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Her expression lost some of its intractability. ‘You mean you’re leaving me here … alone?’
‘My parents will be here.’
Her throat rose and fell over the tiniest of swallows. ‘This is rather sudden, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘You said nothing to me about having to go away on business. I thought you were going to be glued to my side in case I did a last-minute runner.’
Angelo leaned his hands on the table and looked her square in the eyes. ‘Don’t even think about it, Natalie,’ he said through tight lips. ‘You put one foot out of place and I’ll come down like a ton of bricks on your brother. He will never go to Harvard. He will never go to any university. It will be years before he sees the light of day again. Do I make myself clear?’
She blinked at him, her eyes as wide as big blue saucers. ‘Perfectly,’ she said in a hollow voice.
He held her pinned there with his gaze for a couple of chugging heartbeats before he straightened and adjusted his tie. ‘Try and stay out of trouble,’ he said. ‘I’ll call you later. Ciao.’
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_5136f555-5327-5629-9c44-dac689576d9a)
THE private chapel at Angelo’s grandparents’ villa forty-five minutes outside of Rome was full to overflowing when Natalie arrived in the limousine with her father. The last few days had passed in a blur of activity as wedding preparations had been made. She had gone with the flow of things—not wanting to upset Angelo’s parents, who had gone out of their way to make her feel welcome.
She had talked to Angelo on the phone each day, but he had seemed distant and uncommunicative and the calls hadn’t lasted more than a minute or two at most. There had been no sign of the gentle and caring man she had glimpsed the other night. She wondered if he was having second thoughts about marrying her now he had an inkling of how seriously screwed up she really was.
Her parents had flown over the day before, and her father had immediately stepped into his public role of devoted father. Her mother was her usual decorative self, dressed in diamonds and designer clothes with a hint of brandy on her breath that no amount of mints could disguise.
Her father helped Natalie out of the car outside the chapel. ‘You’ve done well for yourself,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d end up with some tradesman from the suburbs. Angelo Bellandini is quite a catch. It’s a pity he’s Italian, but his money more than makes up for that. I didn’t know you had it in you to land such a big fish.’
She gave him an embittered look. ‘I suppose I really should thank you, shouldn’t I? After all, you’re the one who reeled him in for me.’
Her father’s eyes became cold and hard and his voice lowered to a harsh, dressing-down rasp. ‘What else was I to do, you stupid little cow?’ he asked. ‘Your brother’s future depended on getting on the right side of Bellandini. I’m just relieved he wanted to take you on again. Quite frankly, I don’t know why he can be bothered. You’re not exactly ideal wife material. You’ve got too much attitude. You’ve been like that since the day you were born.’
Natalie ground her teeth as she walked to the chapel along a gravelled pathway on her father’s arm. She had learned long ago not to answer back. The words would be locked inside her burning throat just like every other word she had suppressed in the past.
They ate at her insides like bitter, poisonous acid.
Angelo blinked when he saw Natalie come into the chapel. His heart did a funny little jump in his chest as he saw her move down the aisle. She was wearing a gorgeous crystal-encrusted ivory wedding gown that skimmed her slim curves. It had a small train that floated behind her, making her appear almost ethereal, and she was wearing a short gossamer veil with a princess tiara that didn’t quite disguise the chalk-white paleness of her face. She looked at him as she walked towards him, but he wasn’t sure she was actually seeing him. She had a faraway look in her eyes—a haunted look that made him feel guilty for having engineered things the way he had.
He took both of her hands in his as she drew close. They were ice-cold. ‘You look beautiful,’ he said.
She moved her lips but there was no way he could call it a smile.
‘Your mother chose the dress,’ she said.
‘I like the veil.’
‘It keeps the flies off.’
He smiled and gave her hands a little squeeze as the priest moved forward to address the congregation. He felt her fingers tremble against his, and for the briefest moment she clung to him, as if looking for support. But then her fingers became still and lifeless in the cage of his hands.
‘Dearly beloved,’ the priest began.
‘… and now you may kiss the bride.’
Natalie held her breath as Angelo slowly raised her veil. She blinked away an unexpected tear. She had been determined not to be moved by the simple service, but somehow the words had struck a chord deep inside her. The promises had reminded her of all she secretly longed for: lifelong love, being cherished, protected, honoured, worshipped … accepted.
Angelo’s mouth came down and gently pressed against hers in a kiss that contained a hint of reverence—or maybe that was just wishful thinking on her part. Halfway through the service she had started wishing it was for real. That he really did love her. That he really did want to spend the rest of his life with her in spite of her ‘attitude problem’.
The thought of her father’s hateful words made her pull out of the kiss. If Angelo was annoyed at her breaking away he showed no sign of it on his face. He simply looped her arm through his and led her out of the chapel to greet their guests.
The reception was held in the lush, fragrant gardens at his elderly grandparents’s spectacular villa, under a beautifully decorated marquee. The champagne flowed and scrumptious food was served, but very little made it past Natalie’s lips. She watched as her father charmed everyone with his smooth urbanity. She watched in dread as her mother downed glass after glass of champagne and talked too long and too loudly.
‘Your mother looks like she’s having a good time,’ Angelo remarked as he came back to her side after talking with his grandfather.
Natalie chewed at her lip as she saw her mother doing a tango with one of Angelo’s uncles. ‘Deep down she’s really very shy, but she tries to compensate by drinking,’ she said. ‘I wish she wouldn’t. She doesn’t know when to stop.’
He took her by the elbow and led her to a wistaria-covered terrace away from the noise and music of the reception. Bees buzzed in the scented arras above them. ‘You look exhausted,’ he said. ‘Has it all been too much for you?’
‘I never thought smiling could be so tiring,’ she said with a wry grimace.
‘I should imagine it would be when you’re not used to doing it.’
She looked away from his all-seeing gaze. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel as if he sensed her deep unhappiness. He’d used to tease her about taking life so seriously. She had tried—she had really tried—to enjoy life, but hardly a day passed without her thinking of all the days her baby brother had missed out on because of her.
‘I like your grandparents,’ she said, stepping on tiptoe to smell a purple bloom of wistaria. ‘They’re so devoted to each other even after all this time.’
‘Are yours still alive?’ he asked. ‘You didn’t put them on the list so I assumed they’d passed on.’
‘They’re still alive.’
‘Why didn’t you invite them?’
‘We’re not really a close family,’ she said, thinking of all the stiff and awkward don’t-mention-what-happened-in-Spain visits she had endured over the years.
Everything had changed after Liam had died.
She had lost not just her younger brother but also her entire family. One by one they had pulled back from her. There had been no more seaside holidays with Granny and Grandad. After a couple of years the beautiful handmade birthday presents had stopped, and then a year or two later the birthday cards had gone too.
A small silence passed.
‘I’m sorry I couldn’t arrange for Lachlan to be here,’ he said. ‘It’s against regulations.’
She looked up at him, shielding her eyes against the bright sun with one of her hands. ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s in a private clinic in Portugal,’ he said. ‘He’ll be there for a month at the minimum.’
Natalie felt a surge of relief so overwhelming it almost took her breath away. She dropped her hand from her eyes and opened and closed her mouth, not able to speak for a full thirty seconds. She had been so terrified he would self-destruct before he got the help he so desperately needed. She had suggested a clinic a couple of times, but he had never listened to her. She had felt so impotent, so helpless watching him destroy his life so recklessly.
‘I don’t know how to thank you … I’ve been so terribly worried about him.’
‘He has a long way to go,’ he said. ‘He wants help, but he sabotages it when it’s given to him.’
‘I know …’ she said on a sigh. ‘He has issues with self-esteem. Deep down he hates himself. It doesn’t matter what he does, or what he achieves, he never feels good enough.’
‘For your parents?’
She shifted her gaze. ‘For my father, mostly …’
‘The father-son relationship can be a tricky one,’ he said. ‘I had my own issues with my father. That’s one of the reasons I came to London.’
Natalie walked with him towards a fountain that was surrounded by sun-warmed cobblestones. She could feel the heat coming up through her thinly soled high-heeled shoes. The fine misty spray of the fountain delicately pricked her face and arms like a refreshing atomiser.
‘You’ve obviously sorted those issues out,’ she said. ‘Your father adores you, and you clearly adore and respect him.’
‘He’s a good man,’ he said. ‘I’m probably more like him that I’m prepared to admit.’
She looked at the water splashing over the marble dolphins in the fountain and wondered what Angelo would think if she told him what her father was really like. Would he believe her?
Probably not, she thought with a plummeting of her spirits. Her father had got in first and swung the jury. He had done it all her life—telling everyone how incredibly difficult she was, how headstrong and wilful, how cold and ungrateful. The one time she had dared to tell a family friend about her father’s treatment of her it had backfired spectacularly. The knock-on effect on her mother had made Natalie suffer far more than any physical or verbal punishment her father could dish out.
It had silenced her ever since.
‘I guess we should get back to the guests,’ she said.
‘It will soon be time to leave,’ he said, and began walking back with her to the marquee. ‘I’d like us to get to Sorrento before midnight.’
Natalie’s stomach quivered at the thought of spending a few days alone with him at his villa. Would he expect her to sleep with him? How long would she be able to say no? She was aching for him, and had been since she had walked into his office that day. Her body tingled when she was with him. It was tingling now just from walking beside him. Every now and again her bare arm would brush against his jacket sleeve. Even through the barrier of the expensive fabric she could feel the electric energy of his body. It shot sharp arrows of awareness through her skin and straight to her core. She wanted him as she had always wanted him.
Feverishly, wantonly, urgently.
She was the moth and he was the flame that could destroy her, and yet she just couldn’t help herself. But giving herself to him physically was one thing. Opening herself to him emotionally was another. If she showed him everything that was stored away inside her what would she do if he then abandoned her?
How would she ever be able to put herself back together again?
Natalie could barely recall the journey to Sorrento in the chauffeur-driven car. She had fallen asleep before they had travelled even a couple of kilometres. She had woken just after midnight as the car drew to a halt, to find her head cradled in Angelo’s lap, his fingers idly stroking her hair.
‘We’re here,’ he said.
She sat up and pushed back her loosened hair. ‘I think I dribbled on your trousers,’ she said, grimacing in embarrassment. ‘Sorry.’
He gave her a lazy smile. ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘I enjoyed watching you.’
The villa was perched high on a clifftop, overlooking the ocean. It had spectacular views over the port of Sorrento and the colourful villages hugging the coastline. With terraced gardens and a ground area twice the size of its neighbours, the villa offered a level of privacy that was priceless. Lights twinkled from boats on the wrinkled dark blue blanket of the sea below. The balmy summer air contained the sweet, sharp scent of lemon blossom from the surrounding lemon groves, and the light breeze carried with it the faint clanging sound of the rigging on a yacht far below.
Angelo left the driver to deal with their luggage as he led Natalie inside. ‘My hotel development is much larger than this place,’ he said. ‘I’ll take you there tomorrow or the next day.’
Natalie looked around at the vaulted ceilings and the panoramic arched windows, the antique parquet and the original terracotta floors. ‘This is lovely,’ she said. ‘Have you had it long?’
‘I bought it a couple of years ago,’ he said. ‘I like the privacy here. It’s about the only place I can lock myself away from the press.’
‘I suppose it’s where you bring all your lovers to seduce them out of the spotlight?’ she said before she could check herself.
He studied her as he pulled free his loosened tie. ‘You sound jealous.’
‘Why would I be jealous?’ she asked. ‘I don’t have any hold over you. And you don’t have any hold over me.’
He picked up her left hand and held it in front of her face. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ he asked. ‘We’re married now. We have a hold over each other.’
Natalie tried to get out of his grasp but his fingers tightened around hers. ‘What possible hold do I have over you?’ she asked. ‘You forced me to marry you. I didn’t have a choice. Five years ago I made the decision to walk out of your life and never see you again. I wanted to be left alone to get on with my life. But no; you had to fix things so I’d be at your mercy and under your control.’
‘Stop it, Natalie,’ he said. ‘You’re tired. I’m tired. This is not the time to discuss this.’
She tugged some more until she finally managed to break free. She stood before him, her chest heaving, her heart pounding and her self-control in tatters.
‘Don’t tell me to stop it!’ she said. ‘What hold do I have over you? You hold all the cards. I know what you’re up to, Angelo. I know how men like you think. You’ll hoodwink me into falling in love with you and then you’ll pull the rug from under my feet when I least expect it. But it won’t work because I won’t do it. I won’t fall in love with you. I won’t.’
He stood looking down at her with implacable calm. ‘Do you feel better now you’ve got all of that off your chest?’ he asked.
Goaded beyond all forbearance, she put her chin up and flashed him a challenging glare. ‘Why don’t you come and collect what you’ve bought and paid for right here and now?’ she said. ‘Come on, Angelo. I’m your little puppet now. Why don’t you come and pull on my strings?’
A muscle flickered in his jaw as his dark-as-night gaze slowly moved over her body, from her head to her feet and back again. She felt it peel her ivory gown away. She felt it scorch through her bra and knickers. She felt it burn her flesh. She felt it light an inferno between her legs.
But then a mask slipped over his features. ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ he said. ‘I hope you sleep well. Buonanotte.’ He inclined his head in a brief nod and then turned and left.
Natalie listened to the echo of his footsteps on the terracotta floor fading into the distance until there was nothing left but the sound of her own erratic breathing …
The bedroom she’d chosen to sleep in was on the third floor of the villa. She woke after a fitful sleep to bright morning sunshine streaming in through the arched windows. She peeled back the covers and went and looked out at a view over terraced gardens. There was a sparkling blue swimming pool situated on one of the terraces, surrounded by lush green shrubbery. She could see Angelo’s lean, tanned figure carving through the water, lap after lap, deftly turning at each end like an Olympic swimmer.
She moved away from the window before he caught her spying on him and headed to the shower.
When she came downstairs breakfast had been laid out on a wrought-iron table in a sunny courtyard that was draped on three sides in scarlet bougainvillaea. The fragrant smell of freshly brewed coffee lured her to the table, and she poured a cup and took it to the edge of the courtyard to look at the view over the port of Sorrento.
She turned around when she heard the sound of Angelo’s tread on the flagstones as he came from inside the villa. He was dressed in taupe chinos and a white casual shirt that was rolled up past his wrists, revealing strong, masculine forearms. His hair was still damp; the grooves of his comb were still visible in the thick dark strands. He looked gorgeously fresh and vitally, potently alive.
‘I thought you might’ve joined me for a swim,’ he said.
‘I’m not much of a swimmer,’ she said, shifting her gaze. ‘I prefer dry land sports.’
He pulled out a chair for her at the table. ‘Do you want something hot for breakfast?’ he asked. ‘I can make you an omelette or something.’
Natalie looked at him in surprise. ‘Don’t you have a twenty-four-hour housekeeper at your beck and call here?’
‘I have someone who comes in a couple of times a week,’ he said. ‘I prefer my time here to be without dozens of people fussing around me.’
‘Oh, the trials and tribulations of having millions and squillions of dollars,’ she said dryly as she sat down.
He looked at her with a half-smile playing about his mouth. ‘You grew up with plenty of wealth yourself,’ he said. ‘Your father is a very successful investor. He was telling me about some of the ways he’s survived the financial crisis. He’s a very clever man.’
She reached for a strawberry from the colourful fruit plate on the table. ‘He’s very good at lots of things,’ she said, taking a tiny nibble.
He watched her with those dark, intelligent eyes of his. ‘You don’t like him very much, do you?’ he asked.
‘What makes you say that?’ she asked, taking another little bite of the strawberry.
‘I was watching you at the reception yesterday,’ he said. ‘You tensed every time he came near you. You never smiled at him. Not even once.’
