not one who was important to Cesare.
‘Ava?’
She realised she’d missed his question.
‘Sorry—what?’ The words were forced through stiff lips.
‘I asked if seven-thirty was okay with you,’ he repeated slowly, as if making allowances for her sluggish brain.
Was seven-thirty okay with her? ‘No.’ It slipped out before courtesy or caution could stop it.
‘Perdono?’
‘You asked if the time was okay, I said no. It’s obvious you don’t want her here now I’m back. Use me as the excuse. Tell her not to come because the time is not okay with me.’
This way, she’d never have to meet the important Celine, never have to endure her gut twisting in knots the way it was now at the prospect of meeting the woman who might one day replace her and wear the famous di Goia wedding ring Cesare had presented to her with such dignified pride the day he’d proposed to her.
Cesare’s clear disbelief at her response almost made her laugh out loud. Almost.
‘As much as I appreciate your selfless efforts, unfortunately it doesn’t work that way.’
‘Well, can I be excused? She is your guest, after all.’ Why did she have to break bread with the woman?
Anger laced his movements as he shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘You will be dressed appropriately and ready to greet our guest at seven-thirty, Ava. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Ooh, I love it when you go all domineering and masterful,’ she purred, only to gasp as he sank down to her level, bringing six feet two of bristling masculinity up close and very personal.
‘Did the consequences of last week teach you nothing about challenging me?’ he asked in a deceptively soft tone.
Ava knew she was playing with fire, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from testing the depths of the flames. ‘You mean pushing us both to the edge before withdrawing? I don’t know, you tell me. I’m still digesting your I should never have married you. How long does blue balls last?’ she taunted.
‘Che diavolo—’ His jaw actually slackened before he managed to clench it tight again. When he spoke again, it was between gritted teeth. ‘Just be ready at seven-thirty. Capito?’
‘If I must.’ She raised the trowel in a mock salute and watched him stalk away, shoulders stiff with tension.
With renewed vigour, she dug into the earth. In a few hours she would meet Cesare’s important guest.
Maybe the gods would be kind and make Celine short, fat and dumpy as all hell.
* * *
The gods granted her one wish.
Celine was short.
But fat and dumpy she was not. She was the original pocket Venus, with the kind of fragility that made men want to instinctively take care of her, in a way that made Ava, with her five foot seven frame and the three-inch heels she’d slipped into as an added confidence booster, feel like the Leaning Tower of Pisa as she reached out to shake Celine’s proffered hand.
Celine di Montezuma reeked cute perfection from the top of her expensively styled gleaming black hair to the pointy toes of her designer heels. What grated the most were her open friendliness and genuine, pleasant smile she directed at Ava as she removed her silk wrap and handed it to Cesare.
‘I’ve heard so much about you,’ she said to Ava.
‘Really? I hadn’t heard so much as a peep about you until four hours ago.’
Ava ignored the warning glint in Cesare’s eyes as he straightened from cheek-kissing Celine.
Their guest’s warm laugh echoed in the vast hallway. ‘He didn’t just drop my visit on you, did he? Don’t you hate that about men?’
‘Hate is too mild a word.’
She laughed again and tucked her arm through Ava’s. As much as Ava wanted to hate her, she grudgingly, painfully understood Cesare’s attraction to the vivacious Celine.
The feeling increased all through Lucia’s superbly prepared dinner of egg and salmon frittata starter, followed by slow-cooked lamb in herb sauce and diced potatoes. Which she hardly touched.
The lump that had lodged in her chest since Cesare announced her arrival grew with each second she watched the warm interplay between the two Italians.
For the first time since her return, Ava saw Cesare smile with genuine affection at another adult. The whites of his teeth gleamed in the subdued lights of the dining room as he responded to some joke Celine made.
Picking up her glass, she drained the last of the white wine she’d nursed throughout the meal.
Cesare slid her a narrow-eyed glance.
What? she wanted to blurt out. If he was callous enough to force her to watch him and his new paramour enjoy each other, then she could damn well get drunk doing it.
As if sensing the change in the air, Celine turned to her with a slightly wary look.
‘How is Annabelle?’ she asked.
Had Cesare tensed just then? Unfortunately Ava’s head had started to swim from the sudden intake of alcohol and she couldn’t be sure. Certainly, his fingers seemed to cup his wine glass a little tighter. Her gaze darted to his face, but his expression reflected arrogant calm.
Ava answered. ‘She’s fine, thank you for asking.’
‘Is she adjusting well to being back home?’
‘Sun, lake, swimming pool and all the toys a little girl could have, thanks to a suddenly attentive and over-indulgent father. What’s not to like?’ She couldn’t quite curb the sarcasm that emerged with her answer.
Celine’s smile slipped another notch.
Watch it, Cesare’s gaze warned.
Drop dead, she threw back. He shouldn’t have invited her if he expected her to play nice with his girlfriend.
‘I was hoping to see her this evening,’ Celine said, breaking into the tense silence.
Surprise and more than a little anger surged through Ava, until she remembered she wasn’t supposed to have been here when Cesare invited Celine to dinner.
Was that what he’d planned all along? Had he made plans to get rid of her and spend the summer with Annabelle and Celine?
The sheer scale of Cesare’s anger at her arrival suddenly fell into place.
Pain swiftly replaced surprise. Calmly she placed her wine glass on the table. She didn’t think the crystal was safe in her hand any more because the sudden urge to throw it at Cesare’s head had gained astronomical proportions.
How
