thought it was a charity do.’
‘In Italy such events are always fashion parades.’
‘I have at least four long dresses to choose from,’ Lizzie reminded him. ‘I won’t let you down. Don’t worry about it.’
‘Ma no...certainly not,’ Cesare cut in, stroking a long forefinger soothingly over her hand where it curled on the table top. ‘You always look fantastic, gioia mia. Why would I be worried about you letting me down?’
‘I’m not part of your world and I never will be. It’s a challenge for me to put on fancy clothes and pretend I’m something I’m not,’ Lizzie admitted in an undertone.
‘You only need to be yourself. You have two, no, three...’ he adjusted reflectively, amusement gleaming in his gilded gaze ‘...advantages.’
‘Which are?’
‘Beauty and class and my ring on your finger,’ Cesare completed with cynical cool. ‘I’m a powerful man. You will be treated with respect and courtesy.’
An involuntary grin lit up Lizzie’s face and she laughed, biting back foolish words of love. What an embarrassment it would be if she were to lose control of her tongue around him now! After all, he was playing a very sophisticated game with her, utilising his charm and a whole host of other extraordinary gifts to make their marriage work as if it were a real marriage. If she were to suddenly confess how she felt about him, he would be embarrassed and appalled to learn that she didn’t know how to play the same game.
‘We should head back soon,’ she commented unevenly.
‘Would that leave us time for an hour or so in bed?’ Cesare sprang upright, dropping a large-denomination note down on top of the bill, smouldering dark eyes flashing over her with a sexual intensity that never failed to thrill.
‘Again?’ There was a slight gasp in her low-pitched response because she had yet to adapt to Cesare’s high-voltage libido. He seemed to want her all the time, no matter where she was, no matter what she was wearing or what she was doing. She thought he was possibly a little oversexed but she didn’t complain because she always wanted him too and, in any case, the whole point of their marriage was for her to conceive a child.
A light hand resting in the shallow indentation of her spine, Cesare urged her back to the Ferrari. As she clambered in beside him he turned his head and closed a hard hand into the tumble of her hair to hold her fast while he kissed her. His mouth was hungry and hot and erotic on hers and every sense was on overdrive by the time he freed her again and started up the car.
The air conditioning cooled her overheated skin but the ache throbbing between her thighs was far less controllable. Cesare skimmed up her skirt to bare her thighs. ‘I like looking at your legs, especially when I know I’m about to part them,’ he husked soft and low, laughing when her cheeks flamed.
Early evening, Lizzie inspected her reflection in a black shimmering dress that delineated her slender figure with a spare elegance that appealed to her. She was learning what she liked and didn’t like in her wardrobe and she didn’t like fussy trims or frills or neon-bright colours that seemed to swallow her alive.
Warmth speckled her cheeks as she thought about the intimacy of the late-afternoon hours. She moved slowly in her heels, a touch of tenderness at the heart of her reminding her of Cesare’s passionate energy between the sheets. In bed, sensual excitement ruled her entirely and she was enjoying every moment of exploring that brave new world.
Even so the image that lingered longest was of Cesare, lithe and bronzed and breathtakingly beautiful, relaxing back against the tumbled pillows and finally admitting how very relieved he was that Athene was now well on the road to recovery, having initially suffered a setback in the aftermath of her cardiac surgery. For days, he had tried to pretend he wasn’t worried sick even though Lizzie had watched him freeze at every phone call, fearful of receiving bad news. That he had finally abandoned that macho pretence of unconcern to share his true feelings with Lizzie had meant a lot to her. She valued the little signs that revealed that Cesare was behaving more and more like one half of a couple rather than an independent, entirely separate entity. They had visited his grandmother in her convalescent clinic in Rome several times and Athene’s sparkling personality even in a hospital bed and her strong affection for Cesare had touched Lizzie’s heart.
In the morning they were flying out to Lionos and one day after that Athene was coming out to join them. Cesare had married Lizzie purely to gain that right to bring his grandmother out for a stay on the island and Lizzie regularly reminded herself of that unflattering reality. But she was looking forward almost as much as Athene was to seeing Lionos, which the older woman had described in such charmed terms. She only hoped that the enhancements engineered by the imperturbable Primo lived up to Cesare’s expectations.
A limousine ferried Cesare and Lizzie to the venue for the charity benefit in Florence. It was being held in a vast mansion with every window lit and crowds of paparazzi waiting on the pavement to take photographs of the guests arriving. Lizzie froze in surprise when they were targeted, belatedly appreciating that she was married to a male who, when in his homeland, received the attention worthy of a celebrity for his looks and spectacular business accomplishments.
‘Did you enjoy having your photo taken?’ Cesare asked.
‘No, not at all. I didn’t feel glossy enough for the occasion,’ she confided.
‘But you spent ages getting ready,’ Cesare countered with all the incomprehension of a male who had merely showered and shaved before donning a dinner jacket.
Her hazel gaze roving swiftly over the level of extreme grooming clearly practised by the other female guests, Lizzie suppressed a rueful sigh. She didn’t look perfect and she knew it, reckoned she should have foreseen that the attentions of a hairstylist and a make-up artist would be necessary. But then how important was her image to Cesare? Did he really care? Or would he soon be comparing her, to her detriment, to the women who had preceded her in his bed? Lizzie had done her homework on the Internet and she was uneasily aware that in recent years Cesare had spent a lot of time in the company of fashion and beauty models, invariably the very image of feminine perfection. Possibly she needed to make more of an effort, she conceded, uncomfortable with the comparisons she was making.
As they were surrounded by the leading lights in the charity committee of which Cesare was a director, the crowd parted and an exquisite brunette, wearing a very fitted pink dress overlaid with a see-through chiffon layer that simply accentuated her stupendous curves, approached them. Cesare performed the introduction. ‘Our hostess, Princess Serafina Ruffini...Serafina, my wife, Lizzie.’
‘Welcome to my home, Lizzie.’ Serafina air kissed her on both cheeks and gave her a wide, seemingly sincere smile.
Shock winged through Lizzie and she was furious that Cesare hadn’t warned her that the benefit was being held at his former girlfriend’s home. Impervious to her mood and the manner in which her hand clenched tensely on his arm, Cesare talked about cancer research to an older man who seemed to be a doctor while Lizzie made awkward conversation with his wife, who spoke very little English. Italian lessons were going to be a must in the near future, Lizzie promised herself. Her attention crept back to Serafina, holding court on the other side of the room with a lively group who frequently broke into laughter.
Cesare had described his ex as very beautiful and he had not been kidding. Serafina had almond-shaped dark eyes, skin like clotted cream, a wealth of dark tumbling curls and one of those enviable
