The Mistress Wife

The name translated as ‘the little palace’. Vivien was striving to keep a straight face because she was already picturing crystal chandeliers, vast marble spaces and a lot of gilded finishes. She thought it very unlikely that she would love his country house. After all, Lucca liked a great deal of luxury. He had been raised in a sixteenth-century Roman villa with the kind of opulence that made more ordinary people gasp and stare. Too much grandeur made Vivien uncomfortable but she had never expected him to go slumming for her benefit.

It was a glorious day. The limousine was travelling through dense beech woods. Golden sunlight from a perfect blue sky splashed the fresh green leaves and stately pale grey trunks stretched back into the verdant shade created by the closely packed trees.

They turned off the steep road into a winding lane that cut through groves of oak trees that slowly petered out into a lush meadow of poppies and wild flowers. Silhouetted against the backdrop of the wooded hillside, she glimpsed the tall, elegant tower and the terracotta roof of a rambling old house that fitted into the landscape with timeless perfection. Built of warm mellow stone the colour of honey, it looked so impossibly beautiful that her throat ached and her eyes strained to hold that view.

Long before the limo even came to a regal halt on the gravel fronting the ancient building, Vivien was experiencing a deep and disturbing sense of déjà vu. Three years ago, they had spent their honeymoon in a contemporary villa filled with cutting-edge technology and furniture that had looked as though it would end up in a design museum. It had been exactly what Lucca liked but she had found the vast echoing spaces soulless and intimidating. On every trip they had enjoyed during that all-too-brief week of being newly marrieds in Tuscany, she had admired the character and beauty of the gracious old houses that she so much preferred. Lucca had started teasing her and he had come up with what he had described as a checklist of her preferences for her dream house.

Her dream home in the Tuscan hill country had been old and stone built. She had also rather fancied a dwelling that rejoiced in a tall handsome tower from which glorious views could be sampled. She had pictured that imaginary house, composite of so many that she had seen, sited on a wooded hillside surrounded by sufficient land to allow total, silent seclusion from the rest of the world. And here it was: her dream house, purchased by her estranged husband for his own use a good month after they had parted. It was enough of a provocation to make even a sane woman scream…

Fortunately for Lucca, Vivien hated screaming at him. Or at least, she hated the aftermath of having screamed when she would feel that such a loss of control reflected badly on her strength of character. Resolving to say nothing about the insulting resemblance Il Palazzetto bore to the fantasy home she had dreamt of while on her honeymoon, Vivien climbed out of the car into the sunlight.

A housekeeper and a maid stepped forward to be introduced and swiftly pounced upon Marco with the kind of enormous appreciation that he most relished. Chuckling at the game the maid initiated, Marco beamed and toddled off happily to receive the cake he had been promised.

‘Rosa Peroli will be arriving tomorrow morning to help you look after him,’ Lucca informed Vivien.

Blinking rapidly, Vivien stilled and twisted round to look at him. ‘Say that again…’

‘It wasn’t hard to find Rosa’s family in the phone book. I called her and asked if she would like to work for you on a full-time basis—’

‘But I don’t need—’

‘It’s all organised,’ Lucca spelt out. ‘Rosa was delighted and said she’d really missed taking care of Marco. She’s keen to start work.’

Vivien breathed in so long and so deep in an effort to calm herself that she was fearful she might burst. ‘I suppose it didn’t occur to you that you should consult me about this arrangement.’

‘It did, but I took a considered decision not to consult you.’

Vivien glared at him incredulously. ‘Not to consult me?’

Lucca shrugged wide muscular shoulders sheathed in fine white cotton. ‘You’re used to being a single parent and if you delegate, you feel guilty. But we should be able to relax together occasionally without worrying about Marco. Taking time just for us isn’t a crime, gioia mia.’

Sea-green eyes fully lodged to his lean, darkly handsome features, Vivien stopped glaring and almost smiled for he had employed the cleverest possible words of persuasion. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

Closing a lean, purposeful hand over hers, he showed her into a big reception room, which contained wonderfully inviting sofas, and had windows that overlooked a welcoming green expanse of garden. All the rooms were well proportioned and furnished with a contemporary take on plain rustic style. Vivien’s intense curiosity about who had done the decorating increased rapidly. Il Palazzetto was achingly fashionable. Vivien didn’t ‘do’ trendy interior design but she read the magazines with avid interest. And the deeper she got into Lucca’s stunning Tuscan home, the more she found herself imagining Bliss Masterson draping the plaid throw over the wrought-iron seat by the window and adjusting the artfully arranged bare branches that ornamented a starkly simple marble urn. Her chest swelled as she dragged in a quivering breath and struggled to suppress her turbulent emotions. She was trying very hard not to wonder how many other women had enjoyed the same tour with Lucca.

They climbed to the top of the tower to take in the fantastic views of the rolling countryside. In the distance she could see the purplish blue splendour of the mountains. In the haze of the afternoon heat, a medieval village sprawled with higgledy-piggledy charm across a hilltop and looked for all the world as though it belonged in a children’s fairy tale. Dense woods, silvery green olive groves and flourishing vineyards adorned a lush green landscape of breathtaking beauty.

But Vivien was not properly appreciative. Indeed her eyes burned with pent-up tears and the images were blurring. She was still picturing Bliss twitching those branches into stylish harmony with her thin, elegant fingers. She had sworn to herself that she would say nothing but t

he torments of her own imagination were more than flesh and blood could stand. ‘You know…you promised me a house exactly like this on our honeymoon.’

‘I always deliver,’ Lucca drawled teasingly.

Vivien went so tense she was surprised her bones didn’t crack. How could he be so obtuse? Did he think she had been complimenting him? The exploration continued. She preceded him into a bedroom where pale blue drapes fell to a polished oak floor. Soft blue, her favourite colour. Her delicate face tightened. Like a police detective hot on the scent of a dangerous criminal, she pushed open the door into what she deemed to be the en suite and there it was, the final proof of his gross insensitivity: the free-standing, exquisitely shaped bath of her dreams!

‘I hate you!’ Vivien launched at Lucca on the back of an angry sob.

Lean, powerful face impassive, Lucca backed up against the footboard of the impressive wooden bed and studied her in apparent astonishment. ‘Santo Cielo… I don’t believe I’m hearing this. What’s the matter with you?’

‘You bought my dream home after I’d left you and desecrated it with other women!’ Vivien screeched at him. ‘How dare you bring me here?’

‘Possibly I wanted to remind you of what a great guy you walked out on, bella mia,’ Lucca countered with ice cool clarity. ‘What you’re seeing here isn’t what you think it is…what you’re seeing here within these four walls is the faith I once had in you.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she slung back shakily.

‘I thought you’d come back to me. It did not once occur to me when you packed and left our home that that would be the end of our marriage.’

Shimmering dark golden eyes seared her strained face.