The Mistress Wife

‘I just can’t believe that you can let him make such a fool of you again.’ The tall brunette dealt Vivien a speaking look of disgust. ‘Lucca Saracino just jerks your strings like a puppet master and you do exactly what he wants!’

‘It’s really not like that.’ Vivien sighed, touched by what she deemed to be her sister’s partisan sympathies but wishing that the other woman would calm down enough to try and understand her point of view. ‘Lucca wants to see more of Marco and he deserves that chance. Lucca and Marco are really close. Seeing them together made me appreciate that Lucca is just as important to Marco as I am.’

Full raspberry-tinted mouth set in a scornful slant of disbelief, Bernice mimicked playing a violin. ‘So, you’ve resigned from your job and you’re moving back to London solely for the most pure of altruistic reasons?’

Her fair skin taking on a guilty pink hue, Vivien bent down to fuss with Jock’s carrier box. Behind the gated door, the little terrier was staging a massive sulk. ‘Maybe I’m just trying to make up for some of the mistakes I’ve made.’

‘Why can’t you admit the truth? You’ve still got the hots for Lucca and you’re being so accommodating because you’re hoping like hell that he’ll take you back!’

‘Well, if I am,’ Vivien said a little gruffly, ‘it would be my problem, not yours.’

Taken aback by that unexpectedly defiant response, Bernice gasped. ‘Don’t you have any shame? Any pride?’

Vivien considered those questions. Shame and pride had influenced the speed with which she had abandoned her marriage two years earlier. She had listened to Bernice’s tough talk then and perhaps she had listened rather too well. She had been terrified that if she hung around she would end up forgiving Lucca’s extra-marital activities. Horribly conscious of her own essential weakness where Lucca was concerned, Vivien had then got tough with herself. But this time around she was dealing with the reality that she was not the wholly innocent victim she had once believed herself to be. She had made a couple of huge errors with Lucca. He might not have been perfect husband material, but when he had been with her she had been incredibly happy. Admittedly, he hadn’t been with her very often. However, life without him had been deeply hollow and miserable.

‘That smug bastard you married must be loving every minute of this!’ Bernice slung at her with disdain.

Vivien looked up again with a reproachful frown. ‘Why do you dislike Lucca so much?’

Twin spots of red fired over her sibling’s cheekbones. She tossed her head, glossy long dark hair tumbling round her shoulders. ‘I just don’t like the way he treats you…you know that.’

But Vivien still felt bewildered by the pure depth of her sister’s animosity. ‘But why are you so vicious about him?’

A rare look of discomfiture clouded Bernice’s lovely face and then her sultry mouth twisted. ‘Possibly I know a thing or two about Lucca that would shock you!’

Silence fell, a sudden sharp silence laden with Vivien’s dismay and concern. ‘What do you mean?’

The bell went: the limo had arrived.

But Vivien was still staring at her sister. ‘What did you mean by what you just said?’ she repeated.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, I was only teasing!’ Bernice groaned, moving past the smaller woman to yank open the front door to the chauffeur. ‘Why do you take everything so seriously?’

Even as she waved goodbye to her sister, Vivien was still finding it hard to get that uneasy snatch of dialogue out of her head. Possibly her sibling did know things about Lucca that his wife did not. Before bankruptcy had claimed her business, Bernice’s boutique had been exceedingly fashionable and her rich clientele had often invited her to society parties. It was quite probable that when Lucca and Vivien had still been together Bernice would have heard rumours or tall stories about Lucca. However, Vivien, who had recently learned such a hard lesson in that particular field, had no intention of even allowing herself to consider the existence of any such allegations.

Within an hour of her arrival in London, she discovered that the label of furnished accommodation could hide a literal wealth of understatement, for her new home turned out to be a substantial dwelling in one of London’s most exclusive suburbs. A beautiful flower arrangement greeted her in the hallway of the elegant detached house. Each room was so well set up for immediate occupation that at any moment she expected the real owners to arrive and ask her what she was doing there. But it was her own books that sat on the shelves in the study, h

er clothes that had been stowed in the handsome master bedroom and Marco’s cot already awaited his arrival in the delightful nursery. Even the kitchen was well stocked with food. Having whined inconsolably for most of the journey, Jock scrambled out of the carrier box, his tail at a jaunty angle, and went trotting off to explore the secluded back garden.

The phone rang and, after a moment’s hesitation, Vivien answered it.

‘Give me a frank opinion,’ Lucca invited smoothly.

His rich, dark drawl sent a little frisson of wicked awareness dancing down her sensitive spine and she clutched the phone as tight as a talisman. ‘It’s a wonderful house…but a lot bigger and fancier than I was expecting.’

‘Staff have been organised to come in at discreet hours and take care of the necessities of life.’

‘That would be ridiculously extravagant. I’ll manage fine,’ Vivien assured him earnestly.

At the other end of the line, Lucca almost winced. He was recalling the disastrous period after their honeymoon when Vivien had contrived to persuade him that she was personally capable of running the whole domestic show. His once comfortable existence had been replaced by the hair-raising thrills and spills and deprivation of Vivien’s absent-minded brand of occasional housekeeping. The fire alarm had acted as an oven timer. The fridge had either been empty or filled with mummified food. The dry-cleaning had never been picked up. And sometimes, because she’d forgotten where she had left them, suits would vanish for all time. The most reliable way of acquiring a clean shirt had been the stack of new ones he kept at the office.

‘I’m afraid there isn’t a choice. The staff go with the house,’ Lucca informed her. ‘What time does Marco hit the bath?’

Vivien beamed. ‘Seven…’

‘I’ll be there, cara.’

Lucca tossed the phone aside and lounged back against his desk with a feeling of intense satisfaction. Marco was in London…Vivien too. The one could not be got without the other, he reasoned lazily. A slow, wicked smile played over his hard, sensual mouth. Everything was going his way and why should it not? He had been born devious for good reason and smooth, perfect planning always paid off.