small amount of sarcasm. ‘I’ve never known of a marriage without a big feast and party afterwards.’
‘This is New York. Marriages here come in many different flavours.’ He grinned, his eyes glittering. ‘We will return to my apartment and celebrate privately.’
She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
What was the point in arguing? It would only delay the inevitable.
There was no backing out. That avenue was closed. She’d married Gabriele knowing full well that when she signed the marriage licence it cemented her commitment to sleep with him.
The worst of it all was knowing that she wanted it to happen.
Her fear was enormous but the thrill of anticipation equalled it.
There had been a moment in the night when she’d awoken from one of her intermittent dozes to find her face close enough to feel his breath on her skin. The longing she had experienced in those few semi-conscious moments...
She’d wanted to kiss him.
It had shocked her. It still did.
She cleared her throat before speaking. ‘I assumed you would want to throw a big party to show the world you own me now.’
‘I thought you said I would never own you?’ he said, his tone lightly mocking. ‘But yes, I am ahead of you on that—Anna Maria is organising a party in Florence for all our family and friends to attend two weeks on Saturday. The invites will be sent tomorrow.’
‘Will my family be invited?’
‘Our family,’ he corrected. ‘We’re married now so your family is mine and mine is yours and they will all be invited.’ His grin remained fixed but his eyes were hard. ‘I’m very much looking forward to seeing them again.’
‘I’ll bet you are.’
He leaned closer to her and took her hand, bringing it to his lips. ‘It will be an evening of celebration but that is for another day. Right now my attention is on an altogether more pleasurable occurrence.’
Elena had stopped breathing, her fingers tingling with sensation where his breath whispered against it.
How could she respond so physically to him? By any law of logic and decency, it shouldn’t be possible.
And how could her body buzz with the thought of what the night would bring?
They’d arrived back at his apartment.
Gabriele let go of her hand but instead of getting out, he brushed his lips against hers, catching her unawares, not giving her time to turn her face away. ‘Come, Mrs Mantegna, let us celebrate our new union.’
* * *
The atmosphere in the elevator to Gabriele’s apartment was as charged as he’d ever known it, as if an electrical current had been looped around them, pulling them ever closer together.
‘Let’s get a drink,’ he said, leading her into the dining room.
She stepped through the door and came to an abrupt halt.
‘Did you do this?’ she asked.
On the table were two bottles of pink champagne in a bucket and two flutes. Next to them were silver trays of Italian and American canapés and sweet treats, from asparagus wrapped in Parma ham, to delicate pastry bites to heart-shaped chocolate truffles. Somewhere in those delicious-looking trays of food lurked a bite or two laced with real truffles—he could smell the distinct musky, nutty scent, an aroma that brought to mind memories of his childhood before they’d emigrated, when he and his father had spent a day truffle detecting.
He had so many happy memories of his father. A childhood filled with happiness. But that was all he had left. Memories.
‘A private feast for two,’ he murmured, slipping an arm around her waist and pressing into her back.
There was the lightest of pressure returned to him before she jolted forward to the table. ‘Well, thank you for this because I am starving.’
‘That’ll teach you to skip breakfast.’
She met his eyes. Her cheeks coloured and she looked away.
Gabriele hid a smile.
The anticipation of the consummation of their vows had given an added piquancy to their mutual loathing. He could almost taste it.
There wasn’t the slightest doubt in his mind that the attraction was reciprocated. None at all. He could see it in her colouring, hear it in the deepening of her breaths. And, most of all, he could still feel the kisses they’d shared. And they had shared them. She’d kissed him right back.
‘Take a seat,’ he said, pulling a chair out for her. While she sat and began unwrapping the trays of food, he took a bottle of the champagne, aimed it at the wall, and uncorked it.
He poured them both a glass and passed one to her.
Raising his glass in the air, he said, ‘To us.’
She chinked her glass to his.
‘To us,’ she echoed, before adding, ‘And here’s to as short a marriage as it’s possible to have.’
‘And may all those short days be as pleasurable as they can be,’ he retorted, enjoying watching the colour rise back up her cheeks again.
For all her words of being starving, Elena only nibbled at the spread before her.
Gabriele, never one to turn down food, found his own appetite strangely diminished too.
It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, he reasoned. The expectation must be affecting him more than he’d expected. All the same, he ate over half the available food and a handful of the truffles.
He was content to let the meal drag out and make idle chit-chat. There was no rush. They had all night.
He almost laughed. A piece of paper they’d both signed that day said they had the rest of their lives.
When the first bottle of champagne was empty, he reached for the one sitting in the ice bucket.
‘I don’t want another drink,’ Elena said suddenly, her eyes on him. ‘I’m ready to go to bed.’
He raised a brow, a thrill racing through him at her admission.
Colour crept over her cheeks but she held his gaze, searching his eyes as intently as he searched hers. He brushed his thumb down the length of her cheekbone, marvelling at the softness of her skin. Her eyes closed and when she opened them the green darkened and a spark flashed from them.
‘I’m ready for bed,’ she repeated in a whisper.
* * *
Elena felt so tightly wound that she fleetingly wondered if she would be sick.
She’d
