Vettori's Damsel in Distress (Harlequin Romance Large Print) (13 page)

She lifted her chin so that he could kiss her neck, by which time he’d got the idea and continued a trail of soft kisses along the edge of the neckline of her dress. When he reached the lowest part of the V he slid his hand beneath the cloth and pushed it aside, then audibly caught his breath as he realised that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath it.
‘Mia amore...’

He settled her silver and jet necklace back into place, carefully removed his hands, stepped back and held out her coat. As she turned and slipped her arms into the sleeves, he said, ‘Have you grown?’

She hitched up her skirt a few inches to reveal the slender steel vertiginous heels of her intricately laced black suede boots.

He studied them for a moment, then her belt, then he looked up and smiled. ‘I am so going to enjoy undressing you when we get home.’

* * *

By the time the limo approached the red carpet, Geli was shaking with nerves. ‘All the women will be wearing designer dresses, diamonds,’ she said.

‘You
are
wearing a designer dress. And every one of those women will wish they were wearing that belt.’

‘You think so?’

‘Believe me. They’ll know that every man in the room will be wishing he was the one unfastening those pretty buckles tonight.’

‘Now I’m blushing.’

‘Then it’s just as well I’ll be the only man in the room who knows for sure what you’re not wearing tonight.’ It was probably as well that the car stopped at that moment. Dante climbed out, offered her his hand, said, ‘Big smile, Angel...’ and she stepped out of the car to a blaze of flashlights from the army of paparazzi waiting for the celebrities.

The room was like a palace in a very grown-up fairy tale: everything beautiful, everything perfectly arranged, a stage set for exquisitely dressed players who moved in a circle around the legendary central character who was their host, and she watched, fascinated, as the famous—Hollywood stars, supermodels—paid court.

Dante introduced her to some people he knew, she drank a little champagne, ate a little caviar and wished she hadn’t. He went to fetch her a glass of water and, as she turned, searching the crowd for a sight of Valentina or his father, she came face to face with the
Maestro
himself.

‘Signora...’

‘
Maestro.
Piacere... Mi chiamo
Angelica Amery.
Sono Inglese
. My Italian is not good.’

‘Welcome, Angelica Amery,’ he said, switching to English. ‘It’s always a pleasure to meet a beautiful woman, especially one with so much courage.’

‘Courage?’

‘I believe that, including the waitresses, you are the only woman in the room not wearing a dress designed by me. This vogue for vintage clothes will put us all out of business.’

‘
Mi dispiace,
Maestro
,
but I could not afford one of your gowns or even the one I’m wearing for that matter. This belonged to my great-grandmother.’

‘She was a woman of great style, as are you,
cara
. And I adore your belt. The asymmetrical slant of the buckles complements the era of the dress so well. Where did you find it?’

‘
Grazie
,
Maestro
. I designed it myself. I was inspired by an Indian bracelet I saw on the Internet.’

‘Quite perfect.’ He nodded, held out his hand before moving on and when she took it he raised it to his lips. ‘Come and see me next month. We will talk about your future.’

‘Grazie...’
But he was already talking to someone else and, when she looked down, she realised that he’d tucked his card under her lace mitten.

He’d given her his card. Asked her to come and see him. He’d said her belt was ‘quite perfect’...

She stood for a moment trying to breathe, trying to take in what had just happened and then spun round, searching for Dante so that she could tell him.

Taller than most in the room, he should be easy to spot, even in this crush, and after a moment she spotted his broad shoulders jutting from a small alcove. He had his back to her but, as she took a step in his direction, she saw who he was talking to.

Valentina Vettori was older than she’d realised, older than Dante, but even more beautiful in the flesh than in her photograph despite, or perhaps because, her eyes were brimming with tears.

It was like watching a car crash you were unable to prevent. The way she reached for him, the way he took her into his arms and held her while her tears seeped into the shoulder of his jacket. And all the joy of the last twenty-four hours, the triumph of the evening, turned to ashes in her mouth.

Valentina had been his lover—he’d grieved for her loss for over a year.

He’d only known her for a week.

Look away
, she told herself.
Look away now...

It was a moment of the most intense privacy and no one in the celebrity-hunting crowd had noticed. No one cared but her.

As she dragged her eyes from the scene in the alcove she saw someone else she recognised. Make that no one but her and Daniele Vettori who, glass in hand, was looking around, clearly wondering where his wife had got to.

‘Signor Vettori,’ she said, walking towards him, hand outstretched. ‘I am so glad to meet you. I wanted to thank you for your help the other night.’ His smile was puzzled but he turned to look at her. ‘
Sono
Angelica Amery,’ she said. ‘The crazy cat lady.’

‘Signora Amery...
Piacere
.’ He took her hand. ‘I did not realise that you were English. You are here with Dante?’ He sounded surprised. Looked hopeful.

‘I’m a dress designer—in a very small way,’ she added. ‘Dante thought I might enjoy this.’

‘And are you?’

‘Very much.’ Until two minutes ago she had been on top of the world. ‘Is your wife with you?’ she asked as his eyes wandered in search of her. Anything to keep him focused on her.

‘She’s here somewhere, making up for lost time networking. We were very late. Alberto—our son—wouldn’t settle. We have a nanny but Valentina... I’m sorry; you do not want to talk about babies.’ He smiled, gave her his full attention. ‘Where is my son?’

‘He’s gone to find me a glass of water. It’s rather a crush.’

‘Please, take this.’ He offered her the glass he was holding. ‘My wife is breastfeeding so she’s avoiding the champagne.’

‘Oh, but—’

His smile deepened and it was so much like his son’s that a lump formed in her throat. ‘There’s a price to pay. You will have to stay and talk to me until Dante returns.’

‘That’s not an imposition, it’s a pleasure.’ She took the glass from him, hoping that her hand would not shake as she took a sip.

‘Did you meet Dante in England, Signora Amery?’

‘Please, everyone calls me Geli.’

Everyone except Dante...

‘
Grazie
, Geli.
Mi chiamo
, Daniele.’

‘Daniele... And, in answer to your question, no. I came to Isola to work. Dante helped me when I had a problem with my apartment.’ She had to chase up the bank. She’d let things slide; there had been no urgency, but now—

‘Angelica...’ She physically jumped as Dante placed his hand on her shoulder, standing possessively close. He was paler and there was the faintest smear of make-up on the shoulder of his jacket that only someone who knew what to look for would see, but he had remembered her water. ‘It appears that I’m redundant here.’

‘Not at all.’ She took the glass from him and handed it to his father. ‘Daniele merely loaned me this glass until you returned. It was for Valentina but she seems to have disappeared.’

‘I saw her a minute ago. I believe she was heading in the direction of the cloakroom.’

‘Then I will wait here with you if I may,’ Daniele said.

The two men looked at one another for a long intense moment before Dante put out his hand and said something in Italian that Geli did not understand. And then she was holding two glasses as the two men hugged one another.

And she was the one blinking back tears when Valentina found them, linked her arm in Daniele’s and said something to her in Italian, speaking far too quickly for her to understand.

‘Geli is English,
cara
,’ Daniele said, taking the fresh glass from Dante and handing it to her. ‘She is the heroine who searched my construction site in the snow and saved the injured cat.’

‘
Alora
... Such drama. You are so brave...’ Her expression was unreadable and she could have intended anything from genuine admiration—possibly for risking her nails—to veiled sarcasm. ‘
Come
... How is she? The cat?’

‘She is healing fast and contented now that she is with her kittens,’ Geli assured her.

‘Then all is right with her world.’ She looked at Dante and for a long moment it was as if she and Daniele were not there. Then she snapped on a smile and said,
‘Dolci...’
before turning to her. ‘Sweet... I do not know if you are aware but I present an early evening magazine programme on regional television. We are always looking for light stories. Good news. Maybe we could feature your cat and her kittens? Are they photogenic?’

Geli, astonished and not entirely sure what to make of her invitation, turned to Dante but, getting no help there, said, ‘Well, Mamma Cat is a looking a bit like Frankenstein’s monster at the moment, shaved patches and stitches, but the kittens more than make up for that.’

‘Perfect. Will you do it? Obviously, the programme is in Italian, but I can translate for you or—’ Geli waited for her to suggest that Dante came along to translate ‘—we could film them at home and I can do a voice-over.’

‘
Grazie
, Valentina. I’m working on my Italian but it might be kinder to your viewers if you did the talking.’ Valentina’s smile was strained and, on an impulse, she began telling her about the drama of Rattino’s appearance, giving it the full action treatment as she described Lisa’s horror, the women leaping on chairs, her diving under the table. By the end of the story they had gained a small audience and everyone was laughing.

‘Bravissima!’
Valentina clapped. ‘That! I want that! We’ll use subtitles.
I gattini
...where are they now?’

‘They’re in our apartment,’ Dante told her. ‘Why don’t you come and see them? Come to lunch tomorrow, both of you. I have a gift for Alberto—’ his father looked wary rather than pleased ‘—and I have a project that I’d like to discuss with Valentina.’

‘Oh?’

‘Angelica is an artist and we’re making a film about the need to preserve the heart of Isola.’

‘From people like me?’

‘It isn’t personal, Papà. It was never personal.’

There was another of those long looks, but after a moment his father nodded. They chatted for a few more minutes before Valentina spotted someone she had to talk to and the party broke up in a round of very Italian hugs. Only Geli saw that, while her husband was occupied with her, Valentina took the opportunity to whisper something in Dante’s ear, saw his nod of acknowledgement, imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t watching closely.

‘Would you like to go on somewhere?’ Dante asked as they climbed into their car.

‘No. Thank you.’

‘You can’t know how glad I am you said that. Did you have a good time? I saw you talking to our host.’

‘Did you? Actually, he was congratulating me on being the only woman present with the courage not to be wearing one of his gowns.’

‘Amore...’
he exclaimed. ‘I never thought. I’m so sorry.’

‘Why? It is what it is and when I explained that this dress had belonged to my great-grandmother he forgave me.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘That my dress is eighty years old or that he forgave me?’

‘
Madonna, mia!
Either...both. Is it really that old?’

‘My great-grandmother kept a ledger of her clothes. When she bought them, how much they cost, where she wore them. This one is by Mainbocher, the man who designed the dress Wallis Simpson wore when she married the Duke of Windsor. Great-grandma didn’t wear it after that. She disapproved of divorce, disapproved of the abdication...disapproved of pretty much everything, apparently, except beautiful clothes.’

She knew she was talking too much but Dante, it seemed, was disinclined to stop her. Maybe he was interested in vintage fashion...

‘We have trunks full of clothes in the attic, not just hers, but my grandmother’s too. She was a sixties dolly bird, a contemporary of Twiggy, but that’s more Sorrel’s era. Lucky for us that Elle had no idea of the value of vintage clothes when she was selling off the family silver to pay the creditors.’

Talking too much and all of them the wrong words.

‘The dress is perfect, Angel. You were so busy looking at everyone else that you didn’t notice that they were all looking at you.’

He reached across the back seat of the limo to take her hand but she pretended she hadn’t noticed, lifting it out of his reach to check the safety of a long jet earring.

‘The Maestro admired my belt, too,’ she said. ‘It’s a Dark Angel original.’

‘I hope you told him so.’

‘I did... He kissed my hand, gave me his card and asked me to go and see him next month. When the shows are over.’

‘I think that is what you call a result.’

‘Beyond my wildest dreams,’ she assured him. And maybe that was it. The jealous gods only let you have one dream at a time... ‘And you, Dante? Did you accomplish everything you wanted tonight?’

He sighed, leaned back. ‘Everything is not for mortal men,’ he said, eerily reflecting her own thoughts, ‘but as much as I could have hoped. The fact that you were already talking to my father made it a great deal easier.’

‘Did it? You sounded rather cross.’

‘No...’ He shook his head. ‘How did you come to be talking?’

‘Oh, the usual way. You know how it is at parties. We were in the same space at the same time. I was looking for you so that I could tell you about meeting the Maestro. He was looking for his wife and about to see her crying into your shoulder so I distracted him by introducing myself as the crazy cat lady.’

‘Then I’m not imagining the touch of chill in the air. Congratulations, Angelica. You have not only made a hit with the one man in Milan famously impossible to impress, but appear to have excelled yourself in diplomacy.’