flattery, but the truth was he meant every word. He wasn’t saying it to please her or to get what he wanted, as she so often seemed to suspect, but because he needed to. Because it was right, and it was the truth.
Which was why he had to kiss her, as well.
‘Mia…’ Her name was a question and as she moved closer, her silence was his answer. He placed one hand on her bare shoulder, her skin cool and soft beneath his palm. Then he brushed his lips across hers, softly first, another question.
And she answered again with silence, her mouth opening under his, a thousand times yes. Here was another truth, in the simple purity of their kiss, their lips joining together in a brief moment that spun on and on as Alessandro deepened the kiss, unable to keep himself from it, losing himself in her soft and willing response.
Mia clutched his shoulders as she anchored herself to him, to their kiss, and the world seemed to spin around them. It was just a kiss, and yet so much more. It felt like a promise as well as a seal.
Finally Alessandro lifted his head, breathing raggedly, dazed by the intensity of the moment. Mia blinked back at him, her fingers at her lips. Neither of them spoke.
Alessandro felt the weight of the black velvet box in his pocket, and he almost reached for it. Now was the perfect moment—and yet perhaps too perfect. The last thing he wanted was for Mia to think he was orchestrating the moment when in truth he’d been felled by it…as she seemed to have been.
So instead he left it where it was, and smiled at her instead. And, needing no words, he took her by the hand and led her from the room, out into the warm, spring night and the promise it surely held.
MIA’S HEAD WAS SPINNING. Her lips were buzzing. And as she and Alessandro moved through the party, meeting and chatting to people, she wondered if she was falling yet again for the fairy tale. Just as before, she was Cinderella for a night, and yet so much more was at stake. Her whole life. Ella’s life. Their future together. It all felt as if it hung in the balance now; all she needed to do was say yes.
And for once, with the memory of Alessandro’s kiss on her lips, she didn’t want to wonder or doubt. She wanted to enjoy the fairy tale; she wanted, at least for tonight, to trust Alessandro’s tempting promises. To believe in them and let them sweep her along.
For once she wanted to resist not only Alessandro, but also her own negative history, her persistent belief and fear that keeping herself apart from Alessandro was the only way to stay strong. To feel independent. What if staying strong could mean something else? It could mean choosing him, rather than fighting him. Was it possible?
She pressed her fingers to her lips as she recalled yet again that heart-stopping, breath-stealing kiss. Alessandro had seemed as affected as she’d been. For a few moments, they’d shared something wonderful.
But was it—could it be—real?
Dared she let it be real in her own mind, never mind Alessandro’s?
Her thoughts tumbled and shifted in her mind in an ever-changing kaleidoscope that she struggled to make sense of. She felt as if she were teetering on a precipice, but she had no idea what lay ahead—or below.
Then Alessandro took her hand as he drew her towards him, his eyes the colour of smoke, his voice husky as he devoured her in a single glance.
‘Dance?’
Mia thought of their dance a year ago, when everything had heightened and changed between them. It had been magical…but it had also been dangerous. Where was the danger now? Was it real—or was she imagining it, because she was so afraid of losing herself the way her mother had? Could she let go of it for a night?
Could she let go of it for ever?
She nodded, her palm sliding across his, fingers twining and tightening as they moved onto the dance floor and began to sway to the sensuous music.
‘Are you enjoying tonight?’ Alessandro asked as he moved her slowly and languorously around the floor, their hips bumping, heat flaring.
‘Yes…’
‘You don’t sound entirely convinced.’ He spoke lightly but Mia saw the flash of concern and even hurt in his eyes, quickly masked.
‘I don’t know what to think, Alessandro,’ she confessed quietly. ‘So I’m trying not to think at all. I just want to…feel.’
‘Feeling is good,’ Alessandro murmured huskily. ‘Feeling is very good.’ His forehead crinkled in a frown. ‘But you don’t need to be so wary, Mia. So scared.’
‘I’m trying not to be.’
‘What exactly is it you are afraid of, cara?’ The endearment slipped easily from his tongue, caressing her with its intimacy, making her want even more to trust this and believe in it. In him.’
She hesitated, unsure what to say. How much to confess. Yet surely Alessandro deserved to know why she was the way she was, what experiences had formed and shaped her, and that she was becoming desperate to shed now? ‘I’m scared of losing myself,’ she admitted quietly.
Alessandro’s frown deepened, a deep line bisecting his brow. ‘Losing yourself?’
‘Yes. Losing my…my sense of self, I suppose. My ability to make decisions, to be my own person…’ She trailed off, realising how vague and really rather ridiculous she sounded. What did it even mean, to lose yourself? Could she even put what she was so frightened of into concrete ideas and absolutes? Or was it just this vague sense of dread, that life was spinning out of control, that she needed to leave behind her, finally and for ever?
‘I don’t understand,’ Alessandro said as he moved her around the dance floor, one hand warm and sure on her waist. ‘Please, will you explain it to me?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know if I can. I know it sounds silly and vague, formless, but…it’s what I grew up with. My mother and father…’ She faltered, her throat growing tight with memories.
‘Your mother and father?’ Alessandro prompted gently. ‘You mentioned you didn’t get along with your father…’
‘No, I didn’t. He was…very controlling. Mostly of my mother but, after she died, also of me.’ She shook her head, unwilling to explain just how cruel her father could be, how domineering. She didn’t want to explain about the memories that still tormented her—when he’d locked her in her room, or thrown the meal her mother had made in the bin, claiming it was inedible.
‘He’s just got high standards, Mia. That’s all it is.’
She couldn’t explain the choking frustration she’d felt with her mother, and then later the awful fear she’d felt for herself, knowing she had to get away before her father controlled her completely.
‘Controlling,’ Alessandro repeated in a neutral voice. ‘This is why you have this issue with control? Why you feel I am too controlling?’
‘Yes,’
