The Italian's Perfect Lover (12 page)

“Some friend,” he leaned in to her.

“Yes, he is.” She replied staunchly.

He shook his head.

She narrowed her eyes. “What’s with the
shaking of the head?”

“Come, Emily. No friend would leave you alone
in a place you didn’t know anyone.”

“I told him to go. I was hungry and—”

“And he let you go.”

She looked down at her food and ate with
exaggerated concentration. “We’re not here for long and he hasn’t
seen his friends in a while.”

“So he leaves his girlfriend alone? That
doesn’t sound right to me.”

“How exactly?”

“Perhaps you don’t fit in here? You’re
English?”

“Well spotted.”

“And not upper class. I can tell by your
accent.”

“And you are. I can tell by yours. So
what?”

“Indeed. To us, ‘so what’. But the others?”
He shrugged. “There are snobs in this world, Emily.” He’d shifted
closer to her now. “People who don’t appreciate what people like
you have to offer. Now me, I appreciate everything you have to
offer.”

Despite Emily’s new glasses, her gaze had
grown blurry with the champagne. She pressed her eyes closed for a
second and then opened them again to clear them. Nope, still the
same. She turned away to try and focus her vision but when she
turned the man appeared to be sitting closer to her and she could
feel his breath down her cleavage.

She put her hand over her body, disliking the
feel of his warm breath against her skin, and his eyes, devouring
her. The intimacy was sudden and repulsive.

“Believe me. I have nothing to offer.”

He smiled. “I don’t. Believe you, that
is.”

“No really. You haven’t a clue. It’s true I
don’t belong here and it’s just as true that I have nothing to
offer.”

“Just because your boyfriend doesn’t value
you, doesn’t mean you should put yourself down.”

Emily recoiled as his hand caressed her
leg.

“No,” she was suddenly startled.

“Come on. You’re alone. Your boyfriend has
found better things to do.”

“That’s not true.”

“Come on, it doesn’t sound like—”

“What, exactly, doesn’t it sound like,
Anthony?” Alessandro’s words were icy with chill and menace.

Emily and Anthony both looked up,
startled.

“Alex!” Anthony looked from Emily to
Alessandro and his eyes widened with surprise. “
You
are
Emily’s ‘friend’.”

“No, Anthony, I’m her lover. And I think it’s
time you went, don’t you?”

Emily closed her eyes and rubbed her
throbbing head. When she opened them there was no sign of
Anthony.

“Everything all right, Emily?”

She sighed and leaned back against the
leather couch. “Of course. Fine. And you? Did you enjoy catching up
with your friends?”

He took her hand. “To start with, yes. But I
wanted to be with you. I was also concerned that you might be
lonely.”

She smiled. The smile turned into a laugh and
part of her heard it and thought it inappropriate. The other part
didn’t care any more.

“I’m used to being alone,
Alex,”
she
laid emphasis on his name, hating the Anglicization of it. All his
friends called him that. It seemed a denial of his nationality, of
who he was.

He looked away. She could feel him distancing
himself from her. So the process had begun already. The test was
complete. She didn’t fit into his world and she would have to
leave.

“I’m sorry. I thought you would enjoy the
party.”

She shrugged lightly. “The food is good.”

“I was wrong.”

She dropped her fork onto the plate with a
clatter and pushed the plate away.

“Hey. I’m sorry. I just don’t fit in. Despite
the clothes, despite the money spent on them, I just don’t fit in.
What’s that wonderful expression?” She squeezed her eyes in
concentration. “You can’t make a silk purse from a sow’s ear.”

Alessandro slammed down his drink so hard
that the glass shattered and white wine slid across the table
amidst shards of glass. He grabbed her hand, his dark sleeve
studded with glass, and darkening even further as it soaked up the
wine.

“What, Emily, do I have to do to make you
believe in yourself? Hey?”

“Well, perhaps, spending time with me instead
of wandering off with your friends, might be a start.”

“I thought you were talking with Ursula.
She’s a good lady. I thought you were OK.”

“She’s fine. But then she left.” Her short,
perfunctory laugh told all. “Story of my life. But back to you. You
are in your element here, not me. I’m sorry. I thought, for just
one second, that I might be. But I’m not.” She flicked a look at
her watch. “I need to go, with or without you.”

She held his gaze for minutes.

“Without me? Emily, it’s not exactly a taxi
ride back to Naples.”

“Then with you. Whatever. It makes no
difference. I want to keep to the terms of your father’s will, even
if you don’t. I won’t lose this position.”

“Emily. My father’s stipulation was for you
to have the position. Only you. You cannot lose it. It’s always
been yours.”

She didn’t feel herself recoil but, minutes
later, wondered how she’d managed to move so far away from him.

“You, you made me think that I had to do as
you say, otherwise I’d lose the job. You devious bastard.” Her
voice was soft with restrained anger.

“I was not lying. You had to stay there. It’s
just that I didn’t tell you that it was your name that my father
stipulated. I also had to stay there. He’d always envisaged just
the two of us.”

“What did he want from me? Some kind of
amusement for his son?”

“I think he had you more in mind as some kind
of savior.”

She stood up and stumbled out of the mansion,
unaware of the looks of people, unaware of her surroundings. It was
only when she was walking back that she felt his arm come around
her, and keep her from falling.

“I’m sorry, Emily. You must believe that I
feel deeply for you. You must believe that.”

She shook her head in confusion. “I don’t
know what to believe any more. I just need to get back.”

He stopped her and held her tight.

“You’re not going anywhere until you hear me
out. Emily, me and you, right now, have nothing to do with my
father. I want you here. I need you here.”

She shook her head. “I don’t belong.”

“Of course you do. I don’t care about the
rest of them but you belong with me.”

He lifted her chin and she saw that his face
was streaked with yellow light in the Parisian gloom. He dipped his
face to hers and caught her lips in a kiss that was designed to be
gentle. But she wasn’t feeling gentle. Her body’s needs were
paramount and she expressed it all in that kiss.

It was Alessandro who pulled away, his breath
coming fast. She pushed herself against him, taking satisfaction in
his arousal.

“No, Emily, wait.” Alessandro’s voice was
dominant and strong. He pushed her away and turned on his
cellphone. “I’m taking you to the plane straight away.”

She lay on the bed of the aircraft in the
darkness that she had insisted upon, sated and relaxed. Making love
with Alessandro was all that she now craved. But, unlike anything
else she knew, unlike any food she knew, once she’d tasted it, it
simply stimulated her appetite for more. And more.

Then why was she crying? She wiped her face
with the back of her hand—first one cheek and then another—and
gently dropped her hand back to her side. Alessandro lay unmoving
beside her. She didn’t think he was asleep—his breathing wasn’t
relaxed enough—but he, like her, was obviously in no mood for
talking.

It was dark now. But daylight would come
soon. Today had shown her that it didn’t matter how she looked, she
would never fit into his life. He didn’t understand. But he would.
How long did she have before he discovered her secrets and left
her? It was just a matter of time. Sooner or later he’d discover
she wasn’t the perfect woman, that she wasn’t for him. She could
sit around and wait or she could act.

And waiting was one thing Emily was never
very good at.

Emily’s cellphone vibrated in her pocket and
the sound of fire crackers—a ring-tone courtesy of a university
bonfire night celebration—filled the air.

“Em! Phone’s going again.”

She dug it out of the pocket of her baggy
shorts, checked the number and killed it, slipped it back in her
pocket and carried on making notes on that day’s dig.

Emily’s team looked up in surprise then
exchanged puzzled glances. Emily could feel their surprise from
beneath her lowered lids.

“Don’t sweat it. I’m busy, that’s all.”

Let them think what they liked. It was out of
character because she always answered her cellphone, not least
because it rang so rarely. It was usually about work and that was
all that mattered to her.

But the calls that she’d been receiving all
day had nothing to do with work.

Just the memory of Alessandro made her body
flush with heat.

Closely followed by anger that she’d let
herself be seduced quite so thoroughly: had left herself open to
hurt, quite so stupidly.

She rubbed her shoulder. One of the deeper
scars was aching today. It always did when there was damp in the
air. The knife had gone deeper there—had snagged at her nerve
endings. She had no sensation, other than an ache in the cold and
damp.

She looked into the late afternoon sky. The
sun was dulled by a thin film of cloud. She’d been right. A storm
was coming. The hills that surrounded the estate were grey in the
dimming light.

She scuffed some of the stones underfoot, her
mind miles away from her work, for once.

He needed to know. He needed to see her for
what she was: a freak—only good for telling the weather.

“Em to earth—come in!”

Emily turned to find Sue in front of her,
hands on hips, irritation on her face.

“What’s up?”

“You. That’s what. I don’t know what the
hell’s got into you today. You’ve been mooching around—”

“Hey, I don’t mooch.”

“Mooching around like some lovelorn teenager.
If I didn’t know you better I’d say you’d got man problems.”

Emily glared at Sue. “I’m not even going to
dignify that with a reply.”

“Ah, so you have got man problems.”

Emily continued to write.

“Hey, Em!”

“I’m ignoring you, in case you haven’t
noticed.”

“Ignore me all you like but I’ve been trying
to tell you that you’ve some corporate guy standing over there
politely calling your name while you’ve been staring into the
hills. What’s got into you?”

A discreet cough behind her made her turn
around, belatedly following her team’s stares.

One of Alessandro’s assistants stood behind
her.

He looked her up and down. “Signorina? Are
you ready?”

“For what?”

“The conte has asked me to take you to the
Rovella townhouse for the supper. He apologizes for not coming
himself, but he’s tied up with meetings until later.”

“I know nothing of the supper.”

“If you’d answered your cell, Em, you just
might.”

Emily glowered at her friend.

“The conte asked me to tell you that there
would be important benefactors for you to meet tonight, including
trustees of the Museo Archeologico Nazionale.”

Emily scowled again. She couldn’t refuse that
and he knew it.

She passed the clipboard and notes to her
friend. “Here. You take over.”

“Have a lovely time Em.” She grinned at
Emily. “If you need anything just sing out.”

Emily didn’t reply but gave her friend a
black look. Sue knew Emily hated such occasions. What she didn’t
know was that, for the first time, she wouldn’t have to borrow
Sue’s clothes. She had enough of her own now.

But half an hour later, showered and dressed,
Emily’s hand skimmed over the beautiful clothes Alessandro had
bought for her and plucked the same red dress she’d worn the first
night she’d met him. She still hadn’t given it back to Sue. For
some reason she’d kept it hanging with the other utilitarian items
in her wardrobe. She ran her hand down its length now, remembering
that night.

But memories weren’t the reason she’d chosen
it tonight. The clothes Alessandro had bought her were beautiful
and more suitable, but lacking in one particular——they all covered
her scarred shoulders and back.

And tonight she had a point to make.

Alessandro listened grimly to the group of
businessmen who’d been invited to the party and pulled his tie
loose from the knot.

He took the last swig of his whisky and held
up his glass for the waiter to refill it.

Why the hell hadn’t she answered his phone
calls?

What had been so important that she’d left
their bed before the sun had risen?

Their lovemaking had changed from a wild,
sensual experience to something more intense, if anything.

Why had she regretted it then?

He wasn’t used to anyone—least of all a
woman—not returning his calls. The last time that had happened his
wife had left him, taking their son with her. The last time that
had happened he’d lost his temper—seen red—and got into a fight
with his wife’s lover that had resulted in his son’s death.

The bile that the memory brought to his mouth
made him angry, a potent reminder of the melee of feelings he still
kept hidden, locked, deep inside. If she regretted her actions,
then so did he. He flicked a look at his watch, oblivious to the
woman talking to him until her curious gaze, as she looked down at
the poolside, side drew his attention.

“Oh my God! What on earth happened to
her?”

From their vantage point on the mezzanine
floor above the pool, he could see down Emily’s generous cleavage
but it wasn’t that which had caused the woman’s remark.