Abby lifted her eyes to his, frustration zipping through her. ‘This doesn’t exactly look like the kind of place that invites trouble.’
‘Still, you are particularly good at finding your way into it,’ he said, his words not showing a hint of humour or kindness. ‘Try not to seduce any of the local businessmen, tempesta. You will not find their secrets worth keeping. Nor their wealth worth having, compared to mine.’
She sucked in an angry breath, her chest burning with the unfairness of his accusation. ‘I didn’t seduce you…’
He laughed and then shook his head as if sobering with the speed of lightning. He reached across and gripped her chin between his forefinger and thumb. ‘You seduced me a year ago, make no mistake. But I have your measure now; you will not find me so foolish again.’
She wanted to tell him to go to hell, that she wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot bargepole for a million dollars, but already her body was making a liar of her, warming beneath his touch, filling with remembered pleasures.
His eyes roamed her face, dark emotions spiralling through them. ‘Did you make a habit of doing your father’s bidding?’
A soft sigh fell from Abby’s lips. ‘I love him,’ she said simply. ‘He’s my dad.’
Something flickered in Gabe’s expression and he dropped his hand. ‘He’s a fool.’
Sadness began to ricochet through Abby. ‘It’s not that simple,’ she demurred with a small shake of her head. ‘He’s just… Since losing Mom, the business is all he has. He’s so proud of his company but since Bright Spark came onto the scene it’s been so hard for him.’
‘My products dominate because they are, simply, better.’
His arrogance was no less galling because it was the truth. ‘I’m trying to explain that he would do anything to succeed…’
‘Including sending his only child to bed with a man she barely knew.’
‘God, don’t be so… You make it sound so sleazy,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘It wasn’t like that.’
‘No?’ Snow had begun to fall and it was blanketing the windscreen, removing the square from their view and vice versa. In the distance, she could hear beautiful Benedictine-type music, those lovely melodious chants, and she wondered if there was a church nearby.
‘What was it like then?’
Abby swallowed, drawing her gaze back to Gabe’s. ‘He just wanted me to find stuff out about Calypso,’ she said, her eyes falling away again almost instantly. His fury and contempt were not easy to face. ‘The going to bed with you thing was all me.’
‘So you remained a virgin until twenty-two, only to fall into bed with someone you barely knew? That sounds unlikely.’
It sounded preposterous. How could she explain that he wasn’t like anyone she’d ever known? That he had been bone-meltingly perfect and every cell in her body had recognised that they were meant to sleep together, that he was what she’d been waiting for?
The thought was one she certainly didn’t appreciate.
Abby wasn’t going to share that train of thought with Gabe. He was looking at her with the kind of mockery that made her want to lash out—to diminish what they’d shared in the same way he had.
‘I was a twenty-two-year-old virgin,’ she heard herself say, laughing. ‘I just wanted to sleep with someone.’ The lie was weird in her mouth but she was glad for it when she saw the way his face paled beneath his tan. Good. ‘Anyone would have done, but you happened to be there…’
He swore, bringing his face closer to hers. ‘You are not what I thought,’ he said darkly.
‘No? Well, that’s mutual. My dad was definitely right about you.’
If she’d known him better, she would have understood that the wolfish smile on his face held a warning.
‘I’m almost certain he was,’ Gabe agreed. His face was dangerously close to Abby’s but she didn’t back down; she barely even noticed. She was lost in his gaze.
‘So you slept with me because you wanted to have sex.’
‘Yes.’
‘Despite having waited…’
‘I didn’t wait for any magical reason,’ she snapped. ‘I just didn’t get around to it…’
‘Until you met me.’
‘Look, Gabe.’ She aimed for irreverent amusement, but the words sounded strangled. Now that she’d committed to this, she had to keep going. ‘I was embarrassed by my virginity, okay? I wanted to be like any other woman my age.’
He stared at her long and hard and then shook his head, his expression cold. ‘You failed. You are not like any woman I have ever met.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
GABE SLAMMED THE car door shut with more force than he’d intended. Their argument—her admissions—had got under his skin and he couldn’t, for the life of him, say why! He had long since ceased thinking anything but the worst of his son’s mother, so why should he be surprised that she’d used him simply to get rid of her unwanted virginity?
Because it hadn’t felt like that. The night they’d shared had been different for Gabe. Despite the fact he had been with many women in his time, he’d never had the privilege of being a woman’s first. That she’d trusted him had meant something to Gabe. How foolish!
She’d had an itch, that was all, and she’d used him to scratch it.
‘I’ve never done this before,’ she’d whispered, her eyes not meeting his. Moonlight had filtered into the apartment, casting her naked body in silver dust.
‘You’ve never done what? Slept with a man you’ve just met?’
She’d shaken her head and then met his gaze, her eyes locking onto his as though drawn to them by threads of biological imperative. ‘Slept with any man.’
The confession had robbed him of breath. ‘How is that possible?’ He’d pulled her closer to his body, seeing the way desire flushed her skin as his arousal pressed hard to her body.
She’d groaned, rolling her hips in an innate instinctive need to be close to him. ‘I just didn’t get around to it before.’
He’d nodded, an unusual uncertainty shifting through him, causing him to pause. ‘We don’t have to, Abby. Your first time is…special…a gift.’
‘I want to,’ she’d whispered, lifting onto her tiptoes to kiss him. ‘Please, Gabe. I want you to be my first.’
Liar.
She had told him the truth originally, only he hadn’t listened. I just didn’t get around to it before. That was the real reason for her virginity. For whatever reason, she’d not had sex. That was her choice, just as sleeping with him had been her choice. But it hadn’t been a gift; it simply hadn’t mattered to her.
And now it didn’t matter to Gabe. If possible, his opinion of Abigail Howard sank even lower. His mouth was a grim line as he stormed through Fiamatina. There was nothing for it; he would marry her but he certainly didn’t relish the prospect. Not one bit.
* * *
The condemnation rang in her ears—and there was no other way to describe the tone of his voice, the words he’d chosen. He hadn’t meant the parting shot—that she was unlike any woman he’d ever known—as a compliment. He had intended to hurt her. Or perhaps he hadn’t; perhaps he’d simply been speaking his mind and it was Abby’s feelings that were making her vulnerable to his judgement.
His words consumed her, so that she walked through the village for at least an hour before realising that she was freezing cold, and also that she’d been so wrapped up in her tortured reflections she’d barely seen a thing. With a soft sigh of frustration, she pushed Gabe from her mind, or resolved to try, and made herself look at her surroundings. She’d wandered in a circle and was now in a street that was at the end of the square where he’d parked his car. He’d told her to meet him back there in two hours, meaning she had a little over an hour left to explore.
Warming up was also a priority. The street she was in was lined w
ith shops. A few were closed but the third she passed was open and she pushed inside, realising when she entered that it had a collection of gifts. Nothing gaudy or touristic though; the items assembled were all of the highest quality.
‘Ciao, signorina!’ the shopkeeper called from behind a counter. Abby looked in his direction with a small smile. He was in his fifties, pleasingly rotund and short, with a thick white beard that fell to the second button of the grey shirt he wore. Red suspenders held his trousers in place. He was the picture of an Italian Father Christmas.
He said something in Italian and Abby shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I only speak English.’ Something she’d have to remedy if she was going to make a go of life here.
‘American?’
‘Sì.’
‘Welcome.’ His English was heavily accented, his smile bright. ‘’Ave a look around. If I can help, you say, okay?’
She nodded. ‘Okay.’
The shop was a marvel. She looked at statues first, tiny enough to fit in the palm of her hand, carved out of marble, all the details and intricacies perfect despite their miniature size. There were different coloured candles and Christmas ornaments made of wood, the like of which she’d always associated with Germany. Nativity scenes mostly, set at the base of elaborate shapes that, when candles were lit, would spin a fan at the top, causing the arrangement to move. Music boxes were also in evidence.
‘It’s all so beautiful,’ she said to herself.
‘Eh?’
‘Bella,’ Abby supplied, waving her hand towards the shelves. Her eyes fell on something in the corner and she moved towards it with a greedy hunger for everything this quaint little shop could offer.
The shelf was laden with Christmas decorations, but unlike anything she’d ever seen. They were spherical in shape, made of blown glass so fine that it was almost like a wisp of cloud. Each had been etched with a festive scene, some of the nativity, others with Santa and his elves, and inside each there was a bell, so tiny that when Abby lifted one ornament it made the most beautiful little noise, almost like a sigh.
‘Oh…’ She turned to the man, wishing she could convey to him how perfect they were.
But he understood. ‘Aspetti,’ he said, then his brow beetled. ‘Wait. Wait.’
He disappeared behind a thick velvet curtain and when he returned it was with a younger woman at his side. She wore an apron and had her dark hair pinned up into a loose bun. She brought with her the faint hint of gingerbread and a kind smile.
‘My daughter,’ the man said, his pride obvious. Abby’s heart lurched. When was the last time her father had looked at her with anything like pride? Affection? Never.
‘Ciao,’ the woman said. ‘You are American?’ She spoke English more comfortably.
‘Yes.’ Abby nodded.
‘You like the decorations?’
Abby nodded. ‘They’re…exquisite.’
The man said something and the daughter translated Abby’s summation. He smiled. ‘Sì, certamente.’
He seemed gratified by Abby’s appreciation.
‘They’re unique to this area,’ the woman said. ‘When our village formed, some craftsmen from Murano were amongst the first townspeople. They brought their skills with them, and these became the specialty. Each… How you say it? Father to son to father to son?’
‘Generation?’ Abby supplied after a moment.
‘Yes! Each generation has learned from their father. There are only three people left in the village who make them, and they make only fifty each per year—to keep them special.’
Abby doubted she’d ever seen anything more beautiful.
‘They are said to bring luck and wishes,’ the woman continued. ‘But I don’t know if this is true. I think they are just pretty.’
Abby nodded her agreement. She could see them on a big green tree, with fine fairy lights twinkling amongst them, making them sparkle with tiny reflections. Though Abby hadn’t celebrated Christmas with any degree of enthusiasm since her mother had died, she now felt a jolt of enthusiasm at the prospect. Why shouldn’t she decorate a tree this year? It was, after all, Raf’s first Christmas and that meant something, didn’t it? ‘How much are they?’
‘Quanta costa?’ the woman asked her father.
He named an amount that had Abby’s heart sinking. They were beautiful and rare—what had she expected? She thought of her bank balance with a hint of desperation.
‘I’ll take two,’ she said, thinking it was still an extravagance she could ill afford.
‘Two,’ the woman said with a nod, lifting her fingers to her father to translate. ‘Enjoy them.’ She waved her hand in farewell, disappearing back behind the curtain to the business of baking and domestic happiness.
The shopkeeper wrapped the decorations with care and placed them in a bag. When she handed over the money, he gripped her hand and smiled, a smile that was filled with genuine care. ‘They give luck, sì? You have the luck now.’
Abby nodded, though of course she didn’t believe in such superstitions. In any event, she’d need more than luck to make it through her marriage to Gabe Arantini unscathed.
She checked the clock in the town square—she still had fifteen minutes to spare. She pulled her coat tighter around her waist and walked down the street, looking in the shop windows—not risking going into any others! She couldn’t afford to succumb to the charming wares of this part of the world.
She was freezing cold though. She jammed her free hand into her pocket and moved back towards the square. The alps loomed large in the background, so beautiful, like something out of Narnia. There was a heavy sense of magic and spells in the air of Fiamatina; even the people she saw seemed to be otherworldly, somehow.
‘You’re finished?’ Gabe’s voice came from behind her and Abby turned to see that he was carrying several shopping bags and wearing a mask of disapproval. A hangover from their conversation in the car?
‘Yes,’ she said with regret. If she were dressed more appropriately, she would have wanted to stay all day.
He nodded, clicking a button so that the trunk of his car pushed itself open. ‘You’re cold.’
He lifted something out of one of the bags. ‘Here.’
It was a coat, clotted cream in colour. It looked to be made of luxurious wool, and inside it was lined with fleece. ‘Put it on,’ he said with impatience, ‘before you turn into an ice block.’
‘You bought me a coat?’
‘And gloves, a hat and scarves,’ he enumerated impatiently. ‘While it would solve some problems for me, I don’t actually wish you to die of hypothermia.’
She glared at him. He could be such a bastard sometimes! Sometimes? Try all the time. Default setting: rude.
‘Gee, thanks,’ she said, making it obvious she wasn’t at all grateful. Even though the moment she slipped out of her old coat and into the new one, her body temperature raised by several degrees.
She buttoned it up all the way and when she lifted her gaze to his face she saw his attention was fixated on the buttons. Particularly the ones at chest height. He looked at her in a way that made her pulse soar.
‘Gloves,’ he said thickly, turning away and reaching into his car. The moment was over so quickly that she almost wondered if it had happened at all, but the swirling of her blood was all the confirmation she needed.
‘But before you put them on—’ he handed her a small box ‘—start with this.’
It was said so unceremoniously that she had no reason to suspect what she’d see when she lifted the lid, so she did so without care.
But inside was a ring—an engagement ring, apparently. A huge green emerald was at the centre and a circlet of white diamonds surrounded it, then ran down either side and around the diameter. It was beautiful, it was huge, it was expensive.
‘Oh.’ Abby blinked at the ring and then up a
t him. ‘What is it?’ she asked. Stupid question, but she was blindsided.
‘What do you think?’ He lifted it from the box and placed it in her palm. ‘I hear they’re part of the deal.’
‘Deal?’ She arched a brow.
‘The getting married deal.’
Abby nodded, still not putting the ring on. ‘But this is…too much. A simple band would have been fine, right?’
A muscle jerked in his jaw. ‘A simple band is not the kind of ring I would buy for the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. If we want people to believe this is a real marriage, then you’ll have to convince them. Starting with the ring you wear.’
She frowned. ‘Do we care what people think?’
A muscle throbbed in his jaw and his face was loaded with obvious derision. ‘I care for our son’s sake. I will not have him be subjected to gossip and cruelty because his parents cannot act like mature adults.’ When she didn’t react, he sighed heavily. ‘Just put the ring on.’
She arched a brow. ‘Gosh, seeing as you asked so nicely.’ The words were uttered facetiously. Still, she didn’t do as he said. Not to be ornery, but because she was truly miffed by the point he was making.
‘Not for nothing, I don’t think children get teased for having unmarried parents in the twenty-first century.’
‘We won’t know for sure, will we, because Raf will have two parents who love him, and are apparently happy together.’
Abby looked down at the ring, her own green eyes reflected in the colour of the central gemstone. Her heart stuttered with the brief consideration that perhaps he’d chosen it for that reason. But it was absurd. He’d probably just picked the first ring he’d seen when he’d walked into the shop. That it happened to be this one was a coincidence.
‘Are you having second thoughts about our arrangement?’ he asked silkily. Her heart began to race. Internally, she rejected that very idea. She knew already that living here with Gabe was the right decision—the advantages to Raf were abundantly clear.
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