by Sara Wood
‘But...don’t you have a home of your own?’ she asked jerkily. Bewildered, she noted the increased tension in his hand where it gripped her elbow.
‘Yes,’ he said, sounding faintly strained. ‘I own Ca’ Barsini. It’s further up, near the Rialto Bridge.’
He paused for a moment at the sound of a siren. His arm came around Sophia’s waist as an ambulance boat roared past, trailing a wail of sound and producing a strong wake that rocked the pontoon.
‘Why don’t you live there?’ she pursued, disappointed that he hastily detached himself the moment the movement had stopped.
‘Because my brother and his wife and children are there. Enrico can entertain to his heart’s content—he’s a very social animal,’ he said with detectably false enthusiasm. Seeing her questioning eyes, he added reluctantly, ‘Enrico needs to be out of my shadow. Elder brothers can be hard to live up to. It’s important he has his own life. I’ve made this my home because your grandfather likes to have me around. We’re very close.’
‘You’ve obviously been devoted to him,’ she conceded slowly.
But why? her mind kept demanding. And she was determined to find out. Fluttering nerves skittered up and down her body as he propelled her towards the watergate.
‘Wait a minute!’ she said suddenly. She fumbled in her bag and took out her ring, slipping it on her finger. ‘The press won’t leap on us indoors,’ she said, happily turning her hand this way and that. It was beautiful. Rozzano’s commitment to her. Now she felt properly engaged.
‘Sophia...’ He studied his shoes. Every ounce of his body was rigid with tension.
She stiffened in apprehension. ‘What is it?’ she asked uneasily.
‘I don’t know how to say this...’
His hard, uncompromising profile said it for him. Bad news was on the way. She steeled herself, shutting out the horrid little voice which said that her happiness had been too good to last.
‘Go on!’ she challenged quietly.
It seemed he couldn’t speak for a moment and that made her even more jittery. Then, in a rush—as if eager to get his speech over with—he said, ‘I think the sudden announcement of our engagement might be too much for your grandfather to take.’
Sophia felt her body freeze. All her doubts crystallised. He wanted to keep it a secret, she thought, and she realised that she’d never been totally sure of Rozzano, otherwise she wouldn’t be leaping to such a terrible conclusion. She was so insecure in his love that it was even possible for her to wonder if this was his way of easing out of the relationship. A gentle let-down now, a gradual drifting away, and she’d be sidelined before she knew it...
But, part of her argued, he’d bought a valuable ring. Why propose to her and then drop her within the course of a day or so? He’d gained nothing. Yet.
Her head ached. Why was she thinking these shocking things about Rozzano? She loved him! She should trust him implicitly!
‘Speak to me, Sophia,’ he said harshly.
Stone-cold despite the warm air, she knew her voice would betray her hysteria and so she kept her response to a brief, ‘What are you suggesting we do?’
Beside her she felt the hiss of exasperation as it was expelled through his teeth. ‘Keep it a secret for the time being. I know what I’m asking, but you must see my point of view. He’s emotionally fragile, Sophia. Your arrival will be all he can cope with. Please understand. I care about him very much. He’s treated me like a son. Let’s wait till we think he’s ready.’
‘A short time ago we were getting married in a rush because of him,’ she reminded him sharply.
That brought a quick frown to his face. ‘We are! But let’s take one step at a time with him—’
‘Are you ashamed of me?’ she accused, her eyes as dark as charcoal.
‘No!’
Clearly angry at that suggestion, he was nevertheless struggling for words to explain. Tell me you love me, her eyes pleaded. Reassure me.
He shot her a quick glance but never saw her plea—or, if he did, he ignored it. ‘Give him a week, ten days at most to get over the excitement of meeting you,’ he said shortly. ‘It won’t be easy for him, seeing you. I expect your appearance will bring back to him some painful memories of your mother.’
‘I suppose so,’ she conceded reluctantly.
‘It needn’t make any difference to us,’ he coaxed. ‘We can go ahead and make all the arrangements then tell him gently.’
At least he was still talking about making preparations for the wedding, she consoled herself. She relaxed a little. ‘Will he disapprove?’ she asked bluntly.
‘I think he’ll be delighted. Give him breathing space first. I’d hate the excitement to become too much for him.’
How could she refuse? It would seem churlish. But she hated the idea, even though it made perfect sense. Her tapered fingertip smoothed over her beautiful ring. Stupidly, her lower lip wobbled.
Seeing she was close to tears, Rozzano hastily pushed open the heavy oak door and drew her into the privacy of a huge and airy entrance hall.
She stared numbly down its length to the slender colonnades of a sunny courtyard beyond. She barely registered the scent of honeysuckle drifting from the open windows, though normally she would have commented on it in delight.
But she was too panic-stricken about removing the symbol of their love. Maybe it was superstitious nonsense, but without it she felt that their relationship would definitely founder.
However, she wouldn’t defy him. Her grandfather’s health was too important. She realised that her relationship with Rozzano would live or die for more reasons than the fact she wore his ring.
‘You’re right,’ she said, generously giving him the benefit of the doubt. ‘I’ll take it off.’
Gently she eased the ring up her finger though she was unable to stop her mouth from drooping with misery. It could have been a trinket they’d chosen from a cheap store and she would have been just as upset about removing it.
Feeling forlorn, she slipped it from her finger and returned it to the zip pocket of her bag. All the time she was wishing that he would kiss her, and persuade her that everything was all right.
‘Principe!’
‘Flavial’ All smiles suddenly, he hurried forward and, to her astonishment, embraced a grey-uniformed, middleaged maid. There was a little joshing and plenty of laughter and then she was introduced. ‘Flavia has known me all my life,’ he said, as the two women shook hands warmly. ‘Her mother was Father’s cook. Don’t be surprised if you find her giving you advice. Our families are so intertwined that she has an opinion on everything we do—and sometimes she treats me like a brainless brother!’
Sophia gave a weak smile. He spoke again to Flavia and then she left them.
‘Come upstairs to the salon,’ he said lightly. ‘We’ll wait there. I’ve asked Flavia to tell your grandfather we’ve arrived.’
Very much at home in his surroundings, he led the way up the grand double staircase. Sophia swallowed nervously, intimidated by the massive oil paintings of haughty-looking men and women who must be her ancestors.
This was all too much for her to handle! She hesitated, filled with an overwhelming urge to turn tail and run, but Rozzano pressed her hand, moving her on again, and she looked up at him gratefully, glad of his understanding.
But when he spoke she discovered why he was caressing her. It wasn’t out of sympathy at all.
‘I know I shouldn’t be touching you and that makes the situation highly arousing.’ He gave her a wicked glance with his smouldering eyes. ‘We must pretend to be polite strangers when people are around. Hell! I’ll go mad with frustration! I’ll live for the night, when I can sneak to your room and we can make passionate love to one another.’ His voice curled into every corner of her body, heating it, coaxing her with its sensual murmur. He lowered his pitch. ‘Think of it, Sophia! It’ll be fun.’
Fun. Her skin prickled in warning. It was a game to him! A game of ‘don’t
touch’, delicious and forbidden—like the games men played with their mistresses when their wives were around.
Fun. Her heart sank. He’d have sexual satisfaction without responsibility. And each day she’d have to pretend she didn’t care for him at all. No. Her mouth firmed in mutiny.
‘I can’t—won‘t—live a lie,’ she said flatly. ‘I had no idea you meant me to pretend that I hardly know you.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not asking you to lie, just to contain your feelings. We’ve both been forced into that strait-jacket before. You’ve been used to doing that all your life,’ he threw back at her in a hoarse rasp, a horrible harshness roughening the normal musical rise and fall of his lyrical voice.
‘And I don’t want to do it again!’ she cried passionately. ‘I want to be what I am! To show emotion when I feel it, to laugh and sing and cry...’
Her voice faded away, her throat blocked with choking misery. She wanted to show her love for him, not to hide it as if it were something shameful.
But a single-minded determination glittered in the unreadable depths of his dark eyes. ‘I understand that. I have my reasons for asking you to do this. Good reasons. You mustn’t show that you care for me. Promise me, Sophia!’ he said in a fierce hiss.
She halted at the top of the stairs, shocked by his vehemence. Sweet heaven! she thought in horror. Everything was going wrong. Had she made a terrible mistake? Perhaps there really had been a hidden agenda for his whirlwind courtship, something even more sinister than the titillation of a tired palate!
She would have swayed, but pride steadied her. Until she knew what was really behind his proposal, she would resist any attempt by him to hurry her into marriage. If that was what he’d ever intended.
Her legs wobbled as if she were on shifting sands. But she only had herself to blame. She’d been too ready to believe him, too eager to fall for the rosy, romantic future he had painted. Not any more.
Angry and upset, she gritted her teeth and forced a smile even though she felt her heart would break.
‘I’ll show no sign of affection in public, you can be sure of that.’
‘Excellent!’
Out came the dazzling grin, right on cue. It was as if clouds had momentarily obscured his face, she thought miserably. Now he was getting his own way—as he be-Neved—the sun had come out again.
Her own smile wavered a little as they walked the length of a barrel-vaulted gallery. So Rozzano needed to be dominant. Sophia drew herself up proudly. No man would rule her. If he thought she would be a pushover, he was in for a nasty shock!
‘Actually,’ he said silkily, ‘I think it might be a good idea to keep our wedding a secret from everyone but Alberto till the latest possible moment.’
‘Oh? Why?’ she asked shortly, her mouth set in a stubborn line.
‘It’s occurred to me that no one would be able to interfere. We can decide on ten bridesmaids or none and dress them in cream silk or Lycra with purple spots—’
‘I think you have a bridesmaid fixation,’ she said tartly. ‘How do we get people to turn up?’
‘Easy. We invite them to a grand celebration ball.’ His eyes danced with amusement. ‘Imagine, Sophia! They’ll be astounded when you arrive in your wedding dress!’
‘What fun,’ she observed drily.
He chuckled, not recognising her sarcasm. ‘No one will forget our wedding! And I’ve just realised—there’d be one great bonus. The press wouldn’t get wind of it and we’d be able to stop our wedding day from becoming a fiasco.’
‘You’re very thoughtful.’
He gave her a suspicious glance but she’d found a serene expression from somewhere and he nodded in satisfaction. ‘Agreed, then?’ he murmured lightly.
Too lightly. Despite his casual manner, it was obvious that he desperately wanted her to fall in with his plans. And perhaps it did serve her purposes. If no one knew they were to be married, her shame would remain a secret if the wedding were cancelled.
‘Why not?’ she replied, attempting a carefree shrug.
But Sophia’s stomach was churning with unnamed fears. If he was rushing her into marriage, if he wanted it to be concealed from everyone he knew...was there something she didn’t know about, a reason for the haste and his desperate desire for secrecy?
Please, no! she begged the Fates. Don’t let him deceive me! If he should prove to be false... She clutched at her breast, her eyes huge with distress. She’d die of misery, she thought dramatically—but she’d make sure she crippled him first!
‘The salon.’ Totally relaxed now, he opened a pair of double doors. ‘Welcome,’ he said, as if he were the host and she the guest.
Faintly annoyed by that, she entered the high-ceilinged room and gasped in awe.
‘Lovely, isn’t it?’ he murmured with more than a hint of possessive pride. ‘Make yourself at home. May I get you a drink?’
She looked to where he stood, decanter already in his hand. As if he owned the place, she thought, and then wiped that from her mind. ‘No, thank you,’ she said politely. ‘I think it might give a bad impression if I breathe whisky all over my grandfather at our first meeting.’
‘You’re right!’
He was grinning, pouring himself a drink as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Why should he have, when she’d obediently agreed to everything he’d suggested? She gritted her teeth, determined to hide her anger.
Desperate to do something, she walked to the tall windows. They ran from floor to ceiling and opened onto a small stone balcony above the Grand Canal, which glittered in the bright sunshine.
From where she stood she could see the dome of the Salute church and clusters of exotic black gondolas tied to barber-striped poles outside ochre-coloured palaces. It was an incredible setting, of breathtaking beauty.
Her hand had been resting against the heavy oystercoloured drapes framing the window. Almost without thinking, she let her fingers trail over the sensual silk, her newly heightened senses revelling in their voluptuous opulence. Behind her, she heard the faint hiss of Rozzano’s breath.
Her back stiffened. So he didn’t like her touching D‘Antiga possessions! After all, he’d spent years treating them as his own...
Like an arrow, the treacherous suspicion shot into her mind again, only to be fiercely dismissed. If she and Rozzano had any chance together, she had to stop inventing reasons for his behaviour—especially when she had no hard evidence.
Taut with nerves, she deliberately set about touching a few more items. A bronze statue. An intricately inlaid marble table. The gilded frame of a huge oil painting depicting Adam and Eve in swirling draperies and little else. And as she did so the pressure in the room seemed to hitch up a notch or two.
Her stomach swooped. He hated her being there! Touching what he regarded as his things!
‘Carpaccio,’ he said tersely, coming to where she was studying an oil painting. His tension was so palpable that it electrified the air.
Her heart fluttered frantically against her ribcage. ‘I know nothing about painters. Is he famous?’ she asked politely, wishing her grandfather would appear and rescue her from this vile atmosphere. And once, she thought wanly, she’d loved being alone with Rozzano!
‘One of the masters. Do sit down,’ he said politely.
Host to guest again! ‘Thank you,’ she answered coolly, heading for a comfortable armchair.
He began to sift through letters on a gilded antique table, opening one or two, stuffing the others into his pocket. And then he took up the classic male pose of ownership, standing in front of the marble fireplace, one elbow casually on the mantelpiece as he sipped his drink and looked at her inscrutably from under his lashes.
Sophia hid her mounting anxieties and crossed one elegant, Vianni-shod ankle over the other. ‘I’m beginning to enjoy luxury. I feel really at home here,’ she announced, injecting a proprietorial note into her voice to test him.
Rozzano’s brows drew together in a hard b
lack line and it gave her no pleasure that she’d apparently hit a raw nerve. ‘Good. You certainly seem very composed,’ he clipped out.
‘It’s the clothes,’ she replied casually. ‘They have confidence sewn into the seams. I probably look as good as I ever will.’
‘Captivating,’ he agreed, a faint curl to his mouth. ‘I’m having difficulty keeping my hands off you.’
It wasn’t noticeable, she thought tartly. And wanted to weep. Her eyes pricked with hot tears. She didn’t want doubts or mysteries. Just Rozzano. She’d have it out with him, clear the air... Her spiky lashes lifted but he was listening to something inaudible to her, his head cocked on one side.
‘Your grandfather’s coming,’ he said suddenly. ‘I recognise that creaking floorboard!’
And he was across the room, opening the doors to a nurse who was pushing an elderly, white-haired man in a wheelchair.
‘Rozzano!’ Alberto D‘Antiga held out his arms and the two men embraced fondly, murmuring to one another with affection.
Sophia watched, her emotions skittering this way and that. The love between them was plain to see and it gladdened her aching heart.
Despite her grandfather’s frailty, it was obvious that he had once been an imposing man. He was tall, and sat erect like a soldier on parade, and he reminded her so much of her beloved father that her eyes became misty.
‘And you must be my Sophia!’
Smiling gently at the warmth in his tone, she went to him, knelt beside the chair and allowed herself to be wrapped in his thin arms. For a long time he held her, emotion shaking his gaunt frame. And she couldn’t speak, couldn’t say any of the words she’d planned, the little phrase of Italian she’d learnt to please him. Whatever his titles and noble ancestry, he was her only living relative and his affectionate welcome had won her heart already.
His hand lightly stroked her hair. ‘Ah! So like your mother!’