The Italian's Rags-To-Riches Wife. Julia James
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‘I’m off to the Grenadines,’ she had cooed. ‘Guido Salvatore’s invited me to his yacht party there. I’m flying out tonight.’
Allesandro glowered into his glass as he took a large slug of the vintage champagne, hoping it would give him the buzz he needed to lighten his mood. On top of all the silence he was getting from Tomaso, he was also resenting another night of celibacy.
‘Sandro, ciao—’
His thoughts interrupted, Allesandro acknowledged the greeting—but without pleasure. Luc Dinardi had wanted Delia Dellatore for himself, and would not miss the opportunity to offer false sympathy for her defection. He braced himself for the jibe.
But when it came, it was not about Delia’s desertion.
Luc’s eyes glinted with friendly malice. ‘So tell me, Sandro—do I offer commiserations or congratulations? The press seem to think the latter, but then they’re always hopelessly sentimental. The reality’s usually different.’
Allesandro stared, frowning. What the hell was Luc talking about? The other man took a mouthful of his own champagne, his expression taunting.
‘Perhaps it’s a case of congratulations and commiserations. Congratulations on finally getting what you’re after. Commiserations—’ his tone changed to a humorous one ‘—on the way you’ve had to get it.’ He clapped a hand on Allesandro’s shoulder. ‘So, when do we get to meet her?’
Allesandro’s voice was blank, ‘Meet who?’
Luc grinned. ‘Oh, come on, Sandro—don’t play coy. Your fiancée—Tomaso Viale’s long-lost granddaughter.’
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