The Last Heir of Monterrato

‘I have work to do now but I’ll let the kitchens know we will need something to eat. Where would you like yours?’

* * *

What was it about this place? Palazzo Monterrato? It seemed to Lottie that it refused to let her be happy, that something in the very bricks of the building made it sit up a bit straighter whenever she was around. Like the bored bully in the playground it stubbed out its fag, pushed itself off the wall and decided there was some sport to be had. And Lottie was its favourite target.

It had been raining when she’d woken that morning, splattering against the shuttered windows. And she had been back in ‘her’ half of their enormous bedroom, alone again in the bed. Only this time she’d felt more alone than ever.

Rafael had not emerged from his office for the rest of the night after their conversation, abandoning her with nothing but a cold supper and a sub-zero mood. She had tried not to be upset—had run herself a bath, taken her book to bed and propped herself up against the pillows, still thinking that he might tap on the door, creep into the room and slide his warm body in next to hers. But she had been deluding herself—as the grey light of this morning pointed out so heartlessly. The bed beside her was still empty, her book was on the floor, where it had slipped from her grasp, and she had nothing but a crick in her neck to show for her misplaced optimism.

And today she had this god-awful dinner to get through.

Pulling on her jeans, she stomped down the two flights of stairs to the kitchens with the idea of making herself a cup of tea. But the place was a hive of activity, the staff in the throes of preparations for this evening, and she was politely told that breakfast would be brought to her, wherever she would like it served.

An hour later her mood had still not improved. Bored with its company, she decided to find someone to share it with and, rapping on the door to Rafael’s office, she strode in without waiting for a reply.

‘Sì, verremo più tardi.’ He looked up from his phone conversation, not best pleased at her interruption, judging by the dark scowl on his face. ‘Sì—ciao.’ Ending the call, he put down the phone and fixed her with a hooded stare. ‘Lottie. Can I help you?’

‘Yes, you can, actually.’ She wanted to say that he could help her by telling her why he hadn’t come to her bed, why she had had to sleep alone again. But there was no way she would give him that satisfaction. No way she would tell him how much she longed to feel his arms around her every single night. Instead she turned to a safer grudge.

‘You can tell me what you mean by starting a foundation in Seraphina’s name without even telling me.’

Rafael sighed heavily. ‘Not this again. I really had no idea that I needed your permission.’

‘Well, you did—well, not my permission, but you could have asked...at least told me what you were doing.’

‘And would that have made any difference?’

‘Yes—yes, it would. If I had known about it I would have felt a part of it. Maybe I could have done some fundraising of my own, in England.’

This produced a derisive snort. ‘Do you happen to know many wealthy benefactors?’

Lottie glared at him furiously. ‘I do, as a matter of fact. The art world is full of people with more money than they know what to do with. I’m sure I would have been able to get some substantial donations—that’s if you had had the courtesy to tell me about it.’

‘And what would you have had to do to get these substantial donations, I wonder?’

His sneering insinuation made the blood pop in her ears. ‘Certainly not what you’re suggesting. I have no idea why you think the only way I can get on in the world is by sleeping with wealthy men.’

‘Because I am a man, Lottie, and I know how their minds work.’

‘Well, you don’t know how mine works.’

‘That, I’ll grant you, is true.’ Pressing his fingers to his temples, Rafael leant back in his chair, the bitter expression on his face clearly showing that he wasn’t agreeing with her—he was simply acknowledging the disaster of their marriage.

Sitting upright again, he steepled his fingers, looking at her over the top of them. ‘If you are so keen to contribute to the Seraphina Foundation I suggest you make a start by being the perfect hostess tonight. I’m sure you can be charming enough when it’s for a good cause. People have paid a lot of money for this event, and there is plenty more where that came from. It will be our job to persuade them to part with it.’

Lottie scowled at him. He might as well have told her to run along and make herself look pretty. Well, she wasn’t going to be dismissed that easily. Pulling up a chair, she sat down opposite him, ignoring his dangerously narrowed eyes.