The Italian's Token Wife

It went on for an eternity. Yet it was over too soon—achingly soon…

As he drew back from her she felt a loss that echoed through her whole body.

She gazed up at him, her emotions naked on her face.

With that enigmatic expression still in his eyes, Rafaello took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm, sliding her dark glasses back over her eyes.

‘We must return to the car,’ he told her.

She went with him as if she were in a complete daze—because she was. A sort of unreality was enveloping her and she could think no coherent thoughts. Not one.

The journey back to the villa was conducted mostly in silence. Rafaello drove with the speed and total concentration with which he had driven in the morning, but this time there was no aura of anger coming from him. Instead he seemed to be taking particular relish in driving the mega-powerful car—and Magda spent the entire journey, head turned towards Rafaello, holding her hair with one hand, as it blew about wildly, and gazing openly at him in utter wonder.

From time to time he glanced across at her, and she saw a little smile playing around his mouth, as if he were pleased, very pleased about something. She didn’t know what it was, only that when his mouth indented like that her insides just dissolved all over again.

She wanted the journey never to end.

CHAPTER SEVEN

RAFAELLO was in a good mood. A very good mood. It was the first good mood he’d had for months—ever since his father had given him his impossible ultimatum: marriage or disinheritance.

It made him realise just how bad his sustained mood had been, and for how long.

But all that had changed. The world was smiling again, and he was smiling with it. It was a good, good feeling. A burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

Back at the villa, he received with mixed emotions the news from an expressionless Giuseppe that Enrico had departed for Rome and was not expected back any time soon. Uppermost was, he acknowledged ruefully, relief. In his new improved mood he did not relish any more confrontation, and if his father had decamped to the Rome apartment, well, that was his choice, thought Rafaello. He had better put in a few phone calls to other board members, just to ensure that Enrico was not up to anything so far as his plans for Viscenti AG were concerned, but he was confident enough that his father would not renege on him.

It was with a lighter heart that he turned to Magda.

‘Giuseppe tells me my father has gone to stay in Rome—we have an apartment there. Now,’ he breezed on, ‘why do you not go and see to Benji, hmm?’ He smiled at her, and again she felt the butterflies soar on magic wings. ‘I must check my e-mails and make some phone calls, but I shall join you soon.’

He strolled off towards the library and Magda, informed by Giuseppe that Benji was asleep upstairs in her room, went upstairs, still in a complete daze.

She wanted desperately to think about what had happened, but Benji was far too pleased, waking from his afternoon nap, to allow time for reverie. His delight at seeing her made her forget everything else, at least for the moment, and she scooped him up and hugged him closely, thanking Gina for her care of him.

Refreshed from his slumber, Benji was ready for action again, and Magda headed downstairs with him.

Maria intercepted her in the hall.

Her eyes gleamed as she took in Magda’s transformed appearance, but she said nothing about the new look, merely saying, ‘I will bring coffee to the terrace—Signor and Signora Calvi are there.’

So, too, as Magda found, was Benji’s new pride and joy—his sit-upon wooden trike on which he could easily push himself along. He fell on it with a cry of glee, and in a short while was racing up and down the paved terrace like a pro. As for Rafaello’s aunt, she was decidedly more open about Magda’s new appearance.

‘Excellent! You look very lovely, my dear—and you will be pleased to hear that the rest of your new wardrobe has been delivered already.’

Magda looked surprised.

‘Of course,’ said Rafaello’s aunt, smiling admonishingly at her expression. ‘You cannot survive on one outfit alone. I have inspected the selection and they are all excellent. Gina has already hung them up. Now, come and have a cup of coffee and tell us what you thought of Lucca—and I shall tell you of all the antics of your extremely lively little boy this morning.’

Elizavetta was clearly in a very good humour, and when Rafaello emerged on to the terrace some thirty minutes later he was received in the same tone. But Magda was not blind to the rapid but scrutinising glance she subjected both of them to as he took his seat beside Magda. She felt herself colour slightly. Inside the butterflies set off again as she sipped her coffee, intensely aware of Rafaello’s presence beside her as he chatted to his aunt and uncle.