Latin Lovers: Italian Husbands: The Italian's Bought Bride / The Italian Playboy's Secret Son / The Italian Doctor's Perfect Family

Allegra sank onto the bed, overwhelmed and overawed. Even though it was only early afternoon, she stripped off her clothes and slipped beneath the cool, smooth sheets.

She could hardly credit that she was here, in Stefano’s house, in Stefano’s bed … one of them, anyway. She laughed aloud, but the sound held no humour. Alone in the huge bedroom, it sounded lonely. Little.

Allegra closed her eyes. Emotions had been flickering through her since she’d first seen Stefano again, flickering to life after seven years of numbness, and she was tired of them, tired of feeling. She didn’t want to analyse how she felt, what she thought, what Stefano felt or thought.

She just wanted to be. To do her job, as Stefano had told her to. She hoped, when she finally met Lucio, she could forget about Stefano completely …

On that hazy thought, sleep overtook her.

She woke to a light knock on the door as late afternoon sunlight slanted across the floor.

‘Allegra?’ Stefano called softly. ‘You’ve been asleep for four hours. We need to get ready for the dinner.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled, pushing a tangle of hair from her eyes. Stefano opened the door and Allegra was conscious of her dishevelled appearance, the fact that, even with the coverlet held up to her chest, it was quite obvious she was wearing only a bra and panties.

Stefano’s gaze swept over her for one blazing second, and Allegra felt an answering awareness fire her nerve endings, turn her breathless.

Then his face blanked and he gave her a polite, impersonal smile. ‘There is a selection of evening gowns for you to choose from downstairs. I’ll bring them up.’

‘A selection?’ Allegra repeated in surprise, but Stefano had already gone.

Allegra took the opportunity to slip out of bed and throw on the clothes she’d left discarded on the floor. She was just tying her hair back when he reappeared a few moments later with several elegantly embossed carrier bags.

‘Everything you need should be in there,’ he said. ‘We need to leave in a little under an hour. Anna is going to bring you up some antipasti. You missed lunch.’ He smiled briefly, a teasing, affectionate look in his eyes that did something strange—something pleasant—to Allegra’s insides.

‘Thank you,’ she managed, ‘for being so thoughtful.’

He inclined his head. ‘You’re welcome.’

It was a simple exchange, almost meaningless, and yet, as Stefano left, closing the door behind him, Allegra realized she’d enjoyed it. She liked things simple. She liked not wondering what the hidden meaning or feeling was.

She wanted to enjoy. Enjoy an evening playing dress up like a little girl let loose in her mother’s wardrobe.

Smiling at the thought, Allegra reached for the carrier bags.

Stefano had provided everything—three different designer gowns, all with matching shoes and wraps, as well as undergarments and tights.

She let the silky, luxurious fabrics slide through her fingers. She hadn’t had such beautiful clothes in seven years. Hadn’t needed them and certainly hadn’t been able to afford them.

She was touched by Stefano’s thoughtfulness, even though she knew it was simply his way of operating. She was in his care, so he would provide for her. Everything, always, whether she liked it or not.

She chose a slim-fitting knee-length gown in taupe silk. It was simple yet elegant and clearly well made. She liked the way the silk rippled over her, smoothing to a silhouette as she tugged up the zip.

In the bottom of one of the bags, Stefano had left a small velvet box and when Allegra opened it she let out a small shocked gasp.

They were the earrings he’d given to her the day before the wedding. The earrings he’d told her he couldn’t wait to see her wearing. The earrings she’d never worn, just as there had been so many things she’d never done.

She slipped them from their velvet bed, saw the way the lamplight glinted off their myriad facets, and blinked back tears.

She didn’t know why she felt like crying; she couldn’t untangle the way she felt. Yet, at that moment, she didn’t feel like a possession—she felt like a treasure.

This was dangerous, she knew. Dangerous to let herself feel this way, to flirt on the blurred edge of friendship. It would be far safer to keep her distance from Stefano, to maintain that professional facade.

Yet at this moment, beautifully dressed and about to embark on an evening of entertainment, she didn’t want to.

At this moment, she wanted to be treasured.

She slipped the earrings on and left her hair down, tumbling over her shoulders.

Then she went downstairs.

Stefano was already in the marble hallway, dressed in a tuxedo. He quite literally took her breath away as he turned to face her, his eyes glittering with honest admiration when he saw her.

‘You look stunning,’ he said, and there was nothing but simple sincerity in his voice. His eyes rested on her ears, the diamond teardrops sparkling against her skin, and he smiled, an intimate gesture that spoke more than any word.

Allegra realized she was smiling back, glowing as if she’d swallowed the sun. As if Stefano had handed it to her.

‘Thank you.’

He held out his hand and Allegra took it with only a second’s hesitation. She wasn’t going to let herself think too much. This was one evening, one evening only, and she planned to enjoy it.

They took a car to the St Regis Grand Hotel. As they pulled up to the hotel’s front, Allegra couldn’t help but be impressed by its ornate facade. They were in the heart of Rome, minutes from the Spanish Steps and the Trevi Fountain, worldly, witty people moving, talking and laughing all around them along with the trill of mobile phones and the hum of mopeds.

And Allegra was a part of it. She felt a part of it.

The mid-September air was a balmy caress as they climbed the steps to the hotel. As they entered, Allegra was struck by the huge chandelier suspended glittering above them, the tinkling music from a grand piano, the marble columns and sumptuous carpets that almost caught her heels, all conspiring to create an overwhelming sense of luxury and privilege.

Stefano guided her into the Sala Ritz, yet another sumptuous room decorated with marble pillars soaring to a ceiling with hand-painted frescoes and possessing the same aura of accustomed wealth. Businessmen and their well appointed wives mingled among black-frocked waiters bearing trays of champagne.

Allegra saw the heads turn as Stefano moved through the room, one hand on the small of her back. She saw the eyes slide speculatively towards her, heard the silent questions.

She shook her hair back and smiled proudly. Possessively.

Stefano joined a small group of men and introduced Allegra to his associates.

‘Gentlemen, my friend, Allegra Avesti.’

My friend. Something she’d never been to him before. And she wondered now, distantly, if that was what she really was. If she could be that to Stefano. If she wanted to be.

Yet what other choice was there?

She watched surprise flicker across their faces as they heard the words my friend. A few jaws dropped, and Allegra wondered why they were so surprised.

Surely Stefano had come to business occasions with a woman before—a woman who was not a steady girlfriend or perhaps even a date.

Or was it something else? Unease prickled uncomfortably through her, up her spine and along her insides. Was it that he did come to these functions with a woman, a particular woman, and she was not that woman?

There was no time to consider such a question, or how it had made her feel, as she was soon swept up in the pre-dinner conversation, and took comfort in the innocuous chatter.

‘All right?’ Stefano murmured, his hand holding her elbow, and Allegra felt his breath graze her cheek, felt her whole body shiver at the touch and sound of him.

‘Yes,’ she murmured back, ‘I’m all right. Enjoying myself, actually.’

‘Good.’ There was a note of possessive satisfaction in his voice that should have alarmed her, should have reminded her that Stefano simply thought of her as an acquisition, and a recent one at that. Services purchased and rendered.

But she didn’t want to think, didn’t even want to feel, at least not too much. She just wanted to enjoy. So she smiled lightly and let Stefano guide her to the table.

Dinner was served and Allegra was seated next to Antonia Di Bona, a bony, sharp-faced woman in black crêpe. ‘Stefano’s kept you quiet,’ she remarked, her voice light yet no less catty.

Allegra swallowed and glanced at Stefano across three feet of white damask. He was intent on a conversation with a colleague and she turned to smile coolly at Antonia. ‘I’m just a friend.’

‘Are you?’ Antonia raised thin penciled-in eyebrows. ‘Stefano doesn’t have too many female friends.’

‘No?’ She felt a wave of relief flood through her although, coupled with it, was the needling awareness that Antonia knew something she didn’t and was savouring the moment when she would tell her.

They ate their first course without much more conversation, but then Antonia turned to her again and there was malicious intent in her mocking smile.

‘Have you known Stefano long, then?’

‘Long enough,’ Allegra replied carefully. Although there were probably few people who remembered or cared about her flight seven years ago, she knew they existed. How could they not, when their wedding had been fêted as the social event of the decade?

An event that had never happened. Allegra sought comfort in knowing that she’d called it all off early enough. No one would have gone to the church, no one would have known. She’d never asked her mother for details, how Stefano had responded when he’d been given her note, what he’d done or said.

She hadn’t wanted to know, and she still didn’t. The past, she reminded herself firmly, was forgotten.

‘Long enough,’ Antonia repeated. ‘I wonder how long that is.’ She leaned forward. ‘You don’t seem his type, you know. He prefers …’ she paused, her hard, dark eyes sweeping Allegra’s form with clear criticism ‘… more glamorous women. Do you go out with him very often?’ She raised her eyebrows, smiling sweetly.

‘No,’ Allegra said coolly. Her face burned from Antonia’s casual, cruel assessment, even though she told herself there was no reason to care. Antonia was simply one of those women who enjoyed taunting and tormenting other women. She wouldn’t be happy until she was the last one standing and everyone else bore the scratches from her three-inch fake talons. ‘I’m actually rather busy,’ Allegra said, ‘as is Stefano.’ She knew she should explain that she was associated with Stefano only in a professional capacity, but she somehow couldn’t form the words. Antonia probably wouldn’t believe her, anyway.

Antonia gave a humourless little chuckle. ‘Stefano is always busy. It’s how he’s become so rich.’ She raked Allegra once with her cold eyes, then, bored, clearly dismissing her, added almost as an afterthought, ‘It’s also why his marriage failed.’

CHAPTER SIX

ALLEGRA FELT AS if she’d frozen, as if the very air around her had turned to ice and snow. She closed her eyes, then opened them. Across the table, she saw Stefano’s gaze sweep over her, concern flickering across his features.

His marriage. He’d been married. Married, to someone else. Not to her, never to her. He’d loved someone else, had been with someone else, had said his vows to someone else.

Who?

She swallowed a sudden impulse to laugh, to laugh wildly and loudly until there was nothing left inside.

Why had he not told her? Where was his former wife?

Why was she so hurt?

A restive, rational part of her brain told her there was no reason to react this way, to feel this way. So Stefano had been married. True, he hadn’t mentioned it, but why should he?

Professional.

Friends.

And yet nothing felt professional or friendly about their relationship right now. All Allegra could feel right now was the burning brand of Stefano’s lips on hers, the hurt inside that she’d held back all these years, the girl inside who was still—still—crying out,

Do you love me?

She closed her eyes, willing the flood of feelings to recede.

She hadn’t broken down for seven years and she wasn’t about to break down now.

She wasn’t about to break down ever.

She stiffened her shoulders, lifted her chin. Next to her, Antonia let out a raucous bird-like laugh as she chatted and flirted with the man on her other side.

Allegra heard the murmur of conversation around her, knew no one was paying attention to her, and tried to relax. She stared down at her uneaten dessert, a custard flan in a golden pool of syrup, and felt her stomach roil and rebel.

Relax.

So Stefano had been married. It didn’t mean anything; it wouldn’t mean anything to her.

And yet still … still. Still it mattered, still it meant something. She didn’t want to think what, couldn’t bear to analyse the feeling. Yet she already knew.

Hurt. It was hurt.

Allegra picked up her fork and took a bite of her dessert. It might as well have been cardboard for all she could taste; she was too preoccupied with this new awareness, this new hurt. Understanding and accepting it … and then dismissing it.

Why was she hurt? Why did she let him get under her skin, into her heart now? Still?

Always.

Allegra shook her head in instinctive, desperate denial. No. She wasn’t that girl.

Do you love me?

She wasn’t; she knew what he was like, had known for years. He’d bought her, had bought her like an object, a thing. And, worse, he’d treated her like one.

Not a treasure.

Never a treasure.

No matter what she’d wanted to convince herself of for a single evening’s enjoyment.

She pushed her dessert away, took a sip of wine and felt Stefano’s eyes on her. He was chatting with a business colleague across the table, but his considering glance swept over her, and out of the corner of her eye Allegra saw his mouth tighten and knew he was aware that she was upset. He just didn’t know why.

Dessert was cleared, coffee served, and Allegra forced herself to make small talk with the dowdy housewife on her left. Antonia had abandoned her completely, and Allegra could only be relieved. She didn’t need any more well-placed catty remarks right now.

After the meal the guests circulated, chatting and laughing, while music from a string quartet played softly. Allegra moved through the elegant crowd, saw Stefano sweep the room with a hawk-eyed gaze. She wound her way through the throng and leaned against a cool marble pillar. She didn’t know what she’d say to Stefano now, didn’t even know what to think.

‘Why are you hiding again?’ Stefano had come behind her without her realizing it, and now she stiffened.

‘I’m not hiding,’ she retorted and he raised one eyebrow.

‘You were avoiding me.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Don’t be so arrogant.’

‘You’re denying it?’

‘I didn’t feel like talking, Stefano, to you or anyone. I’m tired, and this isn’t exactly my crowd.’

In answer he touched her chin with his fingertips, levelled her gaze to meet his own. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked quietly.

Something ached in Allegra. If only it were so simple, if only he really wanted to know. To understand.

If only he could make it better.

‘Nothing,’ she said through numb lips.

‘You’re upset.’

‘Stop telling me what I am!’ Allegra snapped, her voice rising enough so there was a lull in the conversation.

‘You could mingle,’ Stefano said mildly. ‘Get to know people.’

Allegra kept her gaze averted. ‘I don’t feel like it.’

‘I was hoping,’ he continued in that aggravatingly calm voice, ‘that we could enjoy ourselves this evening.’

She hunched one shoulder, her face averted. ‘I’m tired, and I’m not really here to be your escort, am I, Stefano? Remember? I’m here to help Lucio. That’s all.’

‘You think I don’t know that?’ There was a savage edge to his voice that made Allegra’s gaze slide nervously yet curiously to his. She was shocked to see his face, the hard lines and harsh angles of a man set in bitterness. In anger. ‘You think I don’t remind myself of that every day?’ he demanded in a low voice.

Allegra shook her head, not daring to consider what he might mean. What he might want. ‘Stefano …’

‘Allegra, all I’m asking is that you act normally. Socialise. Chat. You used to be able to talk the hind leg off a donkey. I never got a word in edgewise. Have you changed so much?’ He smiled then, and Allegra felt the revealing prickle of tears behind her lids.

She remembered those conversations, how she’d chattered and laughed about anything and everything—stupid, girlish, childish dreams—and Stefano had listened. He’d always listened.

‘Stefano, don’t,’ she whispered.

He touched his thumb to her eyelid and it came away damp. ‘Don’t what?’

‘Don’t,’ Allegra repeated helplessly. Don’t make me remember. Don’t make me fall in love with you. You broke my heart once; I couldn’t stand it again.

The realization that it was in fact a possibility should have terrified her, but right now all Allegra felt was sad. She felt, perhaps for the first time, the sweet, piercing stab of regret.

She blinked, and Stefano’s thumb came away wet again. ‘Why are you crying?’ he whispered and there was surprise and sorrow in his voice.

Allegra shook her head. ‘I don’t want to think about the past. I don’t want to remember.’

‘What about the good bits?’ Stefano asked. ‘There were some, weren’t there?’

‘Yes, but not enough.’ She took a deep, steadying breath and then stepped away from Stefano’s touch. ‘Never enough.’

‘No,’ Stefano agreed, his voice odd, flat. ‘Never enough.’

‘Besides,’ Allegra agreed, emboldened now that he wasn’t touching her, ‘you talk as if we had something real and deep and we didn’t.’ Another breath, more courage. ‘Not, presumably, like you did with someone else.’

Stefano stilled, his expression deepening, darkening into a frown. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I heard, Stefano,’ Allegra said. She took another breath; her lungs hurt. Or maybe it was somewhere else, somewhere deeper that had absolutely no business being hurt. ‘Antonia told me you were married.’

Even now Allegra expected him to deny it, to laugh even, or make some remark about how the closest he’d come to marriage was with her. Instead, a muscle flickered in his jaw and he gave a tiny shrug.

‘It wasn’t relevant.’

Allegra laughed; the sound carried on the air and people looked their way. ‘It would have been nice to know.’

‘Why, Allegra? Why would you need to know?’ There was a fierce, blazing look in his eyes and on his face that had Allegra stepping back again.

‘Just … just because,’ she said, and her reasons and self-righteousness deserted her, leaving her with nothing but a few stammered excuses. ‘It’s the kind of thing I should—’

‘Know?’ Stefano finished. His voice was soft and dangerous. ‘Do you ask all the adults you come in contact with about their marital history? The parents of the children you work with?’ He smiled mockingly, his eyes hard and cold.

‘You know it’s not that simple,’ Allegra snapped. ‘Stop turning the tables on me, Stefano. You conveniently forget and remember the past—our past—however the mood strikes you! Well, allow me the same courtesy!’ She realized, belatedly, that her voice had risen yet again. People were staring.

‘This is not the place,’ Stefano said between his teeth, ‘for this discussion.’

She ignored him, shaking her head, the implications exploding through her mind. ‘I don’t even know if you’re divorced. If you have children.’

‘I’m widowed,’ he bit out. ‘I told you before, I have no children.’ His hand clamped down on her elbow. ‘Now we’re going home.’

‘Maybe I don’t want to go home with you!’ she said, jerking away from him, her voice rising to a shriek—a shriek people heard.

There was a moment of embarrassed silence, and then the conversation resumed at double speed and sound.

Allegra swallowed, felt colour stain her face and throat. She was making a scene. A big one.

And Stefano was angry about it—perhaps angrier than she’d ever seen him before.

‘Are you quite finished?’ he asked in a voice of arctic politeness.

Allegra couldn’t look at him as she nodded. ‘Yes. We can go,’ she whispered.

‘Perhaps we should stay,’ Stefano told her in a deadly murmur, ‘and brazen it out. But I’ll have mercy … on both of us.’ He took her elbow once more and guided her none too gently out of the ballroom.

She managed to hold her head high even though her face was aflame as Stefano escorted her from the room amid a hiss of speculative murmurs. They were both silent all the way to the car.

Vespas and taxis sped around them in a glitter of lights as they drove from the hotel to the quieter Parioli district.

Allegra sagged against the seat. Her behaviour, she knew, had been inexcusable. She should have waited to talk to Stefano back at his town house rather than force a full confrontation in the middle of an important business engagement.

She closed her eyes against the prickling of tears. He should have told her he’d been married.

No matter what he said now, what arguments he so reasonably gave her, he should have told her.

She should have known.

Why didn’t she know? Allegra wondered. Why had she never heard? Surely, somewhere, somehow she should have known.

Perhaps she should have felt it.

And yet, a mocking voice asked her silently, why should you have known? Didn’t you sever all ties when you left that night? She’d never seen her parents again; her father had died less than a year after, and her mother …

Her mother had got what she wanted. She lived her own life now in Milan, bankrolled by a steady stream of lovers.

As for anyone else who might have known of Stefano’s marriage … who? Who were those people? The girls she’d known at convent school? The relatives who’d shunned her?

She’d made choices in life, instinctive choices that had kept her well away from Stefano and his circle. And, really, she hadn’t wanted to know, had never asked anyone about Stefano, had avoided talking or even thinking about him. It was precisely this kind of information that she’d never wanted to hear.

Yet, in the end, none of it had worked, for here they were together, in this very car, the silence freezing and hostile, their knees still touching. And her heart was hurt, crying out once more.

The car pulled up to the town house and Allegra followed Stefano inside. She watched as he stalked into the drawing room and poured two fingers of Scotch into a glass and tossed it back.

He stood in front of the fireplace, one hand braced against the marble mantle. Outside, a car drove past and washed the room in sickly yellow light. Allegra closed the double doors, drew the curtains and turned on a lamp. All tasks to keep her from the reckoning she knew would come. What she knew she had to say.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’ Stefano asked, a trace of sarcasm sharpening his tone. ‘For seeing me again? For agreeing to help Lucio? Or perhaps for walking out on me in the first place?’

There was such savagery in his voice that Allegra could only push it away, refuse to consider the implications of his words, the turn in his tone.

‘No,’ she said quickly, ‘for my behaviour tonight. I was shocked that you were married and I … I overreacted at the party.’

‘Yes, you did.’

Her fingers nervously pleated the silk of her gown. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’