He was glaring at the ansaphone as if it had slighted him personally. ‘Your clients are cancelling?’
‘Yes.’ What was the point of lying? Lindsay shrugged. ‘It seems you’re not the only one who thinks I’m not qualified to advise anyone on how to maintain a relationship. I suppose you’ve come so that you can say “I told you so” in person.’
‘Why are they cancelling?’
‘I suppose they no longer trust my judgment,’ Lindsay mumbled, suddenly weary. What was he doing here? ‘And I can hardly blame them for that. It’s fine, Alessio. I’m fine. Just go. Savour your victory.’
‘I’m not leaving.’ He strode across to her window and closed the blinds.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Reducing the opportunities for the pack of wolves outside to take photographs. You really need to learn to protect yourself—you’re shockingly naïve.’
She blinked. ‘This is a fourth-floor flat, Alessio. You think they’re going to climb up the drainpipe?’
‘Have you noticed the scaffolding being erected opposite?’
‘I haven’t looked out of the window for two days—’ Realising what she’d just admitted, Lindsay looked away. ‘It’s been a bit—difficult.’
‘You’ve let the press trap you in your flat?’
‘Well, yes, I suppose I have.’
‘Maledizione, why didn’t you call me?’
‘Because that number you gave me is reserved for your lovers, and I’m not your lover anymore.’ Her voice was croaky and black, stormy eyes connected with hers.
‘You should have called—I had no idea—’
‘You have an entire press department—’
‘A press department who know I don’t usually waste my time reading the sort of trash written by those sharks outside your door!’
Lindsay swallowed. He hadn’t known? ‘Right. So you’re telling me—’
‘I’m telling you that I found out what was happening less than four hours ago.’
‘And if you’d known?’
‘Well, for a start you wouldn’t have been trapped in your flat for two weeks. But we can rectify that.’ Removing his phone, he made one brief call, speaking in low, rapid Italian. Then he pulled open the door of her wardrobe, pulled out a pair of trousers and a shirt and flung it on the bed. ‘Get dressed.’
‘Why?’
Prowling round her bedroom, he found her shoes. ‘Call me fussy, but I don’t want naked pictures of my future wife plastered all over the newspapers.’
‘Your—’ Lindsay gaped at him. ‘What did you just say?’
Vibrating with tension, Alessio paced across her bedroom and grabbed her handbag. ‘You’re going to marry me. Is your passport in here?’
‘Alessio—’
‘We’ll leave everything else here.’ He glanced around her flat impatiently. ‘We can clear it out another time. Are you going to get dressed?’
‘Alessio, you just said—’ She broke off as her phone rang again and yet another client called to cancel.
Swearing first in Italian and then in English, Alessio yanked the phone cable out of the wall. ‘I’ve had enough of hearing that. They are all idiots—’He gave up on English and let out a stream of Italian, none of which she understood.
‘Alessio!’ Lindsay slid out of the bed. ‘Stop ranting and raving and talk to me for a minute! You’re not making any sense.’