Chapter Six
“EVERYTHING LOOKS THE SAME.”
Her voice was hollow, her heart hurting as she looked around the parlour of his enormous house in the middle of Rome. On the morning she’d left, she’d sworn she’d never set foot in this place again. The wedding dress she wore now was incredibly comfortable, except all of a sudden it felt too tight, as though it were strangling her. She pulled ineffectually at the neckline, trying to buy some breathing room.
“Si.” Massimo Montebello in any guise was almost too handsome to bear but like this, dressed in the tuxedo he’d worn to their wedding, he was a picture of vitality, strength and charisma. Her eyes lingered on his frame a moment too long before she turned her attention back to the living room.
“Naturally, you can change whatever you would like.”
Her heart stuttered. Change. It was so final, so lasting, as though she would be a permanent occupant in this house. Inwardly she fought against that. It was far better to leave everything as it was and think of this as ‘his’ house. She could live there, but she’d never really belong. She’d made the mistake of believing her first marriage was real, and she’d lived to regret it bitterly. This time, she’d be smarter.
The thick contract she’d signed was proof that this was far from a normal marriage.
“It’s fine. I’ll get used to it.” She looked around as if making that commitment to herself and then forced a smile to her lips. It felt brittle, but that could have been the icy cold day they’d used to re-pledge their vows.
“Which room shall I use? I’d like to get changed.”
His frown was one of bemusement. “You don’t remember?”
She shook her head, scanning his face.
“Our room is upstairs, to the left.”
“That’s your room.”
“Now it’s our room.”
Her heart turned over in her chest. “Max…”
“Are you truly going to fight me about this?”
He moved closer, his eyes latched to hers, making her feel somehow ridiculous.
“I’m too tired to fight,” she said honestly. “Tomorrow, we can discuss it.”
Sympathy crossed his handsome face. “Of course. You must be exhausted; it’s been a long day.”
It had been. From getting ready with Elodie and Maddie at the five star hotel near the church, to having to pretend that this wasn’t like an emergency root canal, to standing in front of a small but elite group of guests and pledging to spend her life with Massimo all over again. So many of the faces were familiar from the first time around, women who had always seemed as though they wanted to scratch Alessia’s eyes out, women who were obviously as drawn to Massimo as Alessia had been. Alessia wondered what they’d say if she shouted, ‘You can have him! I don’t want him!’
The ceremony had been short but the dinner afterwards long. The Montebellos were a big family – six cousins, Yaya, and now wives and children, not to mention Carlo, who had made a lengthy speech full of pride and love, which had brought tears to Alessia’s eyes and made her feel like the worst kind of liar.
He believed this marriage was about more than a baby, and in keeping that detail from him, Massimo had very cleverly trapped Alessia just that little bit more tightly. Disappointing her father all over again was something she had no intention of doing.
“Come upstairs.” He held a hand out to her, strong and tanned, his eyes showing nothing but concern, and suddenly, emotions threatened to pull at Alessia so she honestly felt like she might cry. She bit down on her lower lip and nodded stiffly, moving towards the stairs, holding the rail lightly – a habit she’d developed when she’d first lived here and had almost fallen down the steps twice in the first week. She blamed the ancient silk carpet – as beautiful as it was to look at, it was also incredibly smooth underfoot. But they were obviously expensive and everything in this place was the last word in luxury.
At the door to his room, she hesitated. Every time she’d come into this space she’d felt as though she were invading, yet still she’d done it, telling herself it was just nervousness, that once they’d become intimate sleeping in the same bed as her husband would feel normal.
Fool! Childish dreams!
“Would you mind helping me out of the dress?” She kept her voice cool despite the trembling in her heart.
“Of course.” His own words were filled with warmth and ease, as though there was nothing in this situation to trouble him.
She took a step into the room, moving towards the full-length mirror and staring at her reflection without really seeing – she knew that she looked like a typical bride in the beautiful white silk and beaded dress, all tulle and lace and glamour. But it was just as fraudulent as their first marriage had been.
His fingers worked each of the dozens of buttons at the back slowly, unhooking a pearl at a time until the dress had parted to her waist.
“That should be fine. I can manage the rest.” She sounded so prim! Her eyes met his in the mirror and her stomach twisted painfully.
She felt as though he wanted to say something but he didn’t, simply shrugged his shoulders a little and turned away from her. In the mirror she watched as he flicked at his wrists, removing the black diamond cufflinks there before loosening his shirt sleeves and finally undoing the shirt in the middle, pushing at the fabric until it fell open to reveal his bronzed, muscular chest.
Her throat went dry and her entire body seemed to reverberate at a new frequency. She stared at him in the mirror, her blood turning to lava. Slowly, he shifted his head until their eyes met in the mirror again and this time, there was no warmth or compassion, there was only flame. Her skin felt tingly, her knees wobbly. He stripped the shirt from his body while he held her gaze, revealing his torso in all its magnificence.
His hands reached for his belt and she startled, blinking, heat spreading to her cheeks, embarrassment finally giving life to her feet. Clutching her bridal gown at the shoulders so as to avoid its fall to the ground, she shuffled across the carpeted floor to the en suite and quickly closed the door behind her, leaning against it with a sense of breathlessness.
She turned the water on before she could hear him laugh. Because surely a man like Massimo would be laughing at her innocence and naivety?
“What the hell have you done, Alessia?” She pushed at the stunning gown, too absorbed by her emotions to take as much care as she ordinarily would. Naked except for the lace underpants Elodie had talked her into buying, along with a heap of other silken lingerie Alessia hadn’t had the heart to tell her new sister-in-law she wouldn’t need, Alessia stared at her reflection in the mirror and felt a wave of something like panic.
She was pregnant. Six months along now, her stomach too rounded to disguise, her body glowing with the promise of new life. Her hair was glossy, her eyes shining, her cheeks pink, and her lower back twinged at the end of the day. Pregnant and married to Massimo again – how had this happened?
She stood in the shower a long time, letting the warm water wash over her, seeking a sense of calm and clarity that didn’t come. Eventually, she turned off the water and stepped out, towelling herself completely dry. Grabbing her wedding dress from the floor and draping it with more reverence over her arm, she stepped out into the bedroom to find Massimo lying in the bed wearing only a pair of boxer shorts, his legs outstretched, a book in one hand and a coffee in the other. She did a double take, a frown etching across her lips.
In the year they’d been married, she’d never seen him like this. She hadn’t even known he liked to read.
She was so caught up in her own surprise that she barely registered his response – the way his eyes lit upon her body with such fierce possession, roaming her shoulders, the flesh of her décolletage, the curve of her breasts and finally the roundedness of her stomach, before dropping to her feet and the toes she’d had painted a pale pink.
“Better?” She bit down on her lower lip and nodded, moving awkwardly towards the wardrob
e.
“Much.”
She fussed with the dress, spending longer than was necessary on getting it hooked properly onto the hanger, then pulling out something to wear. None of the utilitarian pyjamas she’d packed had been placed in these drawers. In fact, all of the clothes were new, many of them still with tags in place.
“Max?”
A moment later, he appeared at the entrance to the wardrobe, distractingly half-naked and full-gorgeous. She blotted that out.
“Where are my things?”
“I bought you new things.”
She stared at him with bemusement.
“Why?”
He took a step forward and in the confines of the large walk-in-wardrobe, the air felt too thick to breathe.
“Because this is the start of a new life.”
His words seared something deep in her soul. He reached forward and lifted a silky negligee from the drawer, exquisite with lace trim and a dusky peach colour. Alessia’s cheeks felt warm as he held it out to her. “Your bags are downstairs,” he murmured huskily. “If you do not like this, Carlotta will unpack for you tomorrow.”
Mollified and far too distracted now to think about the suitcase of things she’d packed, she could only stare up at him, their eyes sparking in the soft light of the wardrobe.
He lifted a hand to her cheek, his touch soft, his eyes the darkest shade of brown, almost black. “How could you ever have thought…” his words trailed off into nothing, his expression dark.
She waited for him to finish, her breath held.
“How could you not have realised how much I wanted you?”
Dangerous feelings burst to life in her gut. Hope and pleasure, a sense of release and coming home, of vindication and pleasure – all of twenty-year-old Alessia’s dreams seemed to be slotting into place, but they were old dreams and Alessia no longer valued them.
Max had hurt her.
He’d hurt her again and again and he couldn’t say anything now to undo that. Perhaps he was telling the truth. Maybe he had felt something like desire for her – though she found it almost impossible to believe. He would need to have been made of marble not to have succumbed to her admittedly awkward but none the less persistent attempts at seduction! In which case, it was far more credible to believe he’d found her as desirable as three day old fish and was simply trying to make this marriage work now, given the necessity of it with the impending arrival of their daughter.
Her smile was tight, a bare acknowledgement of what he’d said. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“No.” He dropped his hand and took a step backwards, his features forming a mask that was more familiar – one of polite disinterest. That was the man she’d been married to. “You said you were tired?”
She had been – bone weary. But the shower and standing in such close proximity to him in the wardrobe had energised every single one of her senses. She nodded her agreement anyway.
“Would you like me to fetch you anything?”
She arched a brow, amusement surprising her from nowhere. She tamped down on it – it was far wiser not to let her guard down with Massimo in any way.
“Such as?” Her words were loaded with something approaching icy disdain.
“Water? Tea?”
His thoughtfulness threatened to unpick some of her reserve. She held onto it with effort. “I know my way to the kitchen if I need anything.”
He looked as though he wanted to argue but he didn’t. Instead, he nodded and moved to the door, his eyes holding hers for a moment before he stepped out, leaving her in peace.
Their clothes were hung side by side. It was a small detail but a new intimacy, one they’d never observed in their first marriage. She’d had her room and he’d had his. Seeing beautiful dresses and skirts nestled against his suits weakened all her good intentions and in solitude, she allowed that, softening just for a moment as she ran her fingers over their clothes, the fabrics soft beneath her touch. Her hand stilled on a work shirt of his and she pulled it from the rack before she could realise what she was doing. It was starched, obviously top quality, but that wasn’t what drew her attention. It had a fine silver thread through it that was instantly familiar. He’d been wearing this – or a shirt just like it – on the day they’d signed the divorce papers. Her heart pounded at this physical talisman of that painful day and salty tears filled her eyes unexpectedly.
She wasn’t that girl anymore. She’d done so much since then, changed so completely. She’d graduated her medical degree and got a job working at a clinic in Ondechiara. She’d volunteered in Morocco each summer, helping immunise children and treat street kids. She’d kept herself busy since their divorce as a survival technique but from that she’d grown so much.
One day – no matter how momentous – shouldn’t still have the power to upset her. She pushed the shirt back quickly and pulled a drawer out instead. Eventually she found some t-shirts, all designer, each with delicate fabric and beads, none of which would be comfortable to sleep in. Stifling a yawn, she grabbed for one of his work shirts instead, a large white one, and pulled it on, buttoning it up to the neck before adding a pair of silk underpants beneath it. Alessia was by no means short but Massimo had the height advantage by at least two inches so the shirt fitted like a comfortable nightgown. Perfect.
She pulled her hair over one shoulder and padded into the bedroom. The lights were out, and Massimo was lying in the bed, on his back. Her own lamp remained on, so it was easy to see the tall glass of water he’d placed there. Her heart skipped a beat and she gave it a stern, silent admonishment as she pulled the covers back.
It was too tempting to look at him – impossible not to. Her eyes feasted on his bronzed body before she could stop herself, the cotton of his boxer shorts doing nothing to hide his virility and masculinity, her eyes landing there as her blood threatened to explode through her body. Feelings of need suffocating anything else. Good intentions be damned. Memories of their night in London exploded through her. Heaven help me, this is going to be a long marriage.
“Do you like what you see, bella cara?”
His words were teasing but his tone was not. It was rich with the same needs that were eating her alive. She dragged her eyes away, up the ridges of his abdomen, over hair-roughened nipples to a face that could have been carved from granite.
Helplessness was rich in her features. He held a hand out to her, his eyes promising her the world, but she stayed where she was, as though her feet were glued to the spot.
“I’m not –,” she swallowed, not sure what she’d been intending to say.
“It is our wedding night.”
Her heart skipped a beat, but the words simultaneously evoked painful memories of their first wedding night, when all of her expectations and excited anticipation had been torn into shreds. “Wedding nights don’t mean very much though, do they?” It broke the spell. She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, careful not to brush his outstretched hand, her back to him. She took a sip of water, placed the glass carefully back on the coaster and then lay down, her body right on the edge of the mattress, her eyes fixed on the wall across from her.
His heavy sigh brushed her back.
She could do this. If she lay like this all night, careful not to touch him, not to get even a little close to the centre of the enormous bed, then she’d sleep, and in the morning, she could revisit the question of where her room would be. For now, this was easier. His rhythmic breathing had her risking a glance over her shoulder.
The bastard had fallen asleep almost instantly! So much for being driven crazy by her, she thought with a self-directed roll of her eyes, flipping back onto her side and returning her attention to the wall. In took a long time to quell her humming mind but eventually, Alessia fell asleep, her dreams disturbed, her brain putting her back in the past, so her thoughts were alive with her first marriage to this powerful tycoon, the feelings of helplessness that had dogged her step each day.
She’d lost hersel
f to him completely, sitting in her study with her notebooks, distracted from whatever she was reading while waiting to catch a glimpse of his car turning into the street. The rush of adrenaline that would assault her when she heard the front door open and knew she would, within minutes, see him once more.
And all the while he’d acted impervious to her, almost as though he’d forgotten she was even in his home. She was like a pet, but not a particularly wanted one.
He hadn’t wanted her. She’d known that about halfway into the marriage but she’d stupidly believed she could make him want her. They’d known each other a long time and had always been friendly. She had been able to make him laugh, easily, for years, but that ability seemed to have evaporated. Now he was so icily polite to her, so distant, and yet every day had driven her almost crazy with longing.
It was little wonder she woke with a start, early the next morning. She was warm on one side, and more comfortable than she could remember being. She shifted a little and then froze. It was no mattress that softened her curves. At some point during the night, good intentions be damned, she’d curled her body like a conch shell, wrapping around Massimo, her head now pressed to his shoulder, his naked torso moving gently with each of his deep breaths.
With a soft sound of surprise, she went to move away but his arm clamped, vice-like, around her waist, holding her where she was, his fingertips running over her side, his nearness completely intoxicating.
Her eyes flew wide; breath slammed through her.
“Where did you go, last time?”
His voice was coated with sleep, thick and husky. Her stomach clenched.
“I’m sorry?”
“After that day in my office, I presumed you’d go to Ondechiara but you didn’t.”
Loving the Enemy Page 6