The Italian's Token Wife

His aunt was less forbearing.

‘Impossible man!’ exclaimed his aunt. ‘I just hope this bride of yours has a thick skin, Rafaello.’

Her nephew’s face shuttered. The familiar stab came again. A thick skin? She had needed that from the moment he had looked her over and decided she was the perfect vehicle of his revenge…

The sound of the door opening made him turn suddenly. As if his thoughts had summoned her, she was there, standing uncertainly in the doorway.

She looked like a mouse, he found himself thinking. She was wearing that atrocity of a frock, the same one she had married him in, with its hem hanging unevenly around her calves, no waist and a most unflattering sagging neckline, and her hair was tightly brushed back and knotted punishingly on the back of her head. The best that could be said about her was that she looked neat and clean-scrubbed.

‘Good evening,’ she said in a strangled voice that was scarcely audible.

For a moment the tableau held, and then, as he saw the colour—what there was of it—start to drain out of her face, Rafaello stepped forward and went up to her.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘COME and meet my aunt and uncle.’

He took her elbow and drew her forward. She was as tense as a board under his touch, and she almost stumbled as she walked into the room until he let her go. Even then, as he stood by her side, he could see she was stiff as wood.

‘Tia Elizavetta—this is Magda. Magda—my aunt, Elizavetta Calvi. And this is my uncle, il professore Bernardo Calvi.’

Magda felt her breath solidify in her lungs. Shock rippled through her. Rafaello di Viscenti had called her by her name.

Up till now it had been pointedly—painfully—obvious that he never addressed her by name, simply spoke directly to her. And this evening—her eyes widened in realisation—he had called Benji by his name as well! She could hardly believe it.

Nor could she believe that he was actually introducing her to his aunt and uncle. When she had walked in and seen them present she had steeled herself for another explosion like the one that had greeted her first presentation to Rafaello’s family. But now, instead, the elegant woman in her discreetly stylish clothes who was his aunt was merely looking her over with gimlet eyes. She stood still, letting the woman inspect her. True, the woman’s mouth had tightened as she perused her, but she hadn’t gone apoplectic. Then, suddenly, the woman smiled at her. Not a huge smile, nor a very warm one, but a civil, social smile, and a smile for all that. She received a smile from the woman’s husband as well, the professor, this time more warm if a little vague.

‘Unfortunately,’ Rafaello was saying in a remote voice, ‘my father finds himself indisposed tonight. I hope you will excuse him.’

Magda bit her lip. It was perfectly obvious that Rafaello’s father was avoiding her as if she had the plague. Well, she thought thinly, from his point of view I do. I’m hardly his ideal daughter-in-law. Oh, why on earth hadn’t Rafaello realised that he should have chosen a woman from his own world if he’d wanted to avoid marrying his cousin? Instead he’d just rashly married the first woman he’d seen—she could recall that posh blonde’s words with punishing clarity—and now look at the mess he was in. He should have thought a bit more about what his father’s reaction was going to be to a wife who worked as a cleaner. And had a baby with her to boot. Didn’t Rafaello care that that only made things worse?

Her chin lifted. Well, that was between Rafaello and his father. For herself, she couldn’t care less if she earned her living cleaning the homes of rich people—or if Benji had no father. Benji was her life, Kaz’s most precious gift to her—a final gift.

Giuseppe was clearing his throat and informing them that dinner was ready to be served. Rafaello moved closer to her and took her elbow once more. She tensed all over again. She knew it was nothing but show, but she wished he would stand about half a kilometre away from her. Then she forced herself to untense. She might as well be a block of wood as living flesh. She had not missed his disparaging look at her appearance, however swiftly it had been veiled.

Soon they were in the dining room, and Magda’s eyes were shooting around the silk-hung room with its antique furniture. She was grateful to sit down at the gleamingly polished table.

Giuseppe and a pair of maids busied themselves serving the first course—delicate folds of Parma ham with sliced fresh pears, accompanied by a delicately flavoured white wine. Magda waited until the others had started eating, and then reached for whatever implements they had selected. As she took the first mouthful she paused, savouring the rich saltiness of the ham combined with the fresh nuttiness of the fruit.