Yes, he did indeed. And he would have a whole year of it. Unless, of course, he tired of her sooner. But that was for then. This was for now. And now was good.
He’d disposed of Giavanna, had been able to start the process of disposing with her father in his business affairs, and now he could focus on his other main purpose in bringing Lana out to Italy. Here, away from the non-stop social round in Rome, he could pursue his objective at his own pace.
It would have been preferable, obviously, simply to have been able to follow through on his initial intention to have an affair with her. Marrying her was a complication—but it was a necessary one. And now he’d achieved his purpose for marrying he could focus on Lana herself. The fact that she was his wife was to all intents and purposes irrelevant.
As he gained the landing his eyes went to the door of her bedroom, right next to his, just as it had been in Rome. And, as in the Rome apartment, her bedroom had once been his mother’s and his, the master suite, his father’s.
His expression changed. Became bleak for a moment.
Separated by a communicating door through which they did not communicate.
He pushed the bleak memory away, gained his own bedroom. He’d had it redecorated since his father’s day, but it still brought a conflicting mix of affection and anger. His eyes went to the door that opened into Lana’s room—his mother’s bedroom. It felt odd to think of Lana there, making herself at home.
But she isn’t—that’s the point. She is merely passing through.
He dragged off his clothes, headed into the en suite bathroom. The vigorous swim had made him hungry for dinner. Putting cream on Lana’s back had made him hungry to see her again.
Turning the dial to maximum force, he stepped inside the shower.