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She sent him an arctic look. ‘I’m not going to be a slave to your desires.’
‘Is that what you think you’ll be?’ he asked. ‘What about your own desires? You have them. You can deny them all you like but they’re still there. I can feel it when I touch you.’
‘What we had five years ago is gone,’ Natalie said. ‘You can’t make it come back just to suit you.’
‘It never went away,’ he said. ‘You wanted it to, but it didn’t. You were scared of the next step, weren’t you? You were scared of the commitment of marriage. You’re still scared. What I’d like to know is why.’
‘Get out.’
‘I’m not going until I give you this.’ He took a jeweller’s box from inside his jacket pocket. But rather than come over to her he simply set it down on the coffee table. It reminded her of a gauntlet being laid down between two opponents.
‘I’ll have a car sent to collect you on Tuesday,’ he said. ‘Pack enough clothes for a week. We’ll be expected to go on a honeymoon. If you e-mail me a list of the people you wish to invite to the ceremony I’ll have my secretary deal with it.’
‘What do you want me to wear?’ she asked. ‘Sackcloth and ashes?’
‘You can wear what you like,’ he said. ‘It makes no difference to me. But do keep in mind that there will be photographers everywhere.’
‘Do you really expect me to pack up my life here and follow you about the globe like some lovesick little fool?’ she asked.
‘We will divide our time between your place and mine,’ he said. ‘I’m based in London, but I plan to spend a bit of time in Sorrento until the development is near completion. I’m prepared to be flexible. I understand you have a business to run.’
She gave him a petulant look. ‘What if I don’t want you to share my house?’
‘Get used to it, Natalie. I will share your house and a whole lot more before the ink is dry on our marriage certificate.’ He went to the door. ‘I’ll see you on Tuesday.’
Natalie didn’t touch the jeweller’s box until he had left. She stood looking at it for a long time before she picked it up and opened it. Inside was an art deco design triple diamond ring. It was stunningly beautiful. She took it out of its velvet home and slipped it on her finger. She couldn’t have chosen better herself. It was neither too loose nor too tight—a perfect ring for an imperfect relationship.
She wondered how long it would be before she would be giving it back.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_0e917729-b20a-52bd-9701-60c35ff7609b)
NATALIE was in a state of high anxiety by the time Tuesday came around.
She hadn’t eaten for three days. She had barely slept. She had been dry retching at the thought of getting on a plane to Italy.
Angelo had called her each day, but she hadn’t revealed anything of what she was going through. He had assured her Lachlan was out of harm’s way. Her parents had called too, and expressed their satisfaction with the way things had turned out. Her father was greatly relieved that the family name hadn’t been sullied by Lachlan’s antics. Angelo had miraculously made the nasty little episode disappear, for which Adrian Armitage was immensely grateful. He’d made no mention of Natalie’s role in fixing things. She had expected no less from him, given he had never shown an interest in her welfare, but she was particularly annoyed with her mother, who hadn’t even asked her how she felt about marrying Angelo. But then Isla had married Natalie’s father for money and prestige. Love hadn’t come into it at all.
She felt annoyed too at having to lie to her friends—in particular Isabel. But strangely enough Isabel had accepted the news of her marriage with barely a blink of an eye. Her friend had said how she had always thought Natalie had unresolved feelings for Angelo since she hadn’t dated all that seriously since. She thought Natalie’s aversion to marriage and commitment had stemmed from her break up with Angelo. Natalie hadn’t had the heart to put Isabel straight. As close as she was to her, she had never told Isabel about the circumstances surrounding Liam’s death.
Natalie heard a car pull up outside her house. Her stomach did another somersault and a clammy sweat broke out over her brow. She walked to the door on legs that felt like wet cotton wool. It wasn’t a uniformed driver standing there but Angelo himself.
‘I … I just have to get my bag …’ she said, brushing a loose strand of sticky hair back behind her ear.
Angelo narrowed his gaze. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said, averting her eyes.
He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to look at him. ‘You’re deathly pale,’ he said. ‘Are you ill?’
Natalie swallowed the gnarly knot of panic in her throat. ‘I have some pills to take.’ She rummaged in her bag for the anxiety medication her doctor had prescribed. ‘I won’t be a minute.’
She went to the kitchen for a glass of water and Angelo followed her. He took the packet of pills from her and read the label. ‘Do you really need to take these?’ he asked.
‘Give them to me,’ she said, reaching for them. ‘I should’ve taken them an hour ago.’
He frowned as he handed them to her. ‘Do you take them regularly?’
She shook her head as she swallowed a couple of pills. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Only in an emergency.’
He was still frowning as he led her out to the car. ‘When did you develop your fear of flying?’ he asked.
‘Ages ago,’ she said.
‘What caused it?’ he asked. ‘Rough turbulence or a mid-air incident?’
She shrugged. ‘Can’t remember.’
His dark gaze searched hers. ‘When was the last time you flew?’
‘Can we get going?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want to fall asleep in the car. You’ll have to carry me on board.’
Angelo glanced at Natalie every now and again as he drove to the airport. She was not quite so pale now the medication had settled her nerves, but she still looked fragile. Her cheeks looked hollow, as if she had recently lost weight, and her eyes were shadowed.
Her concern over her brother was well founded. He had struck a deal with Lachlan, but already Lachlan was pushing against the boundaries Angelo had set in place. The staff at a very expensive private rehab clinic had called him three times in the last week to inform him about Lachlan’s erratic and at times uncontrollable behaviour. He had organised a therapist to have extra sessions with him, but so far there had been no miraculous breakthrough. It seemed Lachlan Armitage was a very angry young man, hell-bent on self-destruction.
Speaking with Natalie’s father had made Angelo realise how frustrating it must be to have a child who, no matter how much you loved and provided for him, refused to co-operate. Adrian Armitage had hinted at similar trouble with Natalie. Apparently her stubborn streak had caused many a scene in the Armitage household over the years. In spite of all of her father’s efforts to get close to her she had wilfully defied him whenever she could. Angelo wondered if it was a cultural thing. He had been brought up strictly, but fairly. His parents had commanded respect, but they had more than earned it with their dedication and love for him. He hoped to do the same for his own children one day.
He turned off the engine once he had parked and gently touched Natalie on the shoulder. ‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ he said. ‘Time to get going.’
She blinked and sat up straighter. ‘Oh … Right …’
He put an arm around her waist as he led her on board his private jet a short time later. She was agitated and edgy, but he managed to get her to take a seat and put the belt on.
‘Can I have a drink?’ she asked.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘What would you like?’
‘White wine,’ she said.
‘Are you sure it’s a good idea to combine alcohol with those pills?’ he asked.
She gave him a surly look. ‘I’m not a child.’
‘No, but you’re under my protection,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you getting ill, or losing consciousness or something.’
She started chewing her nails as the pilot pulled back. Angelo took her hand away from her mouth and covered it with his. ‘You’ll be fine, cara,’ he said. ‘You were in far more danger driving to the airport than you ever will be in the air.’
She shifted restively, her eyes darting about like a spooked thoroughbred’s. ‘I want to get off,’ she said. ‘Please—can you tell the pilot to stop? I want to get off.’
Angelo put his arm around her and brought her close against him. ‘Shh, mia piccola,’ he soothed. ‘Concentrate on your breathing. In and out. In and out. That’s right. Nice and slow.’
She squeezed her eyes shut and lowered her head to his chest. He stroked the silk of her hair, talking to her in the same calm voice. It took a lot longer than he expected but finally she relaxed against him. She slept for most of the journey and only woke up just as they were coming to land in Rome.
‘There,’ he said. ‘You did it. That wasn’t so bad, was it?’
She nodded vaguely and brushed the hair back off her face. ‘Have I got time to use the bathroom?’
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Do you want me to come with you?’
Her cheeks pooled with colour. ‘No, thank you.’
He gave her a mocking smile. ‘Maybe next time, si?’
The press had obviously been given a tip-off somewhere between their arrival at the airport and Angelo’s family villa in Rome. Natalie watched in dismay as photographers surged towards Angelo’s chauffeur-driven car.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said as he helped her out of the car. ‘I’ll handle their questions.’
Within a few moments Angelo had managed to satisfy the press’s interest and sent them on their way.
An older man opened the front door of the villa and greeted Angelo. ‘Your parents are in the salon, Signor Bellandini.’
‘Grazie, Pasquale,’ he said. ‘Natalie, this is Pasquale. He has been working for my family for many years.’
‘I’m very pleased to meet you,’ Natalie said.
‘Welcome,’ Pasquale said. ‘It is very nice to see Signor Bellandini happy at last.’
‘Come,’ Angelo said, guiding her with a hand resting in the curve of her back. ‘My parents will be keen to meet you.’
If they were so keen, why hadn’t they been at the door to greet her instead of the elderly servant? Natalie thought bitterly to herself. But clearly there was a different protocol in the upper classes of Italian society. And Sandro and Francesca Bellandini were nothing if not from the very top shelf of the upper class.
Natalie could see where Angelo got his height and looks from as soon as she set eyes on his father. While an inch or two shorter than his son, Sandro had the same dark brown eyes and lean, rangy build. His hair was still thick and curly but it was liberally streaked with grey, giving him a distinguished air that was as compelling as it was intimidating.
Francesca, on the other hand, was petite, and her demeanour outwardly demure, but her keen hazel eyes missed nothing. Natalie felt them move over her in one quick assessing glance, noting her hair and make-up, the style and make of her clothes, the texture of her skin and the state of her figure.
‘This is Natalie, my fiancée,’ Angelo said. ‘Natalie—my parents, Sandro and Francesca.’
‘Welcome to the family.’ Francesca was the first to speak. ‘Angelo has told us so much about you. I am sorry we didn’t meet you five years ago. We would’ve told him he was a fool for letting you go—si, Sandro?’
‘Si,’ Sandro said, taking her hand once his wife had relinquished it. ‘You are very welcome indeed.’
Angelo’s arm came back around her waist. ‘I’ll see that Natalie is settled in upstairs before we join you for a celebratory drink.’
‘Maria has made up the Venetian room for you both,’ Francesca said. ‘I didn’t see the point in separating you. You’ve been apart too long, no?’
Natalie glanced at Angelo, but he was smiling at his mother. ‘That was very thoughtful of you, Mamma,’ he said.
Natalie had to wait until they were upstairs and alone before she could vent her spleen. ‘I bet you did that deliberately,’ she said.
‘Did what?’
‘Don’t play the guileless innocent with me,’ she flashed back. ‘You knew your mother would put us in the same room, didn’t you?’
‘On the contrary. I thought she would go old-fashioned on me and put us at opposite ends of the villa,’ he said. ‘I told you she’s incredibly insightful. She must have sensed how hot you are for me.’
Natalie glared at him. ‘I’m not sharing that bed with you.’
‘Fine,’ he said unbuttoning his shirt. ‘I’ll let you have the floor.’
She frowned at him. ‘What are you doing?’
He pulled his shirt out of the waistband of his trousers. ‘I’m getting changed.’
Her eyes went the flat plane of his abdomen. He looked amazing—so masculine, so taut, so magnificently fit and tanned and virile. She swung away and went to look out of the windows overlooking the gardens.
‘Why did you let your parents think it was you who ended our affair five years ago?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t want you to get off to a bad start with them,’ he said. ‘I’m their only child. Parents can be funny about things like that.’
Natalie turned around. He was only wearing black underwear now. The fabric clung to him lovingly. Her insides clenched with greedy fistfuls of desire. She had kissed and tasted every inch of his body. She had taken him in her mouth, ruthlessly tasting him until he had collapsed with release. She had felt him move deep within her. She had felt his essence spill inside her. She had been as brazen as she could be with him and yet still he had always been a step ahead of her. He had pushed her to the limit time and time again. Her flesh shivered in memory of his touch. Her spine tingled and her belly fluttered. She drew in a breath as she saw his gaze run over her. Was he too thinking of the red-hot passion they had shared?
‘I don’t expect you to take the blame,’ she said. ‘I’m not ashamed of breaking off our relationship. I was too young to get married.’
‘That won’t cut it with my mother, I’m afraid,’ he said. ‘She was barely sixteen when she fell in love with my father. She has never looked at another man since.’
‘Is your father faithful to her?’
He frowned. ‘What makes you ask that?’
Natalie lifted a shoulder up and down. ‘They’ve been together a long time. It’s not uncommon for a man to stray.’
‘My father takes his marriage vows seriously,’ he said. ‘He is exactly like my grandfather in that.’
‘And what about you, Angelo?’ she asked. ‘Will you follow in their honourable footsteps, or will you have your little bits on the side if I don’t come up trumps?’
He came over to where she was standing. Stopped just in front of her. So close she could feel her body swaying towards him like a compass searching for magnetic north. She fought against the desire to close the minuscule distance. She stood arrow-straight, stiff to the point of discomfort. Her heart was racing; the hammer blows were making her giddy, her breathing shallow and uneven.
Her resolve, God help her, was crumbling.
Angelo slipped a warm hand behind her head at the nape of her neck setting off a shower of sensation beneath the surface of her sensitive skin.
‘Why do you fight with yourself so much?’ he asked.
Natalie pressed her lips together. ‘I’m fighting you, not myself.’
His fingers moved through her hair in a spine-tingling caress. ‘We both want the same thing, cara,’ he said. ‘Connection, intimacy, satisfaction.’
She could feel her resolve slipping even further out of her control. Why did he have to look so damned gorgeous? Why did he have to have such melting brown eyes? Why did he have to have such amazing hands that made her flesh tingle with sensation? Why did he have to have such a tempting mouth?
