‘Yes. I know that.’
He could hear the sudden insecurity which edged her words but forced himself not to react to it. Because she needed to know that this kind of behaviour was a sure-fire way to hasten the end of their relationship, and he wasn’t quite ready for it to end. Not yet. ‘What can I do for you, Lina?’
‘I just wondered what time you would be home.’
It was the most mundane of questions and it filled Salvatore with a cold dread because it embodied the kind of cloying domesticity he had spent his life avoiding. ‘You called me to ask me that?’ he questioned, not bothering to hide the faint incredulity in his voice. ‘I’ll be home before seven, same as always. Why do you need to know?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she answered hurriedly. ‘I’ll see you later.’
Lina replaced the telephone with nervous fingers as she tried to block out Salvatore’s terse response to her question, wondering why he had gone so cold on her. Maybe she shouldn’t have rung him at the office, but surely it was okay just this once—when she was preparing a surprise for him. And she wanted to surprise him, as well as celebrate her own good news. To give something back. Because hadn’t he been incredibly generous towards her? Hadn’t he taken her in against his better judgement and given her a roof over her head, thus allowing her to find her feet? Yes, she had promised to pay him back—and she would—but that was going to take time.
She began to crack eggs into the flour and to mix them together, the rhythmical movement reminding her of a thousand pasta dishes she’d made back home. But these days she felt completely different from the woman who had endured that miserable existence. At first she hadn’t been able to believe that life could be like this—that every day could feel special—and she knew much of that was down to Salvatore. It had been hard to get her head around the fact that someone could make you feel funny and sexy and desirable, without even really trying.
Sometimes he would turn up at her cottage if he finished work early, looking utterly irresistible in his suit, his immaculate appearance marred only by the loosening of his tie, which had the effect of making him appear rakish. And even though she would remind him that they weren’t supposed to be seeing each other until later, she would invite him in, as casually as if he were paying nothing more than a social call, just in case one of his staff happened to be passing. But the moment the door had closed behind him, she would be pushed up against the wall while he kissed her as if he were trying to suck all the breath out of her lungs and she’d be tearing at his clothes like a wild thing. Sometimes they didn’t even make it as far as the bed. It was electric between them. It always had been—he’d told her that more than once. Lina could feel the sudden rush of warmth to her cheeks and wondered if every woman felt like this in the early stages of a relationship. As if you’d discovered a new kind of power, but, weirdly, as if you’d lost a different kind of power in the process.
Because lately it hadn’t been all roses and moonlight and she’d been plagued by doubts, which she couldn’t seem to push away, no matter how hard she tried. Nagging doubts which lurked in the shadows of her mind, just waiting to spring on you when you least expected them. She’d started wondering if she had allowed herself to become a victim of her own self-deception.
She’d thought...
What?
That she could neatly compartmentalise her life, so none of the edges would overlap? That she could sew all day and deliver her little handbags to Siena’s store, where later they would appear on the arm of a mannequin, or on one of the tables or glass shelves, all at an eye-wateringly marked-up price? That she could do all this and try to pretend the other stu
ff wasn’t happening. The stuff which felt real but which wasn’t real. Stuff which involved Salvatore. Because, somewhere along the way—during all the meals and the tourist trips and the sex-filled nights—something had changed. Her fixed ideas had shifted and altered and the subject of sex didn’t seem so black and white any more. She knew all about the whole friends-with-benefits thing because Salvatore had painstakingly explained it to her. She’d thought she understood it. She had signed up for it knowing it was all he was prepared to offer and convinced herself she was okay with it. She’d thought she could handle it.
But suddenly she was having difficulty handling it because something had changed. In her, not him. Not suddenly and not overnight. It had been like the drip, drip, drip of a leaking tap which somehow managed to fill an entire bath before you realised it. At first she’d thought it was because of the sex. That the response he drew from her eager body was the reason for the erratic see-sawing of her mood. But the dreamy aftermath of yet another shuddering orgasm didn’t explain away the yearning in her heart as she bit back the tender words she was longing to say to him. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair and whisper her lips across his mouth at the most inappropriate of times. She felt as if she was falling in love with him.
Her fingers dug into the pasta dough. These were just complicated feelings for a man who didn’t want emotion—the trouble was that she wasn’t sure how to deal with them. Because she didn’t want to feel this way. She wanted to wake up one morning and be free of all this aching and yearning deep in her heart. Yet instinct warned her that wasn’t going to happen. The same instinct which knew the relationship would eventually run out of steam, unless she had the courage to push it in a different direction.
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.