In the Italian's Sights

by Helen Brooks

  The woman was beautiful, dark and glossy, and very Italian. Her cocktail dress in vivid peacock-blue fitted every curve and dip of her fabulous body, and the plunging neckline was so daring it made Cherry wonder what on earth she’d been worrying about earlier. She watched as Vittorio rose to his feet, at which point the woman literally draped herself all over him, and then became aware of the tall, good-looking man who was with her.

  Vittorio disentangled himself with polite firmness, kissed the woman coolly on both cheeks and then reached out and took the man’s hand with genuine warmth. ‘Lorenzo, how are you? May I introduce my guest? This is Cherry—she is staying at the villa for a while. Cherry, this is my good friend Lorenzo Giordano, and his wife, Caterina.’

  She had known. Even before he had said the name she had known it was her. Cherry pulled herself together and somehow managed to smile naturally and speak calmly. ‘How do you do?’ she said, purposely looking first at Caterina, who was staring at her with hostile amber-brown eyes. When the other woman merely inclined her head, Cherry showed no reaction, turning to Lorenzo and adding, ‘So you are the third of the three musketeers? Vittorio has told me about you and Domenico and himself.’

  Lorenzo smiled, showing even white teeth, and then took her hand and raised it to his lips in a gesture of respect. ‘It is very good to meet you,’ he said, as though he meant it. ‘Vittorio mentioned you were staying with him while you are in our beautiful country. I am sure Sophia appreciates a female friend to help her with all the preparations for her wedding.’

  So Vittorio was still close enough to his friend to have spoken to him about Sophia’s wedding and her part in it. Had he explained the full story? But that didn’t matter.

  Cherry smiled back at Lorenzo, liking him as much as she disliked his wife. ‘I’m having a wonderful time,’ she said warmly. ‘Sophia and I are spending Vittorio’s money as though it’s water and he never objects.’

  ‘You are staying at Casa Carella?’ It was clearly news to Caterina. Unwelcome news. ‘You did not tell me this,’ she said to her husband, her voice clipped.

  Lorenzo shrugged. ‘It must have slipped my mind,’ he said flatly, his countenance changing as he looked at his wife.

  Silence reigned for an infinitesimal moment—an awkward moment, full of things unsaid.

  She still loves Vittorio and Lorenzo knows it. Cherry felt as though a bucket of cold water had just been poured over her head, but she had no time to dwell on the revelation because Vittorio was saying cordially, but in a manner which made it clear the conversation was at an end, ‘Enjoy your evening,’ as he resumed his seat without glancing at Caterina again. ‘I will speak to you tomorrow about the new contract,’ he added to Lorenzo, again with a warm smile.

  His friend nodded, taking Caterina’s arm and virtually pushing her forward when she would have remained at their side. As the couple walked to a table on the other side of the dance floor, Vittorio said quietly, ‘Lorenzo has an export business and he and I work together on occasion.’

  Cherry didn’t know what to say. Ridiculously she felt like crying. Caterina was everything she wasn’t—beautiful, elegant, sophisticated and quite stunning—totally the sort of woman she would expect Vittorio to be with, in fact. And it had been Caterina who’d left him when he wouldn’t send Sophia off to be cared for by relatives—did he still love her deep down? It was possible. More than possible. Was Caterina the real reason he hadn’t settled down with someone else?

  Drawing on every scrap of her will-power, she managed a smile. ‘He seems nice.’ It was weak but it would have to do.

  ‘He is.’ Vittorio hesitated for a second. ‘The Italian girl I spoke of earlier—the one I was betrothed to—she married Lorenzo after we had gone our separate ways.’

  She wanted to ask if he’d minded, although it was too personal. She asked anyway. ‘That must have been difficult for you.’

  ‘It was awkward for a time.’

  When he didn’t elaborate, she felt compelled to say, ‘She is very beautiful.’

  ‘Si, Caterina is beautiful.’ There was another silence.

  His attitude was confirming all her fears, but now a welcome flood of pride was welling up, stiffening her back and banishing the momentary weakness of tears. She was blowed if she was going to ask him anything more. He clearly didn’t want to talk about it and that was fine—just fine. She was just the hired help after all, and—as he’d already made clear—outings like this one were payment for her services to his sister.

  She raised her head, glancing round the room as she said, ‘This is a fabulous place. Domenico has clearly made a success of the business.’

  ‘Cherry—’

  Whatever Vittorio had been about to say was interrupted by the waiter bustling up to their table, exchanging pleasantries with Vittorio, who clearly was a regular visitor, then placing two embossed menus in their hands, before topping up their glasses although Vittorio had barely touched his.

  Feeling in need of some sustenance, Cherry took a healthy gulp. She was going to get through this evening with a smile on her face and dignity intact, no matter what, she told herself grittily. She couldn’t compete with an out-and-out beauty like Caterina and she wasn’t going to try.

  She was facing the table where Lorenzo and Caterina were sitting. Lorenzo was sideways on, but Cherry noticed Caterina had positioned herself so she had a clear view of them, and that the Italian woman had barely taken her eyes off her since she’d sat down. Deliberately now she glanced across the room and met the amber-brown gaze. She didn’t smile, and neither did Caterina, and for a few moments their gaze interlocked. Then Lorenzo’s wife lowered her eyes, her face stormy.

  It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. The waiter had made himself scarce presumably to give them time to choose, and Vittorio said quietly, ‘Would you like me to order for you?’

  She glanced at the menu. It was in Italian and there were no prices. Great. ‘Thank you.’ She kept her voice polite and light. This evening was just getting better and better, she thought a trifle hysterically. It only needed Angela and her mother to appear like genii out of a bottle to emphasise she was totally out of her depth and didn’t belong here.

  She found she had drained her glass without meaning to, and as Vittorio filled it with the sparkling champagne she warned herself to restrain from drinking any more until she had had something to eat. If ever she needed to keep her wits about her, it was tonight.

  ‘Perhaps cannelloni ripieni to begin with,’ Vittorio suggested. ‘It is particularly good here. Or parmigiano di melanzane—aubergine baked with cheese and tomato sauce. It is a local speciality. And lobster to follow I think.’

  Cherry nodded. She didn’t care what she ate. Since Caterina had arrived she’d lost her appetite.

  The waiter reappeared with a plate of olives and anchovies, warm bread and fine olive oil for dipping for them to share, and then bustled off again after taking their order.

  A small band was playing melodious Latin music at the back of the dance floor on a tiny raised stage, and already a few couples were dancing. Everyone was having a wonderful time, she thought bitterly—and then she froze in horror as Vittorio stood in one fluent movement and held out his hand to her.

  ‘Shall we?’

  She stared at him, knowing it was quite beyond her to be on show to the rest of the diners—something the couples who were dancing seemed to be enjoying. She wasn’t Italian. She didn’t know all the Latin moves. But neither could she leave Vittorio standing there.

  Somehow she found she was on her feet, and immediately Vittorio’s arm was round her waist and he had pulled her into him, holding her firmly and confidently as they began to dance. ‘Relax,’ he murmured softly against her hair. ‘It is not difficult. Just follow my lead. OK?’

  So not OK. She was going to make a fool of herself. She knew it. And then the fact that she was in his arms, her body moulded to his like a second skin, took over. Her reactions came automat
ically, naturally, and the feel and smell of him took her into a sensually satisfying world where the couples around them ceased to exist.

  Vittorio was an excellent dancer in every way. No woman could fail to look graceful as his partner. It was the easiest thing in the world to follow his lead as he’d asked. She just let the powerful masculine body move and guide her. A slow, dreamy number began and he drew her closer still, her face nestled under his chin, and her arms sliding up around his neck. She breathed him in, intoxicated not by the champagne but by his nearness. She could stay like this for ever, she thought wildly.

  She felt the unmistakable hardening of his body and knew he was as aroused as she was, but his control was absolute. He didn’t falter in his steps, whereas by the time they had reached their table and he had gently delivered her into her seat her legs felt like jelly.

  Their first course was waiting for them; Vittorio had obviously seen the waiter bring the dishes to the table, but for a moment Cherry stared at the aubergine blankly, her breathing still heavy and slow and her body aching with desire.

  How could this man inspire such a flood of blistering sensation just by holding her in his arms? she asked herself faintly. He hadn’t been making love to her, they had been dancing, and yet…

  ‘Try it. It is good.’

  His deep voice interrupted her chaotic thoughts, and when she lifted her head and looked at him she saw he was tucking into his meal with every appearance of enjoyment. For a moment it took all her will-power not to kick him—hard. Here was she, in a state of virtual collapse, and he was sitting there filling his belly as if nothing had happened.

  And then he looked straight at her and she read a hunger in the glittering grey eyes which had nothing to do with food—something the slash of red colour across the high chiselled cheekbones confirmed. He wanted her. He was merely better at hiding it than she was. For the life of her she didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse.

  The parmigiano di melanzane was good, as was the lobster which followed, and the dessert—a sticky pastry confection full of cream, jam and almonds—melted in the mouth. Amazingly, Cherry found she’d relaxed a few mouthfuls into the meal. Mainly because Vittorio had put himself out to make her so. He had the ability to make it seem as though there was just the two of them in a crowd of people. She purposely didn’t look at Caterina again, and as a party of four had come to sit at the table next to the other couple, which blocked her view somewhat, this wasn’t difficult.

  From having no appetite at the beginning of the evening she ate a hearty meal, and when the waiter brought a selection of local cheeses, tiny savoury biscuits, figs and grapes after the dessert, she made inroads into that too. As she sipped the espresso which rounded off the meal, she sighed contentedly. ‘I think I’ve just eaten more than I ever have before in the whole of my life,’ she confessed to Vittorio, who was watching her with a slumbering smile. ‘I shan’t be able to move from this table for days.’

  For answer, he drew her to her feet. ‘Dance with me,’ he murmured smokily. ‘I want to feel you in my arms again.’

  She didn’t argue. She’d been waiting for this moment with little thrills of anticipation.

  She was aware once of Caterina and Lorenzo on the dance floor, but whether by design or accident they were not close enough to speak.

  It was just after midnight when she made her way to the women’s cloakroom—an elaborate affair in cream marble with huge mirrors and small velvet chairs—and Caterina confronted her. Cherry realised she’d known she would.

  Cherry came out of one of the cubicles to find the Italian woman sitting in front of a mirror, applying bright red lipstick, and immediately her stomach did a flip. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that Lorenzo’s wife had contrived that they should meet with the men out of earshot. The golden gaze surveyed her haughtily before Caterina turned on the chair to face her, her beautifully shaped but thin lips stretching in a cold smile. ‘Ciao,’ she drawled smoothly. ‘You are enjoying the evening?’

  Determined not to be drawn, whatever happened, Cherry smiled back. ‘Yes, thank you. Domenico has a lovely place here.’

  ‘Si, this is so. Thanks to Vittorio.’ Fine eyebrows rose in the perfect bone structure of her face as Caterina added, ‘You are aware that Vittorio provided the money for Domenico to buy the nightclub? No? But then there is probably much you do not know about Vittorio.’

  Cherry kept the smile in place by Herculean effort. ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she agreed lightly, wondering if it would look as if she was running away if she walked straight out of the cloakroom, and wishing someone else would come in so they were not alone. She wouldn’t put anything past this woman.

  ‘You are Sophia’s friend, si?’ Caterina went on, clearly feeling her way. ‘How long have you known Vittorio’s sister?’

  ‘Some time.’ Seven days or so, to be precise.

  ‘And you come to stay to help her with the wedding. It is sudden, this wedding, I think.’ There was a definite edge to Caterina’s voice. Whatever Lorenzo did or did not know, he clearly hadn’t shared it with his wife.

  Cherry shrugged. ‘Sophia and Santo have known each other all their lives and loved each other for as long, actually, so I wouldn’t say it’s sudden.’

  The red-painted lips curled slightly. ‘No? And Vittorio, he is happy about his sister marrying this… farmer? I thought Sophia was going to finishing school somewhere. That was what Vittorio wanted for her.’

  This woman was poison. Cherry had the feeling anything she said would be twisted in some way and used against her. Carefully, she smoothed her hair in the mirror, keeping her eyes on her reflection when she said offhandedly, ‘I don’t know about that.’

  Caterina made a small sound in her throat which could have meant anything, but her voice was definitely venomous when she said, ‘And why should you? You are nothing to him. You are not even Italian. Vittorio has many women—beautiful Italian women—but none can keep his affection for long. That is how it is.’

  She really didn’t want to listen to this. ‘Vittorio’s private life is none of my business,’ Cherry said, her voice now as cold as Caterina’s.

  ‘Ha—you do not fool me, little English miss.’ Suddenly all pretence at civility was gone as Caterina jumped to her feet, her voice vitriolic. ‘I know what it is you want, and you will be disappointed as many before you have been disappointed. Vittorio is the sort of man who only gives his heart once. If you do not know this, you are a fool. And his heart was captured many years ago.’ Caterina did not add, By me. She didn’t have to. Both women were aware of the unspoken words. ‘You can befriend his sister but you will not inveigle your way into his life for long.’

  This woman was as bad as Angela. Worse. Cherry stared into the angry face which at that moment did not look at all beautiful. Summoning the strategy she’d used all her life for dealing with her sister, she pulled up her emotional drawbridge and took a mental step backwards, her face cool and her voice expressing her distaste when she said, ‘Then you have nothing to worry about, Caterina, do you?’ And before the other woman could retaliate, she turned and left the cloakroom, stepping into the small carpeted corridor outside and making her way swiftly to the main room of the nightclub.

  The rest of the evening was a nightmare. Cherry knew she had retreated into the emotional vacuum she’d perfected over years of heartache and confrontation, but there was nothing she could do about it—nothing she wanted to do about it. It was her protection, her safe place. Once she was alone she knew the tears would come, and she’d replay the incident over and over in her mind. It had always been that way. But for now her pride dictated she showed she didn’t care. And so she smiled brittle smiles, danced a few more dances, and kept up her end of the conversation with Vittorio, who kept glancing at her with puzzled eyes.

  After a suitable interval she said she was tired and asked if they could leave. Mercifully Vittorio didn’t walk her across to Lorenzo and Caterina to make their goo
dbyes, merely raised his hand to his friend across the room, who answered in like manner. Once in the car she feigned sleepiness, pretending to doze on the way home.

  Vittorio took her arm as they walked up the steps into the villa, and when they were standing in the hall turned her to face him. ‘Is anything wrong?’ His dark face was in shadow in the dimly lighted expanse. ‘Have I done something to offend you?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Her voice was over-bright and she moderated it as she added, ‘I’m tired, that’s all, but I’ve had a lovely time. Thank you very much for a wonderful evening, but now I’d really like to go to bed.’

  ‘No.’ When she made to pull away, he tightened his hold on her arm. Not enough to hurt her but making it impossible to extricate herself. ‘Something has happened. I know this. You are shutting me out.’

  ‘Shutting you out?’ It was too much on top of everything else, and suddenly she wanted to wound as she had been wounded. ‘Can you hear yourself, Vittorio? Why do you think you have the right to question me like this anyway? I agreed to stay to help Sophia, that is all. Now, please let go of me.’

  ‘Not until I know why you are behaving in this way,’ he ground out angrily.

  ‘Then we’ll stand here all night,’ she flung back, as angry as he was. How dared he assume he had some kind of divine licence to ride roughshod over people’s thoughts and emotions? He had called Caterina beautiful, and she was, but that was just the tip of the iceberg. Underneath his old flame was spiteful and vicious and malevolent, and if he couldn’t see that then he was a fool. But then love made fools of people.

  The thought hit like a punch in the solar plexus, and a truth hammered at the back of her subconscious that she wasn’t prepared to acknowledge. Shakily now, and in a voice which was thick with tears, she said again, ‘Please let go of me.’

  He swore softly under his breath but in the next moment she was free, and like a bird seeing its escape from the cat that was tormenting it she flew across the hall and up the stairs to her room, opening the door with trembling fingers and then turning the catch to lock it once she was safely inside.