Cinderella In The Sicilian's World

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.