Cinderella In The Sicilian's World (HQR Presents)

by Sharon Kendrick

  Was it a flicker of her newfound confidence at work which made her willing to give it a try? Her handbags were proving surprisingly popular and had been flying out of the store. It seemed that rich women were prepared to pay a lot of money to own something so obviously handmade. Siena Simon had become a big fan of her work, prompting her to talk to the features editor of one of the biggest fashion bibles in the country, which had produced an exciting result. Which was part of the reason for this meal. But only part of it. Lina felt her chest tighten with apprehension. Because she wanted to give Salvatore something which all his billions couldn’t give him. She ran her fingertips over the gleaming purple flesh of the aubergine. Some heart. Some thought. Some care. Something which had been made from...not love, no, because that would freak him out. But surely it was okay to demonstrate her deep affection and her gratitude to him, by cooking him a simple meal.

  Her preparation finished, she stole a quick glance in the kitchen mirror at the hair which she’d tied back so it wouldn’t flop in the sauce. A smile curved her lips as she touched her fingertips to an imprisoned wave. Better unpin it before Salvatore got home...

  * * *

  At first he couldn’t find her. In fact, he couldn’t find anyone. The house was unusually silent and there was no sign of Henry, or Shirley, who often served dinner.

  Salvatore flared his nostrils, like an animal finding itself in unknown territory which had begun silently sniffing the terrain for threats. There had been a faint foggy drizzle in the air tonight and the table had been set for dinner in the smaller of the two dining rooms, rather than out on the terrace. Tall lit candles flickered a golden light show across the creamy walls and the air was thick with the scent of cut roses. Almost automatically he noticed crystal glasses and a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver ice bucket and a feeling of disquiet whispered down his spine. Just then Lina came running up from the kitchen, her cheeks pink with exertion, a scarlet dress clinging to her abundant curves and her luscious curls bouncing around her shoulders. Usually, he liked her in red, but tonight his senses were on alert and he wasn’t quite sure why.

  ‘What’s going on?’ he questioned. ‘Where is everybody?’

  ‘It’s Henry’s night off and I told him we didn’t need any replacement help.’ She smiled. ‘And I gave the chef the night off.’

  He stared at her. ‘You did what?’

  ‘I didn’t think you’d mind. He works very hard and seemed very pleased to have an unexpected free evening. I’ve cooked you something myself instead.’ Her smile became a little uncertain. ‘We don’t need anyone else.’

  ‘That is beside the point,’ he said impatiently. ‘Since when did you start taking over roles which were never supposed to be yours, Lina? Or did you think that several weeks of sharing my bed has given you carte blanche to exert your will and start dismissing my staff whenever you saw fit?’

  ‘No! Of course I didn’t.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you run it past me first?’

  ‘Because...because it was supposed to be a surprise.’

  Ever since the day when he’d arrived home from school to discover his mother ready to drive away with that slimy salesman, Salvatore had had an abiding contempt for surprises. But from the dark hurt he could see clouding her eyes, he wasn’t going to tell her that, in case she switched to unwanted sympathy. The last thing he would be able to stomach would be her compassionate tears on top of everything else. ‘Fine,’ he said, forcing a quick smile. ‘Why don’t you just serve it up?’

  He could see from her pinched expression that she was feeling wounded and, while that didn’t make him feel particularly good, he was unwilling to repent. Because hadn’t he been soft around her? Too soft, maybe. Had he been blinding himself to the truth because it had suited him to do so? Intoxicated by her vibrantly passionate nature and their unique sexual chemistry, he had ignored the very obvious signs that she was starting to care for him. He plucked the champagne bottle from the bucket and began to tear off the foil. And that was the last thing he wanted.

  He had just poured out two glasses when she carried the steaming dish into the dining room and Salvatore felt his stomach heave as he detected the familiar smell. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, even though he knew damned well what it was.

  ‘Pasta alla Norma,’ she said, just a little too brightly. ‘Your favourite.’

  But it didn’t feel like his favourite right then. It felt as if two very different worlds had just come crashing together, leaving him disorientated by the fall-out. Ignoring the generous portion she served him, he slanted a questioning glance at the glass of champagne which he handed to her. ‘Are we supposed to be celebrating something?’

  She sat down opposite him and he realised he hadn’t even kissed her and somehow that seemed very relevant, because this was the first time he had ever looked at her without desire. And she was the one who was killing it, he thought furiously. Destroying a perfectly good relationship with high-handed behaviour and her manipulative attempts to rein him in with an unwanted domesticity which felt like the doors of a jail clanging closed.

  ‘It’s kind of a celebration,’ she said, with a smile.

  He forced himself to go through the motions of appearing interested although his mood was so dark, all he could manage was a single word. ‘Oh?’

  ‘The good news is that my bags are selling well and the store is very pleased—more than pleased. In fact, it’s as much as I can do to keep up with demand and Siena has spoken to a features editor at Trend magazine.’

  ‘A features editor at Trend magazine?’ he repeated blankly.

  She nodded, and her thick black hair shimmered in the candlelight. ‘It’s the number one fashion bible and they want to do a piece for their accessories issue. And Siena thinks we should have a party at the end of the month, to make the most of all the publicity. Open some champagne and invite some of the city’s movers and shakers, that kind of thing.’

  ‘How is advertising your wares going to help if you’re already struggling to keep up with demand?’ He took a sip of wine. ‘Talk me through that one.’

  ‘Siena thought we might be able to employ out-workers. You know, women who can’t do regular hours because they have young children. It means...’ She gave an almost embarrassed shrug of her shoulders. ‘It means we could increase production and widen our reach.’

  ‘And make you a household name in the process, I suppose?’

  Her voice sounded defensive. ‘That was never my ambition, Salvatore.’

  ‘But it looks like it might happen anyway.’ He pushed away his plate and lifted his champagne glass in a toast. ‘Congratulations. I guess that means you’ll be able to start looking for a place of your own very soon.’

  It hurt.

  Lina bit her lip. It hurt way more than it should have done, mainly because she hadn’t been expecting it. It was a curve ball, as they said over here. Lina had been busy cooking a surprise meal and buying a bottle of champagne because she wanted to share her good news with him. And he just wanted her out of here.

  Well, of course he did. That had been one of the conditions for letting her live here in the first place. That she would be here for a few weeks and no more. What had she expected? That wall-to-wall sex would have made him start reconsidering his initial intention that she leave, and he’d tell her she could carry on living in the cottage for as long as she liked? In your dreams, Lina. In your dreams.

  ‘You’ve barely touched your dinner,’ she observed.

  ‘I could say the same about you.’

  ‘I thought you liked it.’ She pressed her lips together. ‘You ate it on that beach in Sicily as if it were going to be your last ever meal. I can remember it as if it were yesterday.’

  He shrugged, lifting his hands in a silent gesture of apology. ‘I guess it’s like buying a shirt when you’re in a foreign country—it never looks quite
the same when you wear it at home, does it?’

  ‘No. I guess not.’ Lina felt deflated as she cleared away the dishes and carried them down into the kitchen and she was standing over the sink when she sensed, rather than heard, Salvatore enter the room behind her. She could feel the sudden, subtle change in the atmosphere. The way it became charged with electricity—like the heavy, thick thrum of air you got just before a thunderstorm.

  For once he didn’t tease her about her opposition to dishwashers as he sometimes did if he caught her washing up coffee cups in her little cottage. Did he guess she didn’t want to meet his probing gaze right then, that she was terrified he would read something of her emotional turmoil in her eyes? Did he realise how stupid she felt because somewhere along the way she had fallen for him, despite all his warnings to the contrary? Was that why he walked across the room and wrapped one hand around her waist, using the other to lift up a heavy curtain of hair so he could kiss the back of her neck, his lips brushing lightly against her skin. And wasn’t it infuriating that she could feel a whisper of response shivering its way down her spine, despite the discord of the meal they hadn’t shared?

  ‘Did I mention that I have to fly to Rio de Janeiro first thing tomorrow morning?’ he murmured into her hair.

  ‘No, you didn’t tell me.’ She dunked a saucepan into the hot, soapy water and tried not to react to that seeking kiss. ‘How long will you be gone?’

  ‘A couple of weeks.’

  ‘Right.’ She tried to stop her breathing from become ragged even though all she could think was that they’d never been parted for that long before and, more crucially, he was only announcing it now—at the last minute. Do you think you’ll be back in time for the party?’ she asked calmly.

  ‘I’ll do my best.’

  It was not the answer she’d wanted but it seemed it was the only one she was going to get. She closed her eyes and wondered what he would do next.

  She wanted him to leave.

  She wanted him to stay.

  He turned her around and started to kiss her and, to her shame, she let him. No, that wasn’t strictly accurate. There was no shame involved in any of this—only pleasure. She was giving as good as she got and kissing him back with a fervour which felt angry as well as hungry. And maybe those two words were easier to muddle up than she’d initially thought. It felt as if she wanted to punish him. Which she did. As if she wanted to hurt him as much as he had just hurt her. It might have been wrong but it felt so right and he laughed softly against her lips, as if he were trying to provoke her into an even more passionate response. And he was getting one, because now it was rapidly getting out of control. Her hands flew to his shoulders as he bent her back towards the table and his teeth were grazing at her breasts though the thin jersey of the red dress. Her nipples puckered into painful points as he rucked up her dress and she heard his ragged murmur of desire. She felt so wet and she could hear the rasp of his zip as roughly he freed himself, followed closely by the sound of crashing china and cutlery as he swept it off the table and it hit the kitchen floor.

  But Lina didn’t care and she didn’t stop. She didn’t think anything could have stopped her right then, she wanted him so much. He ripped off her panties, damp, tattered fabric fluttering down to join the other debris, to the accompaniment of her own slurred words of approval. She was barely aware of him tearing open a condom and putting it on before opening her thighs and positioning himself. He thrust right up to the hilt and never had he felt bigger or harder or more aroused. She came so quickly it took her by surprise—though not him—for he gave a moan of relieved satisfaction as he followed her, his jerking body taking a long time to subside afterwards.

  He buried his head in her curls, which were spread like a black cloth over the table, and when she turned her head to survey the shattered glass and crockery, she could see the pasta already congealing, like tomato-covered snakes. She had wondered if he might show remorse or regret, but there were neither as he brushed his mouth over hers in a careless kiss, before slowly following the direction of her gaze.

  ‘To hell with domesticity,’ he grated. ‘There’s only one thing I want to see you doing in my kitchen, Lina, and it’s this.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE DECORATED STORE looked as if Christmas had arrived early and there was barely an inch to move. Lina hovered near the entrance, busy scanning the new arrivals who were being waved through by security guards, and trying not to look as if she was waiting for someone—which of course she was. She gave a quick glance at her watch. Where was he? She could see Siena walking towards her—her cream chiffon evening dress floating behind her like a cloud—and she smiled at the designer who had been so kind to her.

  ‘What are you doing hanging around by the entrance instead of out there basking in the glow of your success?’ Siena questioned.

  Lina’s smile didn’t slip. She’d been producing it at regular intervals since the party had kicked off with a blast of Sicilian music, cascades of twinkling rainbow lights and non-stop pink champagne. No need to tell Siena that she was waiting for Salvatore and didn’t have a clue what time he was getting here. That he hadn’t called her since the day before yesterday, saying that the line was bad and his schedule busy. Or that there had been several long, awkward silences throughout a conversation he clearly hadn’t wanted to have. Was that why they had talked about the weather, and how long the flight had taken and whether the famous Brazilian feijoada dish was as delicious as everyone said it was. Because ever since that night when they’d had sex on the kitchen table, it had felt as if there were more than just the gulf of a different country between them. And she couldn’t quite shake off the dark ache of foreboding, for she suspected things were ending between them.

  She looked at the designer, who was twisting a long rope of pearls around her finger. ‘I was just looking out for Salvatore’s car.’ Lina shrugged. ‘Because I’m guessing people will want to see him.’

  ‘Oh, people always like to see Salvatore di Luca.’ Siena slanted her a wide smile. ‘But you’re the star here tonight, Lina, and don’t you ever forget that. You can be perfectly successful in your own right, with or without your billionaire lover.’

  Lina wondered if that was simply a kindly intervention from the older woman, warning her not to rely on a man who was only ever going to be a temporary fixture in her life, but she nodded, even if right then she didn’t really believe it. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You are going to speak to the journalist, aren’t you?’ Siena continued. ‘He says he’s a little worried. He thinks you’ve been avoiding him all evening.’

  ‘But... I’ve already given an interview to Trend magazine.’

  ‘Yes. I realise that.’ Siena twirled her pearls round and round her forefinger. ‘But the local paper has a very popular gossip column, which is bread and butter for people in the luxury-brand business. It shouldn’t be too onerous. Just tell him a bit about yourself. How you got started and what you like doing in your spare time. Readers love that kind of thing.’

  A sudden lump sprang up in her throat and Lina swallowed because this was the bit she was terrified about. What could she possibly say to elaborate on the basic facts of her life—that she enjoyed sewing little beads and sequins onto squashy pieces of velvet and making each one different? That she enjoyed pottering around in Salvatore’s huge gardens whenever she got the chance and felt a distinct sense of achievement that she had finally managed to get the frosty Henry to warm to her a little. But her main passion was for Salvatore, and that was the trickiest part of all.

  Because her feelings for him had grown in a way she’d never planned. Maybe that was why the power balance between them had shifted so radically that she now felt as if they were living in different dimensions. And it had all happened since she’d cooked him that wretched meal. Since she’d stupidly tried to take their relationship onto another level.

 
Nervously, she swallowed. ‘Must I?’

  ‘It’s essential,’ said Siena firmly. ‘In fact, here’s Brett Forrester now and he’s heading our way. Look, why don’t you take him over there, away from the music deck—go and stand over by the evening coats, where it’s quieter?’

  Lina’s heart was racing as she watched the journalist making his way towards them. Brett Forrester was a man in his late forties with a ridiculously over-long blond fringe flapping into his eyes, which she thought might have looked better on someone two decades younger. Ditto his leather jacket and very tight jeans. Shunning the champagne, he seemed welded to a tumbler of whisky, from which he constantly sipped, and he gave Lina a critical once-over as Siena introduced them before diplomatically drifting away in her cloud of chiffon. The greetings over, he raised his arm and a woman with an enormous camera instantly appeared by his side.

  ‘We’ll get some shots of you now, and a few more when your boyfriend arrives,’ he said, his voice very slightly slurred.

  A flash exploded in Lina’s face, and she blinked in alarm.

  ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘Lick your lips, honey. Stop looking so scared. Camera’s not going to bite you—and don’t forget this is all for your benefit.’

  Was it? Lina wondered why this whole evening was suddenly starting to feel as if she’d released a monster from a cage. She hadn’t realised just how many people would be attending, or that they’d be crammed into the huge space of Siena’s store like sardines in a tin. The music was too loud and the half-glass of pink champagne she’d drunk was already giving her a headache. In fact, the only friendly face she’d seen all evening had been Sean MacCormack—the soap actor she’d sat next to at the charity gala when she’d first arrived in the city, and Salvatore had insisted on buying her that designer dress, which she hadn’t worn since. But she had worn it tonight because it was the only thing in her wardrobe which was halfway suitable and, despite Salvatore’s preferences, she had worn her hair up—mainly to showcase some of the jewellery which the store also stocked. Which was why she currently had two waterfall diamond earrings dangling by the sides of her neck, along with a matching bracelet which flashed rainbows whenever she moved her wrist.