The Italian's Token Wife

A head pushed itself out from under the bedclothes by his elbow and a tiny hand landed plumply on his, where it pressed into the mattress bearing the weight of his inclining torso. A gurgle of infant laughter burst out of Benji as he crowed at his achievement, emerging from his hiding place.

Rafaello sat back, wry resignation in his face. There would be no lovemaking this morning, he could tell. Immediately he started thinking how swiftly he could convey Benji into Maria’s care, so that he could get Magda to himself again.

But not yet, it seemed. Benji wanted to play. Especially with this interesting new addition to morning playtime. He crawled across to Rafaello and deposited himself on his lap, chuckling and making jigging movements to encourage him.

‘He wants you to bounce him on your knees,’ said Magda, finding her voice at last. At least talking about Benji was possible—he was a safe, neutral subject, and nothing, nothing whatsoever to do with what Rafaello had been talking to her about—which, right now, she couldn’t cope with—not at all, not in the slightest.

‘Like this?’ enquired Rafaello, and twisted round so that he was sitting at right angles, with his feet on the floor again.

‘Yes. You hold him on and play “This is the way the lady rides”,’ explained Magda helpfully.

She ran through the game with him, explaining how the lady rode very timidly, and the gentleman rode very solemnly, but then the farmer rode with a huge and exaggerated bumpety-bump which reduced Benji to peals of laughter.

And Rafaello, too. Magda watched him repeat the game at least five times for Benji, and her heart simply turned over and over in her chest. He looked so beautiful, with his smooth, lean torso, not an ounce of fat on him, his strong arms holding Benji firmly but with such care, and oh, his face, his face, with its sculpted planes and laughing mouth, and his dark, beautiful eyes crinkling at the corners, and his dark, silky hair flopping over his forehead…

Her heart went on turning and turning and turning…

She felt so happy she thought she must die.

But not so happy that she wasn’t still filled to the brim with total, absolute shyness about what had happened.

Thank goodness Benji was there! After the fifth repetition she lifted him from Rafaello, taking great pains not to actually touch the man who had swept her to paradise last night, terrified that if she did it would immediately be obvious to him that what she longed for right now was for him to sweep her there all over again.

‘That’s quite enough, you little monster.’ She nuzzled affectionately at Benji. ‘It’s time to get up.’

She was about to throw the bedclothes aside and stand up when she realised with a flush that she had not a stitch on. She froze.

Rafaello took pity on her. He got to his feet.

‘I’ll take Benji downstairs. We’ll be on the terrace. Come and have your breakfast there with me.’

He scooped Benji from her, taking far less pains than Magda against touching as he did so, and she felt her skin quiver where his fingers brushed her bare arms as she transferred Benji to him. Only when he had definitely left the room did she dare get out of bed and dart through into the bathroom.

She stopped short, seeing her reflection in the bathroom mirror.

It was her body—and yet not her body. She stood, gazing, seeing the fullness of her breasts which surely had not been there before. There was a curve to her hip, too, and—this she was definitely not imagining!—there were soft, lip-shaped discolorations on her throat and breasts. As if in answer to her own thoughts she became aware of the dull throbbing between her legs.

It really happened, she thought, her eyes gazing at her reflection in amazed wonder. It really happened…

That deep, quivering flush of happiness suffused her again, at its core a wonder and a piercing ache that made her feel her heart was opening. A slow, blissful smile lit her face. Whatever happened, whatever happened to her the rest of her life, she would have this moment—this wonderful, blissful, unbelievable moment—when the most beautiful man in the world had taken her to his bed and made a woman out of her.

Despite the residual soreness that remained from the physical experience of that transition, she showered and dressed on winged feet, filled with an overpowering longing to be in his company again. She did not know what the day would bring—what any part of the future would bring. She only knew that now, right now, she just wanted to be with Rafaello, feel his presence, and drink him in like a glass of golden champagne.

On the terrace Rafaello was waiting for her. As she approached his eyes lit with an assessing look, and she immediately became super-conscious of the way the beautifully cut pale blue sundress she had not been able to resist putting on from the huge selection that now crowded her wardrobe moulded her breasts and hips.