Elizabeth’s laugh was short. “Probably not. Well, not at first. Daddy didn’t really like strangers, and neither does Antonio.”
“He likes me,” she pointed out with a logic that brought a smile to Antonio’s face, just beyond the door.
“Who wouldn’t like you? Good night, Rosie.”
“Night night, mummy.”
Elizabeth opened the door, the lingering hint of a smile still curving her pretty pink lips. Then, she saw Antonio, and her blue eyes flew wide; her mouth wider still. “How long have you been standing there?”
“A while.” His shrug was lazy, rich with sexy indolence. “Long enough. I thought you’d got lost.”
Elizabeth clicked the door shut silently behind her and then urged him to follow her downstairs. When they’d reached the bottom, she spun around. Antonio was right behind her, and as he stretched his hands above his head, his sweater lifted, exposing just enough of his firm, tanned midriff to make her mouth dry.
“Rose is the queen of procrastination at the moment. Gone are the days of a kiss on the forehead and a quick book.”
She was speaking, and her words were perfectly sensible, but his nearness was sending every nerve ending in her body haywire. More than that, having him in her home, her private haven, was causing a strange lurching sensation inside of Elizabeth. It should have felt invasive and wrong; but it didn’t.
“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” He asked, his dark eyes intense.
Elizabeth tried to catch her reason, but she wasn’t really sure. “I don’t know.” She said finally. “I suppose I didn’t think anything about my personal life was your business.”
He nodded slowly, and reached his hand out towards her. As he ran it slowly over her hair, she noticed, distractedly, how long his fingers were; how tanned his hands. “What is your English expression? Something about a bolting horse?”
Her throat was thick with feeling. “Yes.”
“Come,” he spoke decisively, clearing the mood of sensual need that had been spider webbing around them. “Let us have a glass of wine and order dinner.”
A strange prickle ran down her spine. It was exactly what she needed. “How did you know that’s just what I wanted to do tonight?”
“Perhaps we are more similar than you think.”
She was silent, contemplating his statement. In the kitchen, two glasses of wine were poured into the crystal glasses she’d bought years ago and hardly used since.
He lifted them and handed one to her, then held his aloft in a silent cheers. “To new beginnings,” he said, his voice thick with meaning.
But it was a meaning Elizabeth couldn’t comprehend. She mightn’t have much experience with men, but everything about Antonio screamed ‘playboy’. From his wild hair, to stunning good looks, extreme wealth and penchant for living life in the fast lane, both metaphorically and physically, he was a bachelor extraordinaire. So what was he doing, pretending to want new beginnings with her?
She took a sip of the wine, enjoying the way it tasted as it ran down her throat. And out of nowhere, she remembered something he’d said when he’d first appeared earlier that day. I was on a date. “Who was your date with?” She had been aiming for nonchalant, but fallen wildly short of the mark.
Antonio, as casual as if they were discussing rain fall expected over the winter, eased himself onto one of the bar stools. He pulled at her wrist, trapping her in the triangular void made by his long legs.
“No one important.” He said, moving his hands to wrap around her back.
“Important enough to date,” she pointed out, smarting from the very idea that he’d had the time to arrange a date so soon after they’d slept together. Hadn’t she just been thinking that he was a confirmed bachelor?
“Not important enough to date, as it turned out. I found that all I could think about was you.”
She frowned. “Then why did you organize the date?”
“Philomena is an old… acquaintance of mine. We have seen one another on and off for years. I arranged to catch up with her before I had even heard your name, Lady Sanderson.”
“But you still went through with it? After we… after you…”
“Slept together?” He shrugged. “Yes.”
Color flared in her cheeks. She sipped her wine again, to try to seem casual. “And did you and she…”
“Sleep together?” His smile was reassuring. “Your shyness is really extremely adorable, bella. No. We did not sleep together.”
Relief, very real, very strong, flashed through her. “I’m glad,” she said honestly.
“And why is that?” He traced the outline of her lips with his forefinger, his eyes heavy with desire.
“Because I would have thrown you out of my house if you had. And I’m actually surprisingly happy you’re here.” Woah. That was more honest than she’d intended to be.
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
“Not surprised, I’ll bet.” She said with a self-mocking drawl.
“Would you like me to be?”
“No. I’d like you to be a little less… sure of yourself with women, if I’m completely honest.”
His grin was rakish. “I’m sorry, carissima. I shall try to match your sweet level of innocence from now on, okay?”
“No,” she said, breathlessly. “I think that would be a little weird. You can stay just as you are.”
His laugh was disarming. He was so brooding much of the time, that seeing him like this, happy and relaxed, disarmed what little defenses she had left against his charms. And she realized that even though there was no future for them, she was going to enjoy every minute she had, getting to know Antonio Casacelli. He lived in Italy, and deep down, she was too in love with Alastair to really have a relationship with another man. But a fun, light-hearted, no-strings attached fling with someone like Antonio could be just what the doctor ordered.
Chapter 7
Elizabeth had never known another person to love Indian take out quite as much as she did. She looked at Antonio with a small frown as he scooped another helping of Chicken Tikka Masala from the plastic rectangle.
“You know, I would have ordered more if I’d known I was going to have competition for all my favorites.”
His smile was slow, and devastating, as his eyes linked with hers. “How inconsiderate of me.” He stood from his side of the table and came to occupy the seat beside her. Beneath the table, his knees brushed against hers lightly and she felt a swift response tingle through her body.
“Here.” His voice was authoritative as he lifted some of the orange colored curry onto his fork and moved it towards her lips. Mesmerized, she opened her mouth and allowed him to tease the delicious food inside.
“This reminds me of the first time I met you,” he said, watching her chew the meal. “I had no idea then that you were capable of polishing off several serves of Indian.”
She laughed and playfully slapped his shoulder. “Are you called me greedy?”
He shook his head mirthfully. “You were so slender; you looked so frail.” His face assumed a faraway look as he thought back to that day. Though it was little more than a fortnight earlier, so much had changed. He reached out and ran a hand over her hair. Her beautiful hair, that taunted his dreams and made him long for her to be back in his bed.
“I’m not. Frail, I mean.”
“No. I see that now.”
Was she imagining the admiration in his tone? Probably.
“I was wrong about a lot of things that day,” he admitted gruffly. Somehow, she just knew that admitting fault was not something he did often.
“Like what?” Food was, finally, forgotten, as she relaxed back into her chair and enjoyed the way he was looking at her. As though she was fragile and special and truly unique.
He grimaced. “I thought you were like my mother, if I’m honest.”
Elizabeth’s heart sped up. She was very curious about the family he tried his hardest not to discuss. “In what ways?
” She prompted, mentally crossing her fingers that her question wouldn’t scare him off this unusual streak of openness.
He sighed. “Nicoletta is very glamorous. Very beautiful.” As if without thinking about it, he took her hand in his and laced his fingers through hers. Absent-mindedly, he twisted her engagement ring; a gesture he’d seen her do many times. “She was born into a wealthy family, and then, married my father. Her life was charmed from birth onwards. She was universally adored and loved. My father was the biggest mug of all. He would have died for her. Despite her manifest failings, he saw only the good. It taught me, and my brothers, too, a valuable lesson about women.”
“Oh?”
A small frown crossed his face. “Yes. It isn’t that love is bad, per se. But the kind of love that makes a man blind to a woman’s faults is anathema. And that’s how he was with her. He didn’t see the men she carried on with behind his back. Didn’t see that, as far as mothers went, she was cold to the point of cruelty.” He flicked his lips in a weak smile to cover the fact that her constant unavailability still hurt him, despite his protestations to the contrary.
“I don’t understand that,” Elizabeth said, feeling no compunction in the judgment that crept into her voice. “She can’t have been that bad, surely. I mean, a mother has certain instincts that are impossible to ignore.”
His eyes bore into hers. “YOU have those instincts, bella, because you are you. And perhaps many mothers do. But not Nicoletta. I don’t know if I can blame her for that. She never wanted children, you see.”
“And yet she had three?”
“Yes. By the time my father had convinced her to have a family, she was in her late-thirties, and her energy was employed travelling the world and romancing gigolos.” He sighed in frustration.
Tentatively, she squeezed his hand. “And you really never knew? That Umberto wasn’t your father?”
He threw her a fierce stare. “He will always be my father. The man who raised me and loved me.”
“Of course, I’m sorry.” She shrugged. “I mean biologically.”
“I’m sorry,” he responded quietly. “I came to England to get to grips with this revelation. I shouldn’t be taking my annoyance out on you.”
“It’s a lot to process,” she said comfortingly.
“Yes, and I’m not good at processing anything. Dealing with emotions has never been my strong point.”
“Yes,” she remarked dryly, “I can see that, when it comes to feelings, you’re more of a show than tell kind of guy.”
His laugh was beautiful; deep and raw, and it broke some of the sadness she was feeling for him. “When it comes to you, I’m definitely a show not tell kind of guy.”
A shiver ran down her spine. He really was the most incredibly handsome man she’d ever seen. She flicked her eyes away as the tension budding between them threatened to overwhelm any sort of decency. She wanted to jump in his lap and make love to him. The desire terrified her.
“So, you had no idea?” She asked, her voice husky.
“The first I knew was when Dennison Arthur’s solicitor contacted my solicitor and asked if, as I was the only continuing bloodline, I would like to purchase the property.” His brow furrowed. “Arthur had made all sorts of terrible decisions. Bad investments, and he had a penchant for gambling. Risk taking.” His frown deepened. “Perhaps that I inherited from him. Umberto and my brothers have never understood my need for speed. It is uniquely my passion.”
She shuddered imperceptibly. “Don’t remind me.”
But he was lost in his thoughts. “He presumed I knew. It hadn’t occurred to him that Nicoletta would keep the truth of my parentage a secret.”
“How awful. To find out that way!”
“Yes. It was… unsavory.”
She pulled a face at the clinical term. “What did you say to her?”
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
“I told her I never wanted to see her again.”
Elizabeth took in a deep breath and tried to work her feelings into words. “You were angry and surprised. How do you feel now that you’ve had time to digest the information?”
His eyes, when they met hers, were like two little pieces of coal. Hard and jet black with iron strong emotion. “I never want to see her again.” He expelled an angry sigh. “You could not understand, Elisabetta. You, who are so good with Rose. You have turned your life on its head to be a good mother. How could you understand what being raised by someone like Nicoletta is like?”
She sipped her drink, simply to buy a little time. She didn’t confide in many people. The past, after all, was in the past, and life was what you made of it. “I don’t believe in laying faults at our parents’ doors. After all, we have to believe they did the best they could.”
“But?” He urged, sensing she was thinking now of her own parents.
“Yes. But,” she went on, “I’m not close to my parents. They loved me, but they loved me in a way that was almost suffocating. They taught me to read and write and do arithmetic before I started school. I was enrolled in every extra-curricular program on offer. As a result, I graduated from high school two years ahead of my age.”
He raised his eye brows, thoughtfully. “And that was a problem why?”
“Well, for a start, I was younger than everyone in my class. I had no friends at school. When I started university, it was a similar story. They pushed me to take on more subjects than required; to do summer school. And only medical school would do. It was not my first choice.”
He leaned forward, fascinated. “What would you have studied?”
Her smile was wistful. “Marine Biology. I know, it’s silly. But I was always fascinated by the ocean. Dolphins, particularly. It was a fantasy of mine to swim with the dolphins. Unfortunately, it would have meant going on holidays through the summer and that’s when the best scholastic advancement programs were scheduled.” She bit down on her lip. “I know it sounds ungrateful. Besides, I’ve long since made my peace with it.” She took another sip of her drink. “And if I hadn’t been pushed through school and university the way I was, there’s no way I would have met Alastair.” She lifted her eyes to him, a strange sense of guilt making her strangely shy.
Antonio was careful to monitor his reaction. The other man was dead, and long since, but he couldn’t help feeling jealous of him. He had won this woman, body and soul, completely and utterly. In such a way that still she pined for him five years later.
“And if I hadn’t met Al,” she said with a small sigh, “I wouldn’t have Rose. Or Marianne and Rupert – Alastair’s parents. They’ve been a Godsend.”
“I heard you say earlier that Rose didn’t ever meet Alastair?”
“No.” Elizabeth shrugged her slender shoulders. “In fact, he never knew that she was on her way. He didn’t even know that I was pregnant when he… when we lost him.”
He didn’t say anything, merely leaned in closer and made sure to keep her hand firmly in his.
“He died on Christmas Eve.” Her voice was just a whisper. “We all knew it was coming, but still, I thought we had a few weeks. Maybe even a month.” She felt the familiar sting of tears and blinked them away. “He was tired. It had been a long fight and he was ready to go.”
“Christmas Eve,” Antonio queried.
Elizabeth nodded. “That’s how the ball came about. As the first anniversary of his death approached, I knew I needed to do something to mark the occasion. I couldn’t let the day pass and be completely forgotten. And then, I realized that somehow, I’d become someone that people seemed to want to ingratiate themselves with.” Her smile was laced with self-derision. “It had never occurred to me that being young and wealthy, and someone who wore designer clothes, would be enough to earn me the admiration of so many. After all, no amount of top academic results had ever earned me any kind of praise before, and suddenly, overnight, I was someone that people looked up to.” She flushed. “Please don’t think I have tickets on myse
lf.”
“Tickets on yourself?” He frowned at the unfamiliar expression.
“You know. That I think too highly of myself. I was very … cynical of the attention. But I realized pretty early on that I could use it to further my goal.”
“Which was?”
“Raising money for cancer research.” She responded swiftly. “That first year, with a little four month old baby, there was a lot of sympathy and people were willing to bend over backwards to help me. But, amazingly, the first event was such a huge event, and attracted such top-tier celebrities and media, that it snowballed and became an annual ball. Unfortunately,” she said with a small grimace, “a part of the ongoing success of the Alastair Sanderson Foundation is my high-profile. I have to maintain a certain image to be sure we get the right exposure.”
He nodded slowly. “And you don’t like that?”
Elizabeth was being far more honest with Antonio than she’d been with anyone, ever before. But she couldn’t stop. It was like a door had been opened and she was spilling her secrets. “No.” She nodded towards the happy Christmas tree through the lounge room doorway. “If I had a choice, I’d want a private life. A quiet life.”
“You do have a choice,” he pointed out prosaically.
“Not really. It’s my life’s work now.”
Frustration seared through him. “What do you think Alastair would say?”
She pouted thoughtfully, but for the first time in five years, she couldn’t immediately summon his face to mind. It turned her veins to ice to think that his image was fading from her mind’s eye. She squeezed her violet eyes shut, and focused. And there he was, with that permanently quizzical look etched into his lined face. “He’d tell me to stop being such a sop and get on with my life.” She laughed unsteadily. “But secretly, he’d be glad I was doing such important work.”
Antonio was filled with emotions he was too wise to express. He suspected the other man would not be at all glad to see beautiful, vital, vibrant Elizabeth so completely absorbed by death and sadness. He suspected that no man who had loved a woman enough to marry her, would want her to spend the rest of her life in a dark cloud of depression.
This Christmas and Forever: A heartwarming anthology of billionaire holiday romances... Page 24