The Billionaire's Bridal Bargain

Warmth speckled her cheeks as she thought about the intimacy of the late-afternoon hours. She moved slowly in her heels, a touch of tenderness at the heart of her reminding her of Cesare’s passionate energy between the sheets. In bed, sensual excitement ruled her entirely and she was enjoying every moment of exploring that brave new world.

Even so the image that lingered longest was of Cesare, lithe and bronzed and breathtakingly beautiful, relaxing back against the tumbled pillows and finally admitting how very relieved he was that Athene was now well on the road to recovery, having initially suffered a setback in the aftermath of her cardiac surgery. For days, he had tried to pretend he wasn’t worried sick even though Lizzie had watched him freeze at every phone call, fearful of receiving bad news. That he had finally abandoned that mach

o pretence of unconcern to share his true feelings with Lizzie had meant a lot to her. She valued the little signs that revealed that Cesare was behaving more and more like one half of a couple rather than an independent, entirely separate entity. They had visited his grandmother in her convalescent clinic in Rome several times and Athene’s sparkling personality even in a hospital bed and her strong affection for Cesare had touched Lizzie’s heart.

In the morning they were flying out to Lionos and one day after that Athene was coming out to join them. Cesare had married Lizzie purely to gain that right to bring his grandmother out for a stay on the island and Lizzie regularly reminded herself of that unflattering reality. But she was looking forward almost as much as Athene was to seeing Lionos, which the older woman had described in such charmed terms. She only hoped that the enhancements engineered by the imperturbable Primo lived up to Cesare’s expectations.

A limousine ferried Cesare and Lizzie to the venue for the charity benefit in Florence. It was being held in a vast mansion with every window lit and crowds of paparazzi waiting on the pavement to take photographs of the guests arriving. Lizzie froze in surprise when they were targeted, belatedly appreciating that she was married to a male who, when in his homeland, received the attention worthy of a celebrity for his looks and spectacular business accomplishments.

‘Did you enjoy having your photo taken?’ Cesare asked.

‘No, not at all. I didn’t feel glossy enough for the occasion,’ she confided.

‘But you spent ages getting ready,’ Cesare countered with all the incomprehension of a male who had merely showered and shaved before donning a dinner jacket.

Her hazel gaze roving swiftly over the level of extreme grooming clearly practised by the other female guests, Lizzie suppressed a rueful sigh. She didn’t look perfect and she knew it, reckoned she should have foreseen that the attentions of a hairstylist and a make-up artist would be necessary. But then how important was her image to Cesare? Did he really care? Or would he soon be comparing her, to her detriment, to the women who had preceded her in his bed? Lizzie had done her homework on the Internet and she was uneasily aware that in recent years Cesare had spent a lot of time in the company of fashion and beauty models, invariably the very image of feminine perfection. Possibly she needed to make more of an effort, she conceded, uncomfortable with the comparisons she was making.

As they were surrounded by the leading lights in the charity committee of which Cesare was a director, the crowd parted and an exquisite brunette, wearing a very fitted pink dress overlaid with a see-through chiffon layer that simply accentuated her stupendous curves, approached them. Cesare performed the introduction. ‘Our hostess, Princess Serafina Ruffini...Serafina, my wife, Lizzie.’

‘Welcome to my home, Lizzie.’ Serafina air kissed her on both cheeks and gave her a wide, seemingly sincere smile.

Shock winged through Lizzie and she was furious that Cesare hadn’t warned her that the benefit was being held at his former girlfriend’s home. Impervious to her mood and the manner in which her hand clenched tensely on his arm, Cesare talked about cancer research to an older man who seemed to be a doctor while Lizzie made awkward conversation with his wife, who spoke very little English. Italian lessons were going to be a must in the near future, Lizzie promised herself. Her attention crept back to Serafina, holding court on the other side of the room with a lively group who frequently broke into laughter.

Cesare had described his ex as very beautiful and he had not been kidding. Serafina had almond-shaped dark eyes, skin like clotted cream, a wealth of dark tumbling curls and one of those enviable cupid’s-bow scarlet mouths that men always seemed to go mad for. And, more worryingly, Serafina appeared to move in the same social milieu as Cesare, possibly to the extent that Cesare had not even felt it necessary to mention that Lizzie would be meeting her that very evening. For goodness’ sake, he broke up with her almost ten years ago, Lizzie reminded herself impatiently. How likely was it that he was still hankering after what he had lost?

In conversation with one of the organisers, who spoke great English, Lizzie learned how indebted the charity felt to Serafina, not only for her recent decision to become their patroness but also for allowing her magnificent home to be used for a fundraising benefit. La Principessa, she learned, was worth a small fortune to the charity in terms of the PR and publicity she would bring their cause, which was raising sufficient funds to open a new hospice for terminally ill children.

It was very warm in the crowded room and perspiration began to bead on Lizzie’s brow. She glanced longingly across the room to where several sets of doors stood open onto an outside terrace. As she stood there, a glass of water clasped in one hand, a sick sensation composed of both dizziness and nausea washed over her, leaving her pale.

‘Excuse me, I’m warm and I think I’ll step outside for a few minutes,’ she told her companion and turned away, wondering if she should be taking refuge in the cloakroom instead, but praying that the cooler night air would revive her.

The terrace was furnished with tables and chairs, and lights and candles held the darkness at bay. Lizzie took a seat, gratefully feeling the clamminess of her skin and the faint sickness recede again and breathing the fresh air in deep while she wondered if she was simply tired or if, indeed, she could be in the very earliest stage of a pregnancy. Wonder at that faint suspicion curved her mouth into a ready smile but delight at the prospect was swiftly tempered by fear of what such a development might mean to her relationship with Cesare. Would he back off from their current intimacy? Would he stop treating her like a real wife?

‘I saw you come outside,’ a female voice said lightly. ‘I thought we should get acquainted. I’ve known Cesare for so many years,’ Serafina Ruffini told her with apparent warmth. ‘You haven’t been married long, have you?’

‘No, only for a month,’ Lizzie admitted, struggling to maintain her relaxed attitude in the face of Serafina’s shrewdly assessing gaze.

‘My husband, Matteo, passed away last year. I’m fortunate to have my seven-year-old son to comfort me,’ Serafina confided.

‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Lizzie murmured, guiltily dismayed at the news that the brunette was a widow. ‘It must be hard for you and your son.’

‘We’re getting used to being a twosome.’ Serafina signalled a waiter hovering by the door with an imperious gesture wholly in keeping with her rather royal air of command. ‘Champagne?’

‘No, thanks.’ Lizzie smoothed a fingertip round the rim of her glass of water while smiling valiantly as the brunette continued to watch her closely.

The champagne was served with a flourish. Serafina leant back in her upholstered seat. ‘Of course, you’ll know about my history with Cesare...’

Lizzie stiffened. ‘Yes.’

‘How honest can I be with you?’

‘As honest as you like but I don’t think Cesare would like us talking about him behind his back,’ Lizzie opined quietly.

‘He’s an Italian male with a healthy ego.’ Serafina laughed. ‘Being wanted and appreciated by women is the bread of life for him.’

‘Is that why you didn’t marry him?’ Lizzie heard herself ask helplessly. ‘You believed he would be a womaniser?’

‘No, not at all. I married for security. I didn’t grow up like Cesare in a comfortable middle-class home,’ Serafina confided, startling Lizzie with her frankness. ‘I came from a poor background and worked very hard for everything I got and I had a great fear of being poor again. Matteo was a proven success while Cesare was only starting out in the business world. I loved Cesare but I’m afraid that the security which Matteo offered me was irresistible.’