by Alexia Adams
“Have you ever been drunk?”
“Not since I was eighteen. I do not like to lose control.”
“Me neither. It’s not safe. But I feel safe with you.”
“Glad to hear it. I will always care for you, Sophia.”
“Still, I wonder what it would take to make you lose control.”
“At the moment, just one of your smiles.” At least that’s what she thought he said. It could have been her imagination, because the next thing she knew she woke up near enough naked in her bed.
Chapter 7
Luca sensed rather than heard Sophia descend the stairs. Through the open dining room door, he saw her cling to the banister. Each step was tentative, and she stopped twice before managing to make her way to the table. He folded his newspaper and placed it beside his plate.
“Tea,” she whispered. “Must have tea. Too much Prosecco. Very bad head.”
He poured a cup of tea and placed it in front of her. She sipped it slowly with her eyes closed, allowing him to drink in the sight of her. She’d obviously just dragged herself out of bed and thrown on a pair of jeans and a knit top. Her hair was tousled and hung in loose waves down her back—disheveled and delectable. The now familiar rush of heat flooded his body at her just-woken look.
Last night at the party, she’d held his hand or tucked her body against his, whispered into his ear, and smiled at him like a woman in love. He doubted a single person had left the party not believing theirs was a love match. He’d even been fooled once or twice himself. Sophia was a damn good actress. He needed to learn to tell when she wasn’t faking, because he wanted to know the real woman, not the one she put on display for everyone else.
She’d fallen asleep on the drive home, and he’d been unable to wake her when they’d arrived. So he’d carried her to her room and managed to get her into bed. He’d pulled the pins out of her hair so they didn’t poke her in the night. The beautiful dress she’d worn didn’t look comfortable to sleep in, so he’d eased down the zipper, to discover she was wearing only the tiniest scrap of underpants and no bra. Grazie a Dio, he hadn’t known that earlier in the evening or it would have driven him insane. As it was, it took every ounce of self-control he had to pull the blankets up over her and go sleep in his cold, lonely bed.
Dio mio, what is wrong with me? They had been married for three days and already this marriage was proving anything but convenient. He’d thought he could marry a desirable woman and still pursue the passion of his business. This was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to marry for love. He’d seen love turn other men’s ambition to dust and had vowed the same wouldn’t happen to him.
However, now he was beginning to resent every minute his business took him away from Sophia. It must be the fact that they hadn’t consummated their marriage. The sexual tension was distracting him. Once they made love, he’d be able to concentrate on work again. Satisfied that was the answer, he returned to his breakfast.
“I thought you English girls were used to staying up all night and clubbing till dawn?”
“Not this English girl. I am used to being in bed by eleven with a good book,” she admitted, finally opening her eyes. “If you wanted a girl to stay up and party all night, you should have married Olivia.”
“No, I married the right girl. I will promise to have you in bed by eleven if you replace the good book with a good man.” He reached across the table and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“I’ll consider your offer,” she replied, her voice raspy.
She finished her tea and poured another cup. “Um, I didn’t do anything stupid last night, did I?”
“No, you were a perfect angel.”
“I’m not sure perfect angels wake up naked.” There was no censure in her eyes, just confusion.
“Not generally. But I promise I closed my eyes,” he lied. “I did not think you would sleep very well in your dress.”
“Well, thank you for your help. I didn’t want anything to have happened and I missed it.”
“I do not take advantage of women who have passed out. And trust me, amore, when I make love to you, you will remember it.”
“Good to know,” she mumbled into her tea.
He bit back the offer to show her right now. “I am afraid I am going to have to leave you again. Every year I take my workers to one of the matches between the Milan football teams, Internazionale and AC Milan. That happens to be today. It is booked months in advance. After the match we go out for something to eat. I should be home by nine or ten.” It was usually one of his favorite days of the year, but for the first time he’d rather watch the game on TV if it meant he could be with Sophia.
She stole a piece of toast off his plate, giving him a wink as she did, even though there were several others on the toast rack on the table.
“That’s okay. I plan on spending the day sleeping and reading, probably in that order. I don’t think I’ll be much company anyway.” She dropped the purloined toast on her plate after one bite and rubbed her fingers on her temples.
“Speaking of reading, there is a present from your friend Jonathan on my desk—a couple of books on learning Italian. At least the man is practical. He also left a note apologizing for not coming to the party. Evidently a delivery of concrete he was expecting arrived late, and he had to stay behind and supervise the pour.”
“That’s a shame. Maybe I’ll run into him in the village again and can thank him personally. I’m happy to get the books, though. I want to start learning right away so I can understand people. It’s very frustrating when you don’t know what’s going on. All your friends were very nice last night about speaking English when I was near.”
Luca bit his tongue. He couldn’t demand that she not see the other man. He had to trust she wouldn’t betray him or damage his reputation. “You were the star of the night. Everyone loved you.”
“Well, they may not love me so much if I’m still speaking only English a year from now. Oh, by the way, Isabella and I arranged to meet in Milan tomorrow. Any chance I can get a ride into the city with you in the morning? What time do you leave?”
“Yes, she mentioned it to me. I usually leave by six thirty. However, tomorrow I will not go until eight so you do not have to get up so early.” At least they’d have the hour’s commute into Milan together. It would have to do … for now.
• • •
Sophia flipped through the fabric samples, trying to find the perfect one to go with the sofa she’d seen in the village her first day. Isabella was going to help arrange the purchase and reupholster work. It was ideal for the front sitting room. After she got rid of the red monstrosity, that was.
“Who decorated Luca’s villa?” Because if they were a professional, they should be reported to whoever certified designers in Italy.
“Oh, some woman he was dating at the time. She had ideas of being Signora Castellioni. Luca was too busy to supervise the design himself, so just gave her the money to do it. The furniture is atrocious, is it not? I think she just went into the shop and asked for the most expensive items.” Isabella flipped through the wallpaper samples, occasionally checking a pattern against a photo she held.
“What happened to her? I mean why did they break up?”
“I did not get the full story. But I heard she was baking two cakes at the same time.”
Sophia widened her eyes and waiting for the explanation. Isabella’s expressions were often a mix-up of English and literally translated Italian idioms.
“She was also seeing some other man. He proposed first, so she went with him. I do not think Luca was too upset, except when the furniture started to arrive.”
“Has Luca dated many women?”
“No, he has been too busy at work. Being successful has always been his obsession. I think it comes from when he was at school.”
“Yes, Luca said you were at school together. Did something happen there that made him so determined?”
“It was not one thing.
You see, Luca he came from a, what do you call, regular family. His parents were not rich, but they were not poor either. But his father, he wanted Luca to go to private school so he could get a good education and be important. However, some of the other children did not like that people without lots of money were going to their school. So they made it very hard, always picking on Luca, telling him he was not good enough. I think it made him more determined to be a success, so he could show them.”
“What about your family?”
“My family were very rich. But I liked Luca. He was not up himself, as you English say. I could talk to him. My parents, they had lots of money but no love. They only cared that I did not get into trouble, darken the family name. That is probably why I married the first man who said he loved me.”
“Dante?”
“No, I was married once, before Dante. To a terrible man. He hit me and stole all my money. Luca was very angry. He tried to warn me Federico was no good, but I would not listen. Your husband, he is very protective of the people he cares for. But you will know this already, because he loves you.”
Should she tell Isabella that theirs was a business arrangement? No, she’d let Isabella keep her delusions. Then maybe Sophia could indulge in them from time to time. It may be the only thing to cling to in the lonely months ahead, left in the villa with two people she could barely communicate with.
“Isabella, do you have any interest in interior design?”
“Yes, of course. But I have no experience. I was a journalist until a few months ago. It was very stressful, and Dante and I want to have a baby. Stress is not good for the conception.”
“Would you be interested in working with me? I’ve almost completed my interior design course and was thinking about starting a business.” Her coursework had been slow, with little time to devote to it in London. But with all the time she currently had on her hands, she could probably finish within a month. Then she’d be well and truly bored.
“It sounds a very interesting idea. I will discuss it with Dante. What does Luca say about you starting a business? He has lots of money; I am sure he does not expect his wife to work.”
“He’s so busy, I’m sure he won’t mind.” She turned her attention back to the swatches. “What do you think of this fabric?”
After choosing a suitable material, they went for lunch and then a pedicure. Sophia tried to be discreet in checking the time, but Isabella caught her.
“Am I boring you?”
“No, not at all. Why would you say that?” Sophia stalled.
“Because you keep looking at your watch. If I am not boring, then you must be counting the minutes until you see Luca again.”
Busted.
“Do not worry. I did the same when I started to see Dante. And even now, when he is away playing rugby and I cannot go with him, I feel like a piece of me is missing. It is stupid, no? We are smart, beautiful women. But without our man, we are a little lost. Some days it makes me sad to be so dependent. But then I look at my husband and I would not have my life different. I love him and do not care that his happiness is more important than my own. Because I know he feels the same way.”
Sophia looked away. Would she and Luca ever feel that way about each other? Did she want to be so dependent on someone for happiness? No, it would be better if she built her own life, found her own place in the world. Then if Luca tired of her, she would have something to fall back on. It was too dangerous to put all her eggs in the Luca basket—no matter how enticing he made it seem.
Two hours later, Sophia was giving herself the same pep talk. She sat beside her husband in the Maserati, crawling through Milan traffic. Luca seemed deep in thought as he stared out the windscreen, his hands clenched on the steering wheel.
“Is everything okay?”
He turned to her as if surprised she was there. “Sorry, my mind was still at work.”
“Is there a problem? Sometimes talking about it helps.”
“No, I can take care of it. Tell me about your shopping with Isabella. Do you need more money?”
His message was loud and clear—she was his wife, his partner, only when other people were around.
• • •
Sophia put her book down on the table, rested her head on the back of the sofa, and stared at the ceiling. This isn’t working. None of it.
Marriage to Luca was supposed to have given her financial security, time to pursue her dreams, and become the person she wanted to be, far from the troubled girl who had fled her home at the age of sixteen. Instead she was a twenty-three-year-old woman who spent her whole day in anxious anticipation of the fifteen minutes or so when she saw her husband—if she saw him.
After three weeks of living in the villa, she knew if she got up at 6:00 a.m., she just might catch Luca before he left for work. He’d ask her what she planned to do that day, his hot gaze roving over her body. But then he’d politely kiss her goodbye on the cheek, and the next sound was his car fading into the distance. Maybe if she moved into his room, he’d find more time for her. But he still treated her like a possession, albeit a pampered one. She was the rare pet he’d bought to show off to his friends but forgot when it suited him.
Before she could share her body with him, she needed him to share some small part of his life with her. Preferably a non-business part, if that even existed.
Sometimes she even stayed up until he came home around midnight. He’d look exhausted, dark shadows under his eyes, his jaw covered in stubble. Again he’d ask about her day and respond with a list of meetings or contracts he’d bid for when she asked about his. With the amount of work he seemed to accomplish each day, she wasn’t surprised he was so tired.
So far, Sophia had divided her day between her interior design coursework and learning Italian from the books that Jonathan had given her. She practiced her pronunciation on Vittore and Maria. She’d also discovered a love of gardening and spent many hours following the older man around as he explained to her, patiently and slowly, about the plants he tended. She had a grubby little notebook she carried with her, and when he used a word she didn’t understand, she wrote it down to look up later.
Every couple of days, Luca would email a letter or document for her to check his English. It took a whole twenty minutes to correct and return each one, so they neither filled her time nor brought her any closer to her husband.
Last week, when the weather had turned wet, Sophia had asked Maria to teach her to cook, and she’d spent several happy days in the kitchen. She could now manage to make a couple of Italian specialties. While showing her how to prepare ravioli so they didn’t explode while cooking, Maria had prattled on about bambini. With the pointed look Maria had given her during the conversation, the cook probably wondered if there would ever be any children in the house.
With a sigh, Sophia got up from her chair and moved to the mantel, running her index finger over Luca’s handsome face in the photo with his mother. If she was unhappy with her marriage, then it was time she did something about it and stopped being a doormat. What would Luca would do if, when he came home tonight, he found a note saying she’d gone to Paris for the weekend? Would he worry? Call her back immediately? Or not even notice she was gone? The phone rang and she raced to answer it.
“Amore, I will be working very late and I have a breakfast meeting in the morning, so I will be staying at the flat in Milan tonight,” Luca said. “Sleep well, and I will see you tomorrow.”
After hanging up, she released a loud moan of frustration, glad there was no one else in the house to hear her. Nope, this marriage wasn’t working. The question was, what was she going to do about it?
• • •
Sophia paid for the get-well-soon card and stamps and sat down at the village café to write a note to her mother so she could post it right away. James had called earlier in the week to say their mother hadn’t responded well to an initial cancer treatment, so the doctors were trying something else. It seemed pathetic to write
a card to her own mother. A real daughter, a good daughter, would hop on a plane and go visit her. But she wasn’t ready yet—doubted she’d ever be—to see her parents again. Their lack of love and support had destroyed any connection she’d had with them as a child. So when Kathy Summers had attacked her, Sophia hadn’t turned to her parents. She’d left home and never looked back.
“Sophia, do you need rescuing again?”
She shielded her eyes from the hot sun to see Jonathan standing in front of her.
“No, I’m fine today. Sorry about last time. It was all rather awkward, wasn’t it? I’m glad to see you again, though. I wanted to thank you for the learn-to-speak-Italian books. They’ve been a great help.”
The waitress chose that moment to ask what she wanted, and she ordered an iced coffee and biscotti in Italian.
“You have improved,” Jonathan said, laughter in his eyes.
“Grazie, would you like to join me? It would be nice to speak English with someone for a few minutes.”
“If you think your husband won’t mind,” he answered but pulled out a chair anyway.
“My husband doesn’t control who I speak with.”
Jonathan placed his order with the hovering waitress, who Sophia guessed was trying to decipher their conversation. Teresa, the cleaner girl, walked by and called out a greeting.
“You’re like a local,” Jonathan said as another couple waved to her.
“I’ve ordered a few pieces of furniture and bought some other things from the village, so I guess people know who I am now.”
“Do you know much about furniture and stuff?” Jonathan took a sip of his iced coffee.
“Yes. I’ve just sent in my last assignment on my course. Provided I pass, I will be a certified interior designer. Of course, it’s a British certification, so I’m not sure how it will translate here in Italy.”
“Would you be interested in taking on a client? I don’t care where your certificate comes from. I have no idea how to decorate and furnish my place. Bricks and plaster I can understand. But all those frilly bits scare me.”