Jack’s fingers tightened around the handle of his coffee mug when he heard the bitterness in her voice. How long would it be before she got over that creep? He felt reasonably confident she no longer loved Daryl, but that kind of betrayal was hard to forget and impossible to forgive. It also made a person reluctant to trust.
Patience, Jack, he lectured himself. Patience.
‘Like I’ve already told you several times, Vivienne: you’re better off without the likes of him. You’re still a young woman. You have your whole life ahead of you.’ With me, he was dying to say but couldn’t. Not yet. ‘Plenty of time to get married and have children, if that’s what you want. Meanwhile, you can afford to be selfish for a while. Do things that give you pleasure. Live for the moment. You’re looking forward to making over Francesco’s Folly, aren’t you?’
Her bleak eyes actually lit up. ‘Oh yes.’
‘Though, I must insist, I want the decorator I usually have and not the one who did this place, thank you very much,’ he said bluntly.
She laughed. ‘Fair enough.’
‘And just think, on top of the pleasure and satisfaction you’ll get from doing a brilliant job, you’ll have me all to yourself every weekend. That can’t be too bad, since you like having sex with me so much. And, let’s face it, I’m going to be randy as hell after not seeing you all week. You won’t be able to keep up with me.’
Vivienne smiled. ‘You should know better than to challenge me, boss. I am competitive by nature. And obsessive to boot. I can guarantee you’ll be the one to cry for mercy before I do.’
‘I have only one thing to say to that, missy.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Bring it on.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
VIVIENNE WANDERED THROUGH the upstairs apartment, turning on all the lights—it got dark early in the winter—and checking that everything was just so. She’d decided on finishing this area of Francesco’s Folly first whilst she lived in one of the downstairs apartments. It was the easiest part to change, but it had still taken close to two months to complete, mainly because some of the furniture she’d ordered had taken six weeks to arrive. But she was extremely happy with the results and she thought Jack would be too.
She hadn’t let him see any of it yet, teasing him that it was all black and white and horribly minimalist, with nothing but black leather, glass furniture and fake Picassos on the walls.
Vivienne could not wait for Jack to arrive tonight, because tonight was the big reveal. She felt as excited as a kid on Christmas morning, glancing at her watch as she hurried downstairs and along past the pool to the balcony which was closest to the driveway. It was nearly six. He would be here soon; he usually left Sydney around three. Friday afternoon traffic was tricky, though. He sometimes got held up getting out of the city, or on the motorway. But if that was the case he would ring her and let her know he was running late, and she’d received no such call this afternoon.
He was very considerate that way. He also brought her the most gorgeous bunch of red roses every Friday, which she found so sweet. It made her hope that his feelings for her were gradually becoming as strong as her feelings for him. Then, one day, he might decide he didn’t want to stay a bachelor for ever; that marriage and children and a life here at Francesco’s Folly was what he wanted after all.
But she didn’t let her hopes get too high. Jack was still very passionate with her. Their weekends together were wonderful, but a few times lately she had caught him falling oddly silent and looking off into the distance. They would often sit and share a bottle of wine on the balcony on a Saturday afternoon. Last weekend, when she had asked him what he was thinking about, he’d said nothing much. Just life. It was an odd answer for him. Odd for him to sit and think like that. He wasn’t overly keen on thinking.
Vivienne could not help but worry that he might break off their relationship once Francesco’s Folly was finished. It was a depressing thought, but one which she refused to entertain too often. For now, she was happy. Or as happy as a girl could be under the circumstances. Still, she was careful not to do or say anything which might spoil the rest of their time together. She never told him that she loved him, even when the words were in danger of tripping off the end of her tongue—especially when he was making love to her. She always bit her tongue and said something else. Or nothing at all.
Her heart lifted as it always did when she saw headlights turn into the driveway at the bottom of the hill. Jack was home. Safely home.