Nina’s eyes narrowed fractionally, then she leaned towards Carlo, brushed her lips against his cheek, and lingered a fraction too long. ‘How are you, caro?’
‘Nina.’ Carlo was too skilful a strategist to give anything away, and too much the gentleman to do other than observe the social niceties.
He handled Nina’s overt affection with practised ease and minimum body contact. Although Nina more than made up for his reticence, Aysha noted, wondering just how he regarded the glamorous brunette’s attention.
She saw his smile, heard his laughter, and felt the tender care of his touch. Yet how much was a facade?
‘Do get me a drink, caro,’ Nina commanded lightly. ‘You know what I like.’
Oh, my, Aysha determined as Carlo excused himself and made his way to the bar. This could turn into one hell of an evening.
‘I hope you don’t expect fidelity, darling,’ Nina warned quietly. ‘Carlo has...’ she paused fractionally ‘... certain needs not every woman would be happy to fulfil.’
Cut straight to the chase, a tiny voice prompted. ‘Really, Nina? I’ll broach that with him.’
‘What will you broach, and with whom?’
Speak of the devil... Aysha turned towards him as he handed Nina a slim flute of champagne.
Quite deliberately she tilted her chin and gazed into his dark gleaming eyes with amused serenity. She’d had plenty of smile practice, and she proffered one of pseudo-sincerity. ‘Nina expressed her concern regarding my ability to fulfil your needs.’
Carlo’s expression didn’t change, and Aysha dimly registered that as a poker player he would be almost without equal.
‘Really?’
It seemed difficult to comprehend a single word could hold such a wealth of meaning. Or the quiet tone convey such a degree of cold anger.
The tension was evident, although Carlo hadn’t moved so much as a muscle. Anyone viewing the scene would assume the three of them were engaged in pleasant conversation.
‘Perhaps Nina and I should get together and compare notes,’ Aysha declared with wicked humour.
Nina lifted the flute to her lips and took a delicate sip. ‘What for, darling? My notes are bound to be far more extensive than yours.’
Wasn’t that the truth? She caught a glimpse of aqua silk and saw Teresa and Giuseppe enter the room, and wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed at their appearance.
Her mother would assess Nina’s presence in an instant, and seek to break up their happy little threesome.
Aysha began a silent countdown... Three minutes to greet their hosts, another three to acknowledge a few friends.
‘There you are, darling.’
Right on cue. Aysha turned towards her mother and proffered an affectionate smile. ‘Mamma. You weren’t held up too long, after all.’ She indicated the tall brunette. ‘You remember Nina?’
Teresa eyes sharpened, although her features bore a charming smile. ‘Of course. How nice to see you again.’
A lie, if ever there was one. Polite society, Aysha mused. Good manners hid a multitude of sins. If she were to obey her base instincts, she’d tell Nina precisely where to go and how to complete the journey.
There was an inherent need to show her claws, but this wasn’t the time or place.
‘Shall we go in to dinner?’
A respite, Aysha determined with a sense of relief. Unless their hostess had chosen unwisely and placed Nina in close proximity.
The dining room was large, the focal point being the perfectly set table positioned beneath a sparkling crystal chandelier of exquisite design.
The scene resembled a photograph lifted out of the social pages of a glossy magazine. It seemed almost a sacrilege for guests to spoil the splendid placement precision.
Although there were, she noted, a waiter and waitress present to serve allotted food portions at prearranged intervals. Likewise the imported wine would flow, but not at a rate that was considered too free.
Respectability, decorum, an adherence to exemplary good manners, with carefully orchestrated conversational topics guaranteed to stimulate the guests’ interest.
Aysha caught Nina’s gleam of silent mockery, and had an insane desire to disrupt it. A little, just a little.
Nothing overt, she decided as she selected a spoon and dipped it into the part-filled bowl of mushroom soup.
The antipasto offered a superb selection, and the serving of linguini with its delicate cream and mushroom sauce couldn’t be faulted.
‘Could you have the waiter pour me some wine, darling?’ Aysha cast Carlo a stunning smile. She rarely drank alcohol, and he knew it. However, she figured she had sufficient food in her stomach to filter the effect if she sipped it slowly.
Her request resulted in a slanted eyebrow, and she offered him the sweetest smile. ‘Please.’
If he hesitated, or attempted to censure her in any way, she’d kill him.
A glance was all it took for the waiter to fill her glass, and seconds later she lifted the crystal flute to her lips and savoured the superb Chablis.
Giuseppe smiled, and lifted his own glass in a silent salute.
A few glasses of fine wine, good food, pleasant company. It took little to please her father. He was a man of simple tastes. He had worked hard all his life, achieved more than most men; he owned a beautiful home, had chosen a good woman as his wife, and together they had raised a wonderful daughter who was soon to be married to the son of his best friend and business partner. His life was good. Very good.
Dear Papà, Aysha thought fondly as the wine began to have a mellowing effect. He was everything a father should be, and more. A man who had managed to blend the best of the Old Country with the best of the new. The result was a miscible blend of wisdom and warmth tempered with pride and passion.
The main course was served... tender breast of chicken in a delicate basil sauce with an assortment of vegetables.
Her elbow touched Carlo’s arm, and she lowered her hand to her lap as she unconsciously toyed with her napkin. His thigh was close to her own. Very close.
Slowly, very slowly, she moved her leg until it rested against his. It would be so easy to glide her foot over his. With extreme care, she cautioned silently. Stiletto heels as fine as hers should almost be registered as a dangerous weapon. The idea was to arouse his attention, not cause him an injury.
Gently she positioned the toe of her shoe against his ankle, then inched it slowly back and forth without moving her heel, thereby making it impossible for anyone to detect what she was doing.
This could be fun, she determined as she let her fingers slide towards his thigh. A butterfly touch, fleeting.
Should she be more daring? Perhaps run the tip of her manicured fingernail down the outer seam of the trousered leg so close to her own? Maybe even...
Ah, that brought a reaction. Slight, but evident, nonetheless. And the slight but warning squeeze of his fingers as they caught hold of her own.
Aysha met his gaze fearlessly as he turned towards her, and she glimpsed the musing indolence apparent beneath the gleaming warmth of those dark brown depths.
Without missing a beat, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed each finger in turn, watching the way her eyes dilated in startled surprise. Then he returned her hand to rest on his thigh, tracing a slow pattern over the fine bones, aware of her slight tremor as he deliberately forestalled her effort to pull free.
It was fortunate they were between courses. Aysha looked at the remaining wine in her glass, and opted for chilled water. Wisdom decreed the need for a clear head. Each brush of his fingers sent flame licking through her veins, and she clenched her hand, then dug her nails into hard thigh muscle in silent entreaty.
She experienced momentary relief when Carlo released her hand, only to suppress a faint gasp as she felt his fingers close over her thigh.
CHAPTER FOUR
AYSHA reached for her glass and took a sip of iced water, and cast the table’s occupants
a quick, encompassing glance.
Her eyes rested briefly on Nina, witnessed her hard, calculating glance before it was quickly masked, and felt a shiver glide down the length of her spine.
Malevolence, no matter how fleeting, was disconcerting. Envy and jealousy in others were unenviable traits, and something she’d learned to deal with from a young age. It had accelerated with her engagement to Carlo. Doubtless it would continue long after the marriage.
She wanted love... desperately. But she’d settle for fidelity. Even the thought that he might look seriously at another woman made it feel as if a hand took hold of her heart and squeezed until it bled.
‘What do you think, Aysha?’
Oh, hell. It wasn’t wise to allow distraction to interfere with the thread of social conversation. Especially not when you were a guest of honour.
She looked at Carlo with a silent plea for help, and met his humorous gaze.
‘Luisa doesn’t agree I should keep our honeymoon destination a surprise.’
A second was all it took to summon a warm smile.
‘I need to pack warm clothes.’ Her eyes gleamed and a soft laugh escaped her lips. ‘That’s all I know.’
‘Europe. The snowfields?’ The older woman’s eyes twinkled. ‘Maybe North America. Canada?’
‘I really have no idea,’ Aysha declared.
Dessert comprised individual caramelised baskets filled with segments of fresh fruit served with brandied cream.
‘Sinful,’ Aysha declared quietly as she savoured a delectable mouthful.
‘I shouldn’t, but I will,’ Luisa uttered ruefully. ‘Tomorrow I’ll compensate with fresh juice for breakfast and double my gym workout.’
Teresa, she noted, carefully removed the cream, speared a few segments of fruit, and left the candied basket. As mother of the bride, she couldn’t afford to add even a fraction of a kilo to her svelte figure.
It was half an hour before the hostess requested they move into the lounge for coffee.
Aysha declined the very strong espresso brew and opted for a much milder blend with milk. The men took it short and sweet, added grappa, and converged together to exchange opinions on anything from bocce to the state of the government.
Argue, Aysha amended fondly, all too aware that familiar company, good food, fine wine all combined to loosen the male Italian tongue and encourage reminiscence.
She loved to listen to the cadence of their voices as they lapsed into the language of their birth. It was expressive, accompanied by the philosophical shrug of masculine shoulders, the hand movements to emphasise a given point.
‘Giuseppe is in his element.’
Aysha mentally prepared herself as she turned to face Nina. One glance was all it took to determine Nina’s manner was the antithesis of friendly.
‘Is there any reason why he shouldn’t be?’
‘The wedding is a major coup.’ The smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘Congratulations, darling. I should have known you’d pull it off.’
Aysha inclined her head. ‘Thank you, Nina. I’ll take that as a compliment.’
There was no one close enough to overhear the quiet exchange. Which was a pity. It merely offered Nina the opportunity to aim another poisoned dart.
‘How does it feel to be second-best? And know your inherited share in the family firm is the sole reason for the marriage?’
‘Considering Carlo is due to inherit his share in the family firm, perhaps you should ask him the same question.’
Successfully fielded. Nina didn’t like it. Her eyes narrowed, and the smile moved up a notch in artificial brilliance.
‘You’re the one who has to compete with Bianca’s ghost,’ Nina offered silkily, and Aysha waited for the punchline. ‘All cats are alike in the dark, darling. Didn’t you know?’
Oh, my. This was getting dirty. ‘Really?’ Her cheeks hurt from keeping a smile pinned in place. ‘Perhaps you should try it with the lights on, some time.’
As scores went, it hardly rated a mention. And the victory was short-lived, for it was doubtful Nina would allow anyone to gain an upper hand for long.
‘Aysha.’ Luisa appeared at her side. ‘Teresa has just been telling me about the flowers for the church. Orchids make a lovely display, and the colour combination will be exquisite.’
She was a guest of honour, the focus her wedding day. It was easy to slip into animated mode and discuss details. Only the wedding dress and the cake were taboo.
Except talking and answering questions merely reinforced how much there still was to do, and how essential the liaison with the wedding organiser Teresa had chosen to co-ordinate everything.
The invitation responses were all in, the seating arrangements were in their final planning stage. According to Teresa, any one of the two little flower girls and two page boys could fall victim to a malicious virus, or contract mumps, measles or chicken pox. Alternately, one or all could become paralysed with fright on the day and freeze half-way down the aisle.
At ages three and four, anything was possible.
‘My flower girl scattered rose petals down the aisle perfectly at rehearsal, only to take three steps forward on the day, tip the entire contents of the basket on the carpet, and run crying to her mother,’ recalled one of the guests.
Aysha remembered the incident, and another wedding where the page boy had carried the satin ring-cushion with such pride and care, then refused to give it up at the appropriate moment. A tussle had ensued, followed by tears and a tantrum.
It had been amusing at the time, and she really didn’t care if one of the children made a mistake, or missed their cue. It was a wedding, not a movie which relied on talented actors to perform a part.
Her mother, she knew, didn’t hold the same view.
Aysha glanced towards Carlo, and felt the familiar pull of her senses. Dark, well-groomed hair, a strong shaped head. Broad shoulders accentuated by perfect tailoring.
A slight inclination of his head brought his profile into focus. The wide, sculpted bone structure, the strong jaw. Well-defined cheekbones, and the glimpse of his mouth.
Fascinated, she watched each movement, her eyes clinging to the shape of him, aware just how he felt without the constriction of clothes. She was familiar with his body’s musculature, the feel and scent of his skin.
At this precise moment she would have given anything to cross to his side and have his arm curve round her waist. She could lean in against him, and savour the anticipation of what would happen when they were alone.
He was fond of her, she knew. There were occasions when he completely disconcerted her by appearing to read her mind. But that special empathy between two lovers wasn’t there. No matter how desperately she wanted it to be.
Did he know she could tell the moment he entered a room? She didn’t have to see him, or hear his voice. A developed sixth sense alerted her of his presence, and her body reacted as if he’d reached out and touched her.
All the fine hairs moved on the surface of her skin, and the back of her neck tingled in recognition.
Damnable, she cursed silently.
It was after eleven when the first of the guests took their leave, and almost midnight when Teresa and Giuseppe indicated an intention to depart.
Aysha thanked their hosts, smiled until her face hurt, and quivered slightly when Carlo caught hold of her hand as they followed her parents down the steps to their respective cars.
‘Goodnight, darling.’ Teresa leaned forward and brushed her daughter’s cheek.
Aysha stood as Carlo unlocked the car, then she slid into the passenger seat, secured her belt, and leaned back against the headrest as Carlo fired the engine.
‘Tired?’
She was conscious of his discerning glance seconds before he set the car in motion.
‘A little.’ She closed her eyes, and let the vehicle’s movement and the quietness of the night seep into her bones.
‘Do you want me to take you home?’
A
silent sigh escaped her lips, and she effected a rueful smile. ‘Now there’s a question. Which home are you talking about? Yours, mine or ours?’
‘The choice is yours.’
Was it? The new house was completely furnished, and awaiting only the final finishing touches. Her own bedroom beckoned, but that was fraught with implication Teresa would query in the morning.
Besides, she coveted the touch of his hands, the feel of his body, his mouth devastating her own.
Then she could pretend that good lovemaking was a substitute for love. That no one was meant to have it all, and in Carlo, their future together, she had more than her share.
‘The penthouse.’
Carlo didn’t comment, and she wondered if it would have made any difference if she’d said home.
An ache started up in the pit of her stomach, and intensified until it became a tangible pain as he slowed the car, de-activated the security system guarding entrance to the luxury apartment building, then eased down into the underground car park and brought the vehicle to a halt in his allotted space.
They rode the lift to the top floor in silence, and inside the apartment Aysha went willingly into his arms, his bed, an eager supplicant to anything he chose to bestow.
It was just after nine when Aysha eased the Porsche into an empty space in an inner city car park building, and within minutes she stepped off the escalator and emerged onto the pavement.
It was a beautiful day, the sky a clear azure with hardly a cloud in sight, and the sun’s warmth bathed all beneath it with a balmy summer brilliance. Her needs were few, the purchases confined to four boutiques, three of which were within three blocks of each other.
Two hours, tops, she calculated, then she’d meet her bridesmaids for lunch. At two she had a hair appointment, followed by a manicure, and tonight she was attending an invitation-only preview of the first in a series of foreign films scheduled to appear over the next month.
Each evening there was something filling their social engagement diary. Although last night when Carlo had suggested dining out she’d insisted they eat in... and somehow the decision hadn’t got made one way or the other. She retained a vivid recollection of why, and a secret smile curved her lips as she slid her sunglasses into place.
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 45