escaped from her lips. She was living in a prison. A gilded prison where everything she wanted was right in front of her. The only man she’d ever wanted was constantly within touching distance—only she wasn’t allowed to touch. And the fiction of the happy front they presented to the outside world was cancelled out by the spiralling tension whenever they were alone together.
She’d thought she’d been getting close to him. She had been getting close to him. On the day they’d arrived, he’d dropped his formidable guard and told her things about his past—things about his childhood and his family which had made her want to reach out to him. She’d seen the bitter sadness distorting his features and had wanted more than anything else to comfort him.
And for a while he had let her. For a few moments he had held her tight and kissed her and something deep and strong had flickered into life as they’d stood, locked in each other’s arms. Her experience of men was tiny, but she had known that kiss was about more than sexual desire. It had been about understanding and solace. She’d thought it had been about hope.
But then he had pushed her away almost coldly, and since then he hadn’t come close. Only when they were being observed by other people did he soften his attitude towards her.
She’d met one of his sisters, Natalia—a talented artist who lived at the house. With her wavy brown hair tied back in a ponytail and tomboyish clothes, she wasn’t a bit how Willow had imagined Dante’s sister to be. She had recently returned from a trip to Greece, but her clear hazel eyes became shuttered whenever anyone asked about it.
And Willow had at last met the legendary Giovanni, Dante’s grandfather. She’d felt a punch of painful recognition after being shown into his room and seeing the pills which the attendant nurse was tipping into a small plastic container. A sense of sadness had curled itself around her heart as she saw the unmistakable signs of sickness. She thought how the Di Sione family had so many of the things which society lusted after. With their lavish wealth and a sprawling mansion in one of the world’s most expensive areas of real estate, they were a force to be reckoned with...but nobody could avoid the inevitability of death, no matter how rich they were. And Dante’s grandfather’s eyes held within them a pain which Willow suspected was caused by more than his illness. Was he trying to get his affairs in order before the end? Was that why he’d asked Dante to trace the costly tiara and bring it to him?
On the first of what became twice daily visits, Willow would perch on a chair beside the bed and chat to the old man. She told him all about her life in England, because she knew better than anyone how being housebound made the dimensions of your world shrink. She was less enthusiastic about her fictitious future with his beloved grandson, even though the old man’s eyes softened with obvious emotion when he reached out to examine her sparkling engagement ring. And she hoped she’d done her best to hide her guilt and her pain—and to bite back the urge to confess to him that none of this was real.
After Dante had gone she lay in bed until the light came up, then walked over to the main house for breakfast. The dining room was empty but Alma must have heard her because she came in with a pot of camomile tea, just as Willow was helping herself to a slice of toast.
‘Where is everyone?’ asked Willow as she reached for a dish of jam.
‘Signor Giovanni is resting and Miss Natalia’s upstairs, trying on dresses for her exhibition,’ replied Alma. ‘Would you like Cook to fix you some eggs?’
Willow shook her head. ‘I’m good, thanks, Alma. This jam is amazing.’
Alma smiled. ‘Thank you. I made it myself.’
Slowly, Willow ate her breakfast and afterwards went for a wander around the house where there was always something new to discover. And it was a relief to be able to distract herself from her endless frustration about Dante by admiring the fabulous views over the Di Sione estate, and the priceless artwork which studded each and every wall of the mansion. She was lost in thought as she studied a beautiful oil painting of Venice when suddenly she heard a small crash on the first floor, followed by the unmistakable sound of Natalia’s voice exclaiming something.
Curiosity getting the better of her, she walked up the curving staircase and along a wide corridor, past an open door where she could see Natalia standing in front of a mirror, a heavy silver hairbrush lying by her bare feet. She was wearing a green shift dress—one of the most shapeless garments Willow had ever seen—which did absolutely nothing for her athletic physique.
Instinctively, she winced and the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. ‘You’re not wearing that, surely?’
‘What?’ Natalia looked down at the garment before glancing up again and blinking. ‘This is one of my best dresses.’
‘Okay,’ said Willow doubtfully, going into the room and walking around behind Natalia to see if it looked any better from the back. It didn’t.
‘So what’s wrong with this dress?’ Natalia asked.
Willow shrugged as she looked at Dante’s sister. ‘Honestly? It looks like a green bin bag. Admittedly a very nice shade of green, but still...’ She narrowed her eyes in assessment. ‘Did Dante tell you that I work in fashion?’
Natalia shook her head. ‘Nope. He’s been characteristically cagey about you. If you want the truth, I was pretty surprised to meet you. He once told me that he didn’t think that marriage was for him, and I believed him.’ Her voice softened. ‘That’s why I’m so happy for him, Willow. Sometimes he seems so...alone...despite all the planes and the parties and the money he’s made. I’m so glad he’s found you.’
Willow’s heart clenched with a guilt even though she felt a perverse kind of pride that their farce of togetherness was working so effectively. She turned her attention to Natalia again.
‘You have a knockout figure and gorgeous hair and you don’t do much with either.’
‘I’ve never had to.’
‘But today is different, isn’t it?’ persisted Willow. ‘I mean, it’s meant to be special.’
There was silence for a moment before Natalia answered. ‘Yes.’
Willow glanced over at the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Look, we have plenty of time. I can see what you have in your wardrobe or we could raid mine. And I’m a dab hand with a needle and thread. Will you let me give you a bit of a makeover? Only if you want to, of course.’
There was a moment of hesitation before Natalia gave Willow the sweetest smile she’d ever seen. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Why not?’
* * *
Dante parked the car and walked slowly to the house, his dark glasses shading his eyes against the bright golden glitter of the day. It was a beautiful day and he should have felt invigorated by the air and the drive he’d just had. He should have felt all kinds of things, but he didn’t.
Because none of this was turning out the way it was supposed to. He’d thought that maintaining a fake relationship with Willow would be easy. He just hadn’t anticipated the reality.
He hadn’t thought through what it would be like, being with her day in and day out, because he had no experience of what it would be like. Because he didn’t do proximity. He slept with women, yes. He loved sleeping with women and occasionally taking them out to dinner or the theatre—but any time he spent with them was doled out in very manageable slots and always on his terms. Yet now he found himself
