by Liz Fielding
‘You’re kidding me?’ Milan Fashion Week was as big as it got. Invitations to parties thrown by the designers were like gold dust.
‘They probably think I’m my father. Dante, Daniele... What are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Just checking that my chin isn’t down there on the floor,’ she said. ‘Do you think he’ll be feeling slighted? Your father?’
‘He won’t notice. Valentina presents a local evening television show so she gets invited to everything.’
‘Oh... I had no idea.’
‘Lisa didn’t tell you?’
‘No. She started to talk about her but I said that you had already told me what happened and she got the message.’ But it explained his reluctance to contact local TV about his film. ‘Will Valentina be there? With your father?’
‘More than likely, but this is not about them. I’m asking you. Would you like to go as my plus one?’ And then Dante told her who the invitation was from and she nearly passed out with shock.
Her mouth was moving but nothing was coming out and she fanned herself with one hand while indicating that she’d be with him in a moment with the other. He caught the fanning hand, said, ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’
‘No—’
‘No?’ He sounded genuinely shocked, as well he might.
‘You don’t have to put yourself through this for me.’
‘She’s married to my father, Angel. If he and I are going to have any kind of relationship we have to move on. But you’re right. Maybe what I’m asking...’ He linked his fingers through hers. ‘Will you do this for me?’
‘You want me to be your wing man?’
‘Above and behind me? No, my angel, I want you beside me all the way.’ And he leaned across the table and kissed her.
His lips tasted of coffee and pistachio ice cream and, like every kiss they’d shared, it was all too brief. She’d waited long enough...
‘Dante—’ He waited. ‘You do realise that this isn’t actually our first date?’
‘It isn’t?’
‘Don’t you remember? When you insisted on taking me to the commissariato—’
‘I certainly remember that. I hope there wasn’t an emergency while you were there because no one would have heard the phone.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘No, think... You said, “Is it a date?”’
‘And you said yes.’
‘Actually, I asked if it was “another” date. Made some stupid comment about going steady. We’d already made a date to sit up late one night and tell one another stories. I think we can quite legitimately count this as a two-in-one. A double date for two.’
‘So you’re saying—be patient with me, I don’t want to get this wrong—that this is our third date?’
She just smiled and he raised a hand in the direction of a passing waiter. ‘Il conto...’
* * *
Dante opened his eyes, saw Angelica’s dark hair spread across the pillow, her lovely mouth an invitation to kiss her awake and thought for a moment that he was dreaming.
He kissed her anyway and, like Sleeping Beauty, she opened her eyes, smiled, hooked her hand around his neck and drew him down to her so that she could kiss him back. A morning kiss, new as the dawn, as welcome as the spring.
‘Ciao, carissima,’ he said, his hand tracing the profile of her body as she turned towards him; the lovely curves he’d explored with such thoroughness during a night in which he’d been reborn. ‘Come posse servirvi?’
She frowned, mouthed the words then, her smile widening into soft laughter, she said, ‘Did you really ask how you can serve me?’
‘Would you like tea?’ he asked, his hand lingering on her thigh. ‘Or I could carry you to the shower and get creative with the soap. Or—’ a blast of Abba’s Dancing Queen shattered the silence ‘—Dio! What is that?’
‘The alarm on my phone.’ She rolled out of bed and he watched her walk, naked, to her bag, find her phone and turn it off. She looked back at him. ‘Your service will have to wait, I’m afraid. I have to go to work.’
‘Matteo is not expecting you. I told him that you had other plans today.’
‘What? You can’t do that.’ He loved how shocked she was. How committed...
‘I’m the boss. I can do what I like.’
‘But it’s market day. They’ll—’
‘They’ll manage,’ he said, peeling himself off the bed, wrapping his arms around her. ‘Now, where were we, mio amore? Tea, shower—’ he nuzzled the lovely curve of her neck ‘—or is there some other way I can serve you?’
She kissed his neck, ran her hand down his back. ‘Why don’t we start with the shower and see how it goes from there?’
* * *
Geli’s hand was shaking as she called Elle. She hadn’t the faintest clue what she was going to say to her; she only knew she had to hear that calm voice.
‘Sorry, I can’t talk right now. Leave a message and I’ll call you back when whatever crisis I’m having is sorted.’
A message? Which one would that be? I’m going to a swanky party thrown by one of the world’s most famous fashion designers. I can’t stand up because Dante Vettori spent the night melting my bones. I’m in love...
No, no, no! It had been the most thrilling, tender, perfect sex, outshining anything she could have imagined in her wildest fantasy, but Dante was right, love was more than that.
It was lying together in the snow in a universe so quiet that you could hear a star fall. It was making the toughest phone call in the world in order to find a cat which might already be dead. It was small things, like texts that said nothing except I’m thinking of you.
‘Just me,’ she said. ‘Nothing important, just looking for some big sister advice about what to wear to a bit of a do. Love to everyone. Catch up soon.’
Clothes... Concentrate on clothes.
She was standing in front of her wardrobe when Dante returned from Lisa’s flat. ‘You were an age. Was there a problem?’
‘You could say that. The goldfish was floating on the top of the tank. I’ve been at the pet shop trying to find a match.’
‘Any luck?’
‘We found one with similar markings. It’s a bit bigger, but with any luck Lisa will put that down to a growth spurt.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’
‘You’ll just have to own up.’
‘Thanks for that.’ She turned back to the wardrobe and the two dresses hanging over the doors. ‘Have you heard from her since she arrived?’
‘Just a text to let me know that she arrived safely. What are you doing?’
‘I’m trying to decide which dress to wear tonight. The black or the burgundy-red.’
‘So nothing taxing, then.’ She gave him what Elle called ‘the look’. ‘Obviously, you’ll wear the black but you’ll look fabulous whatever you wear, cara. Meanwhile, I have something important to say. I need you to concentrate.’
Heart in her mouth, she turned to him. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s this. Posso baciarti, carissima?’
‘Testing my Italian, carissimo?’ she asked, raising her arms and looping them around his neck. ‘Voglio baciare si...’
His answer was a long slow kiss, followed by an intimate lesson in advanced Italian.
* * *
It was the accessories that finally settled the matter of what she would wear. Her black dress had been refashioned from a fine jersey vintage dress that she’d found in a trunk in the attic.
The sleeves had been cut in one with the dress and she had narrowed them below the elbow. The neck was a simple V, cut low, but merely hinting at her breasts and she’d used a series of darts to bring it in at the waist. Worn as it was, it was timelessly elegant. Tonight, she’d cinched it in with an eight-inch-wide basque-style black suede and silver kid belt that was fastened at an angle by a series of small diamanté buckles.
When she was finally satisfied that every detail was perfect, she picked up a tiny silver and black suede clutch and he
r long black velvet evening coat and went through to the living room.
Dante, looking jaw-droppingly handsome in a tux, was standing in front of the fire, one hand on the mantel, the other holding a glass, his face burnished by the flames as he gazed into some dark abyss. Then, as he lifted the glass, he saw her and it never made it to his mouth.
‘Angel...’ He put down the glass, crossed to her, took the coat from her, holding onto one of her hands. ‘Pretty gloves,’ he said, admiring the fingerless black lace mitts she was wearing. ‘I want to kiss you but you look so perfect.’
She lifted her hand so that he could kiss her fingers and he took his time about it, kissing each one in turn before turning her hand over and kissing her palm.
‘What a gentleman,’ she said, laughing, to disguise the fact that she was practically melting on the spot, and tapped her cheek. ‘You can’t do much damage there.’
He touched his lips to the spot.
‘Or there.’
She lifted her chin so that he could kiss her neck, by which time he’d got the idea and continued a trail of soft kisses along the edge of the neckline of her dress. When he reached the lowest part of the V he slid his hand beneath the cloth and pushed it aside, then audibly caught his breath as he realised that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath it. ‘Mia amore...’
He settled her silver and jet necklace back into place, carefully removed his hands, stepped back and held out her coat. As she turned and slipped her arms into the sleeves, he said, ‘Have you grown?’
She hitched up her skirt a few inches to reveal the slender steel vertiginous heels of her intricately laced black suede boots.
He studied them for a moment, then her belt, then he looked up and smiled. ‘I am so going to enjoy undressing you when we get home.’
* * *
By the time the limo approached the red carpet, Geli was shaking with nerves. ‘All the women will be wearing designer dresses, diamonds,’ she said.
‘You are wearing a designer dress. And every one of those women will wish they were wearing that belt.’
‘You think so?’
‘Believe me. They’ll know that every man in the room will be wishing he was the one unfastening those pretty buckles tonight.’
‘Now I’m blushing.’
‘Then it’s just as well I’ll be the only man in the room who knows for sure what you’re not wearing tonight.’ It was probably as well that the car stopped at that moment. Dante climbed out, offered her his hand, said, ‘Big smile, Angel...’ and she stepped out of the car to a blaze of flashlights from the army of paparazzi waiting for the celebrities.
The room was like a palace in a very grown-up fairy tale: everything beautiful, everything perfectly arranged, a stage set for exquisitely dressed players who moved in a circle around the legendary central character who was their host, and she watched, fascinated, as the famous—Hollywood stars, supermodels—paid court.
Dante introduced her to some people he knew, she drank a little champagne, ate a little caviar and wished she hadn’t. He went to fetch her a glass of water and, as she turned, searching the crowd for a sight of Valentina or his father, she came face to face with the Maestro himself.
‘Signora...’
‘Maestro. Piacere... Mi chiamo Angelica Amery. Sono Inglese. My Italian is not good.’
‘Welcome, Angelica Amery,’ he said, switching to English. ‘It’s always a pleasure to meet a beautiful woman, especially one with so much courage.’
‘Courage?’
‘I believe that, including the waitresses, you are the only woman in the room not wearing a dress designed by me. This vogue for vintage clothes will put us all out of business.’
‘Mi dispiace, Maestro, but I could not afford one of your gowns or even the one I’m wearing for that matter. This belonged to my great-grandmother.’
‘She was a woman of great style, as are you, cara. And I adore your belt. The asymmetrical slant of the buckles complements the era of the dress so well. Where did you find it?’
‘Grazie, Maestro. I designed it myself. I was inspired by an Indian bracelet I saw on the Internet.’
‘Quite perfect.’ He nodded, held out his hand before moving on and when she took it he raised it to his lips. ‘Come and see me next month. We will talk about your future.’
‘Grazie...’ But he was already talking to someone else and, when she looked down, she realised that he’d tucked his card under her lace mitten.
He’d given her his card. Asked her to come and see him. He’d said her belt was ‘quite perfect’...
She stood for a moment trying to breathe, trying to take in what had just happened and then spun round, searching for Dante so that she could tell him.
Taller than most in the room, he should be easy to spot, even in this crush, and after a moment she spotted his broad shoulders jutting from a small alcove. He had his back to her but, as she took a step in his direction, she saw who he was talking to.
Valentina Vettori was older than she’d realised, older than Dante, but even more beautiful in the flesh than in her photograph despite, or perhaps because, her eyes were brimming with tears.
It was like watching a car crash you were unable to prevent. The way she reached for him, the way he took her into his arms and held her while her tears seeped into the shoulder of his jacket. And all the joy of the last twenty-four hours, the triumph of the evening, turned to ashes in her mouth.
Valentina had been his lover—he’d grieved for her loss for over a year.
He’d only known her for a week.
Look away, she told herself. Look away now...
It was a moment of the most intense privacy and no one in the celebrity-hunting crowd had noticed. No one cared but her.
As she dragged her eyes from the scene in the alcove she saw someone else she recognised. Make that no one but her and Daniele Vettori who, glass in hand, was looking around, clearly wondering where his wife had got to.
‘Signor Vettori,’ she said, walking towards him, hand outstretched. ‘I am so glad to meet you. I wanted to thank you for your help the other night.’ His smile was puzzled but he turned to look at her. ‘Sono Angelica Amery,’ she said. ‘The crazy cat lady.’
‘Signora Amery... Piacere.’ He took her hand. ‘I did not realise that you were English. You are here with Dante?’ He sounded surprised. Looked hopeful.
‘I’m a dress designer—in a very small way,’ she added. ‘Dante thought I might enjoy this.’
‘And are you?’
‘Very much.’ Until two minutes ago she had been on top of the world. ‘Is your wife with you?’ she asked as his eyes wandered in search of her. Anything to keep him focused on her.
‘She’s here somewhere, making up for lost time networking. We were very late. Alberto—our son—wouldn’t settle. We have a nanny but Valentina... I’m sorry; you do not want to talk about babies.’ He smiled, gave her his full attention. ‘Where is my son?’
‘He’s gone to find me a glass of water. It’s rather a crush.’
‘Please, take this.’ He offered her the glass he was holding. ‘My wife is breastfeeding so she’s avoiding the champagne.’
‘Oh, but—’
His smile deepened and it was so much like his son’s that a lump formed in her throat. ‘There’s a price to pay. You will have to stay and talk to me until Dante returns.’
‘That’s not an imposition, it’s a pleasure.’ She took the glass from him, hoping that her hand would not shake as she took a sip.
‘Did you meet Dante in England, Signora Amery?’
‘Please, everyone calls me Geli.’
Everyone except Dante...
‘Grazie, Geli. Mi chiamo, Daniele.’
‘Daniele... And, in answer to your question, no. I came to Isola to work. Dante helped me when I had a problem with my apartment.’ She had to chase up the bank. She’d let things slide; there had been no urgency, but now—
‘Angelica...’ Sh
e physically jumped as Dante placed his hand on her shoulder, standing possessively close. He was paler and there was the faintest smear of make-up on the shoulder of his jacket that only someone who knew what to look for would see, but he had remembered her water. ‘It appears that I’m redundant here.’
‘Not at all.’ She took the glass from him and handed it to his father. ‘Daniele merely loaned me this glass until you returned. It was for Valentina but she seems to have disappeared.’
‘I saw her a minute ago. I believe she was heading in the direction of the cloakroom.’
‘Then I will wait here with you if I may,’ Daniele said.
The two men looked at one another for a long intense moment before Dante put out his hand and said something in Italian that Geli did not understand. And then she was holding two glasses as the two men hugged one another.
And she was the one blinking back tears when Valentina found them, linked her arm in Daniele’s and said something to her in Italian, speaking far too quickly for her to understand.
‘Geli is English, cara,’ Daniele said, taking the fresh glass from Dante and handing it to her. ‘She is the heroine who searched my construction site in the snow and saved the injured cat.’
‘Alora... Such drama. You are so brave...’ Her expression was unreadable and she could have intended anything from genuine admiration—possibly for risking her nails—to veiled sarcasm. ‘Come... How is she? The cat?’
‘She is healing fast and contented now that she is with her kittens,’ Geli assured her.
‘Then all is right with her world.’ She looked at Dante and for a long moment it was as if she and Daniele were not there. Then she snapped on a smile and said, ‘Dolci...’ before turning to her. ‘Sweet... I do not know if you are aware but I present an early evening magazine programme on regional television. We are always looking for light stories. Good news. Maybe we could feature your cat and her kittens? Are they photogenic?’
Geli, astonished and not entirely sure what to make of her invitation, turned to Dante but, getting no help there, said, ‘Well, Mamma Cat is a looking a bit like Frankenstein’s monster at the moment, shaved patches and stitches, but the kittens more than make up for that.’
‘Perfect. Will you do it? Obviously, the programme is in Italian, but I can translate for you or—’ Geli waited for her to suggest that Dante came along to translate ‘—we could film them at home and I can do a voice-over.’