The Flaw in His Diamond

Correction: the tomboy she had been until today. Trust an Italian to breathe life into that side of her. Roman’s innate flair had brought his friends flocking around.

‘Your friends are nice,’ she said when he turned back to her.

‘Nice?’ he queried, turning to see some of the men were still staring at Eva. ‘They’re unscrupulous villains, every one of them.’

She had to hide a smile seeing Roman glowering. Maybe he did care a little bit—

And now she was being ridiculous. Roman was a hot-blooded Mediterranean man, interested in every woman with breath in her body, because that was his default setting. But it was good to have his interest, if only for one night. It was new and different for her. And not unpleasant. Men generally showed an interest when they wanted her to change a tyre, so they didn’t get their suits dirty, or maybe to operate a heavy-lifting machine down the mine if someone wanted to go home early. Apart from that, her encounters with the opposite sex had been restricted to darts practice, snooker matches, and keeping score ringside at the gym, none of which exactly offered an opportunity to flex her femininity muscle.

‘And you didn’t need to be quite so friendly,’ Roman added, turning to give her all his attention.

‘And why do you care?’ she said, giving him the cold eye.

She waited in vain for some flattery.

‘I don’t care.’

‘Well, you could have fooled me.’

‘You look cute in that outfit. Dangerously cute.’

‘Oh, please! Cute? Pass the sick bucket, will you?’ She was transported back down the mine, jousting with the men. She was so sure Roman was mocking her, she had to hit back first. And, for goodness’ sake! Belligerent, laddish, abrasive, any of those adjectives would suit her. But cute?

‘If you don’t believe me, just look at yourself,’ he said, turning her to face the bar.

There was a long mirror behind the counter and in between the bottles and darting bartenders Eva could see the reflection of a girl she hardly recognised—a girl with flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and a wild tumble of glittering copper hair—a slim girl standing next to a colossus who looked like every woman’s dream. But instead of feeling thrilled or flattered, she felt her stomach clench with apprehension. The old Eva was back and ready to defend against hurt and ridicule, and against all those things Eva had never quite got the hang of, like accepting a genuine compliment with a simple ‘thank you’.

‘If I’d had anything else to wear, I’d have worn it,’ she flashed ungraciously.

Roman’s lips twitched suspiciously.

‘Are you laughing at me? Did I say something funny?’

She was totally out of her comfort zone, feeling increasingly hot and awkward. She couldn’t compete with the other girls at the party with their sleek, immaculately groomed hair and their expensive designer gowns. She should have known Roman would end up teasing her. It was probably the only reason he had invited her to the party. It was probably his way of punishing her for causing disruption at the mine and for arriving on his island uninvited—

‘Where do you think you’re going?’

He caught hold of her arm as she stormed away.

‘I’m going back to the palazzo—’

‘Oh, no, you’re not,’ he said. You’re staying here with me. You don’t seriously think I’d let you loose on my home, do you?’

‘One of your homes—’

‘Don’t get bogged down in detail,’ he snarled, drawing her close.

Roman’s eyes were so dark and compelling. He radiated power. She tried to subdue the urge to wriggle away from him so she could bolt as far and as fast as she could. Lifting her chin, she matched his stare. ‘I’ll stay at the party and play my part.’

She would stay on his island until they had that talk. Let them see how cute he thought her then.

‘Excellent,’ he said coldly.

She relaxed and stopped fighting him, and he let her go.

With no option but to stay at his side, she began to notice how popular he was—revered even. Why were some of the older people kissing his hand? He was chatting to them like old friends. It was such a warm village, family oriented. That was what she was missing. And it was all her fault. She had worn her family out with her tantrums. She had chosen the wilderness and the wildlife that lived there over them. No one had been able to answer the emptiness inside her when she lost her ma and fa, and only the mighty Arctic landscape seemed to dull the pain. Spending time with people like this only proved how much she took her sisters for granted. When was the last time she had given much thought to the blessings of family life, or swallowed her pride to apologise after a row, which she normally started?