."
"Very well, then. Perhaps not the affettati misti to
start with, which is a traditional selection of cold
meats, but instead pinzimonio, which is fresh vegetables
with olive oil?"
"That sounds perfect," Jodie agreed.
"Then, if it will not be too heavy for you, you
should try the lasagne al forno — it is a speciality of
Florence and like no other lasagne you will ever have
tasted," he assured her.
Smiling, Jodie nodded her head. "What are you going
to have?" she asked him.
"I shall start with the affettati misti and then I think
calamari in zimino — stewed squid," he explained, and
Jodie pulled a face.
All around them other diners were talking and
laughing, whole families eating together, Jodie noticed
slightly enviously. Her only family were her
cousin David and his wife Andrea, and though she
and David had always got on well, there was a nine-
year gap between them. David had already been married
when her parents had been killed, and his parents—
her father"s brother and his wife — had returned
to her aunt"s home country of Canada.
"Tomorrow morning I have arranged for us to visit
my bank," Lorenzo was telling her. "There are some
papers there it is necessary for you to sign. I have
opened a bank account for you, and the family betrothal
ring is in the bank"s vaults, along with certain
other pieces of jewellery. The ring will have to be
cleaned, and possibly resized — although, like you, my
mother had very slender fingers."
Their first course had arrived, but Jodie discovered
that she had lost her appetite a little.
"what’s wrong?" Lorenzo asked her.
"I Don’t feel happy about the idea of wearing a
valuable piece of jewellery," she told him truthfully.
"Especially not some kind of family heirloom. What
if I were to lose it?"
"I am the head of my family and you are to be my
bride. It will be expected that you will wear the family
betrothal ring," Lorenzo told her firmly.
"couldn’t you have a copy made or something?"
Jodie persisted.
Lorenzo started to frown. "If it concerns you so
much, then I shall think about it. Now, eat your dinner—
otherwise Carlo will think that you do not like
his food, and to a Florentine that is a very great insult."
The next morning Lorenzo allowed Jodie a little more
time to gaze in awe at her surroundings as they
walked through the city to his bank. She was wearing
some of her new clothes — an outfit she had privately
labelled Roman Holiday, because it comprised a pair
of linen Capri pants in a mixture of creams and tans
that sat low on her hips, teamed with a plain tan top.
Woven wedges with tan ties and a quirky little bag
completed the outfit, to which Jodie had been forced
by the bright morning sunshine to add her own sunglasses.
Although she was too engrossed in her surroundings
to be aware of the admiring male glances she
was collecting, Lorenzo most certainly wasn’t.
Remembered bitterness darkened his eyes. Women
were too vulnerable to the flattery of other men and
their own egos, as he already knew. But it didn’t matter
to him how many other men found Jodie desirable,
did it? He had no feelings for her, and nor was he
going to allow himself to develop any.
"This way."
Lorenzo’s curt instruction reminded Jodie of how
much she disliked and resented his arrogance. She felt
nothing but pity for the poor woman who did eventually
become his "real" wife, she decided.
Nowadays Florence might be famous for its works
of art, but there had been a time when its fame had
rested on the reputation of its bankers — of whom the
Medici family had been members, Jodie remembered
as they stepped into the cool, cathedral-like sombreness
of Lorenzo’s bank.
The formalities appertaining to the opening of a
bank account for her were soon dealt with, allowing
them to be taken down a marble stairway to an impressive
pillared and gilded room patrolled by two
armed guards. They were given a key and escorted to
one of several small private rooms, furnished with a
table and several chairs. Here they had to wait for the
vault manager and one of the armed guards to return
with a locked safety deposit box, which was put on
the desk in front of Lorenzo. He then produced a key
and inserted it into the lock. Only then did the manager
and the guard leave them to lock themselves in
the small room.
Only the hum of the air-conditioning broke the silence
as Lorenzo turned the key. She was, Jodie discovered,
actually holding her breath.
Lorenzo lifted the lid of the box. Quickly Jodie
looked away. She had very mixed feelings about old
and priceless jewellery. For one thing, it always
seemed to possess a dark and tainted history — if not
because of the way it had been mined, then often
because of the acts of cruelty and greed of those people
who had wanted to possess it. No wonder priceless
stones were so often said to be cursed.
Lorenzo looked down into the box. The last time
it had been opened had been following the death of
his mother. He had a savage impulse to slam the lid
shut, to take Jodie by the hand and to go out into the
bright warmth of the sunshine. But he could not do
that. He was a Montesavro, and the head of his family,
and besides, what ghosts — if there were such
things — could possibly lurk here, in this piece of
metal? His fingers closed round the familiar faded
velvet box he remembered from his childhood.
"Here it is," he told Jodie brusquely, closing the
safety deposit box and relocking it before opening the
ring box.
"There is a legend that when the woman who wears
this ring is pure the stone glows with a particular clarity.
My mother always claimed that it was the stone
itself that was clouded," he added cynically, as Jodie
stared in disbelief at the huge rectangular emerald surrounded
by white flashing diamonds.
"I can’t possibly wear that," she protested. "I’d be
terrified of losing it. I wouldn’t feel safe unless I had
an armed guard with me. It must be worth…" She
shook her head, and Lorenzo frowned, recognising
not awed excitement in her voice at the thought of
the ring"s value but instead shocked distaste. A
woman who felt distaste rather than excitement at the
thought of wearing expensive jewellery? Such a
woman was so far removed from his own experience
that he hadn’t imagined one might exist.
"let’s see if it fits before we start arguing about
whether or not you will wear it," he told her coolly.
Jodie could feel her hand starting to shake when
Lorenzo gripped her wrist and then slid the ring down
onto her ring finger. The very weight of it felt uncomfortable.
Jodie frowned, and immediately went to
tug it off.
"No, leave it!"
The peremptory bite of Lorenzo’s voice shocked
her into stillness.
Lorenzo’s frown deepened as he studied the ring,
lifting her hand so that he could inspect it more
closely.
"what’s wrong?" she asked him uncertainly.
"Look into it and tell me what you can see,"
Lorenzo instructed her.
Reluctantly Jodie did so. "I can’t see anything," she
told him, confused.
And neither could he, Lorenzo acknowledged. The
ring was totally free of the vague cloudiness which
he remembered had so dissatisfied his mother. A freak
of chance? A difference in chemical reactions between
one woman"s skin and another"s? There had to
be a logical reason for the clarity of the emerald when
Jodie wore it.
Oblivious to the conflicting emotions Lorenzo was
trying to repress, Jodie tugged off the ring and handed
it back to him.
"I meant what I said. I’m not wearing it," she told
him hardily.
"We shall see. Certainly you will have to wear it
on Sunday, when we attend church for the first reading
of our banns," Lorenzo informed her.
She knew someone who would be envious of her
supposed betrothal ring, Jodie thought half an hour
later, after they had left the bank. And that was
Louise. Jodie could well imagine her reaction were
she to turn up at John’s wedding wearing it!
Automatically, to cheer herself up, she tried to conjure
up some satisfying images of her moment of triumph—
but somehow the sense of elation she wanted
just wasn’t there. But that was the only reason she
was putting herself through this whole palaver, allowing
herself to be bullied and hectored…and made love
to…by Lorenzo. wasn’t it?
CHAPTER NINE
THERE could be far, far worse ways in which to spend
the next twelve months than exploring this wonderful
city, Jodie thought happily as she took her reluctant
leave of the Medici Palace and headed for the Piazza
Signoria.
She had the day to herself, Lorenzo having announced
earlier that he had some business to attend
to and would be gone until after lun
ch. Not that she
minded — not one little bit. It was just the sight of so
many couples strolling hand in hand that was making
her aware of not having his imperious, imposing presence
at her side, and nothing at all personal. How
could it be? She was determined not to let down her
emotional guard with any man ever again, and even
if she hadn’t been she would have to be a complete
fool to fall in love with a man like Lorenzo.
No, it was just the warmth of the summer sun and
the effect of Florence itself on her emotions that was
giving her that inner feeling of sadness. Of course if
Lorenzo had been with her he would have been able
to tell her much more about the city than any guidebook.
But determinedly she reminded herself firmly
of how the tension that had somehow crept into even
their most mundane conversational exchanges made
her feel on edge — as though somehow she was on a
constant adrenalin surge, her body waiting… For
what? For him to touch her again? Her thoughts were
drifting down dangerous pathways, she warned
herself.
She tried to focus on the square and its famous
sculptures, pausing to check the guidebook she had
bought earlier. While she was living here she could
even try to learn Italian and turn her year of marriage
into a means of adding to her future CV. That would
give her something far better to occupy her thoughts
than these dangerous sensual longings that had begun
to creep up on her so disturbingly. Of course Lorenzo
would be a good lover, she told herself scathingly.
She didn’t need to experience his lovemaking at first
hand to know that!
The city was busy with other tourists, and by the
time she had walked as far as the Uffizi, having decided
to leave exploring the Palazzo Vecchio for another
occasion, she was beginning to feel both tired
and thirsty. There was a cafe.-bar in the square near
to the apartment, she remembered, and it would not
take her long to walk there.
When she got there, the small square was so busy
that at first she thought she wouldn’t be able to get a
table. But finally she found one, and sat down with a
small sigh of relief.
Half an hour later, she was just finishing her second
cup of coffee when a handsome young Italian approached
her table.
"Scusi, signorina," he apologised, giving her a
boldly flattering smile. "May I share your table? Only
THE ITALIAN DUKE’S WIFE Page 11