that was what Marco was, she thought indulgently as she climbed out of the bed and went off to shower and dress, as instructed, in something prim. Her choice was a white tailored linen suit teamed with amber accessories that almost matched the colour of her eyes.
On her way to the breakfast room, she popped her head into the kitchen and was surprised to find no housekeeper there to exchange the usual morning greetings. Still frowning slightly at Carlotta’s absence, she entered the sunny breakfast room to find her favourite breakfast bowl of fresh fruit and a steaming pot of hot coffee waiting for her on the table—and her favourite man reclining in his chair reading his morning newspaper.
But he paused to watch her walk towards him with his eyes narrowed in male appreciation. ‘Perfezione,’ he murmured, as she leant down to press a morning kiss to his ready lips.
‘Grazie,’ she returned in mocking relief. ‘For this is about as prim as I get.’
The sun caught the strawberry highlights threading through her neatly pleated hair, and played sultry games with the amber colour of her conservatively styled silk blouse. On her feet she wore classically plain court shoes and a simple string of pearls she had owned for ever and didn’t warrant locking away in Marco’s safe circled her slender throat. Her make-up was so natural there was barely any sign of it and her smile said everything was right in her world.
‘Where’s Carlotta?’ she asked as she sat down next to him.
‘Called in sick,’ Marco explained. ‘I found her message waiting with our answering service, along with a hundred and one others…’
Antonia’s hand froze momentarily on its way to pick up the coffee pot. Stefan, she remembered. Stefan had said he’d been leaving messages for her all last week. A small silence began to vibrate with the hum of expectancy while she waited for what Marco was going to say next.
But he said absolutely nothing, and when she dared a glance at him, he was behind his newspaper again. He wasn’t going to mention Stefan’s calls, she realised. And she was damned if she was going to mention them and put at risk all this wonderful harmony they had managed to recapture.
So, ‘Did Carlotta say what was wrong?’ she enquired instead.
The newspaper twitched, long brown fingers flexed slightly, as if he was aware that she was aware of Stefan’s calls and those fingers were reacting to the fact that she too was going to pretend they had never happened.
‘Summer flu,’ he replied. ‘She does not wish to pass it on, so she expects to be away for the rest of the week.’
‘Poor Carlotta. I must send her a get-well card,’ she murmured, and finished pouring her coffee before transferring her attention to her bowl of fruit. ‘Did you prepare this?’ she asked.
‘Mmm.’ It was not quite the sexy Mmm of before. Was he angry? Was he annoyed that she wasn’t going to ask about Stefan’s calls?
‘Molti grazie, mi amante,’ she returned, determinedly keeping her tone light. ‘This unusual act of servility is most definitely your biggest surprise to date.’
The husky dark tones of a very male laughter flipped her heart over, then it flipped again with relief when he folded the paper away and she was able to see the humour also reflected on his beautiful face.
He wasn’t brooding about Stefan. He wasn’t going to let this newly attained harmony spoil because of a few silly messages. ‘Eat your fruit. Drink your coffee,’ he advised indulgently. ‘We have approximately ten minutes before we have to leave.’
‘Leave?’ She frowned. ‘Why? Where are we going?’
‘I’m going to Venice,’ he replied as he got to his feet. ‘And you, mi bellisima, are coming with me.’
With that, he dropped a casual kiss onto the top of her head and began to stroll arrogantly for the doorway.
But this time no warm smile followed him. No feeling of delight that he was planning to take her along on one of his business trips for the first time since she’d entered his life.
So much for protecting harmony, she mused grimly as she felt it all wither away. ‘When did you decide this?’ she fed quietly after him. ‘Before or after you played back the messages?’
He stopped walking and turned, an almost saturnine figure with his features suddenly cast in bronze. ‘Before,’ he replied, earning himself a flash of scepticism. ‘It was learning that Carlotta would not be around to play chaperon that clinched your fate for you,’ he answered that scepticism. ‘For no woman plays Marco Bellini false while he is safely ensconced elsewhere, capisce?’
Oh, she understood all right. He didn’t trust her to be alone in Milan with Stefan in the same city. ‘So the surprise you promised was never intended as a pleasant surprise,’ she concluded, and smiled cynically. ‘How typical of you to give with one hand and take back with the other.’
‘On the contrary,’ he argued. ‘The trip to Venice could be a pleasure for both of us. It really depends on whether you want to make it so.’
‘Or not, if I decide to stay here instead,’ Antonia pointed out.
The threat had him walking back to her. When he reached her side, he bent to place one hand on the back of her chair, the other flat on the table. The way he loomed over her hinted at menace. Placing her fork in the bowl of fruit, Antonia refused to let her fingers shake as she placed them down on her lap, then sat back in the chair to face his hard gaze squarely.
‘You prefer to stay here?’
His eyes held hers, and were loaded with challenge. Answer yes and she would be lying, not to mention confirming his suspicions about her motives. Answer no and she would be feeding his ego with something she had no wish to feed him now.
She went for the compromise. ‘Stefan is my friend. Why can’t you accept that?’
His eyes didn’t waver, not for a second. ‘Do you prefer to stay?’ he repeated.
Hers did, though; they flickered away on a frown of irritation. ‘Of course I would rather be with you,’ she sighed. ‘But not under duress, and not because you feel it’s your only option!’
‘I could throw you out. That’s another option.’
‘I could walk!’ she lashed back. ‘That’s an even better one!’
‘Are you coming?’ The wretched man wasn’t fazed in the slightest.
‘Yes!’ she snapped, and dislodged his hand by pushing back her chair and shooting to her feet with a jolt of anger.
He just sent her a mocking look. ‘Then eat your fruit and drink your coffee,’ he suggested, and with a wave of a hand walked away again. ‘Come and get me from my study when you’re ready to leave.’
‘I’ll need longer than ten minutes to clear up here before we go,’ she threw impatiently after him.
‘For you, mi amante, I will delay our flight!’
Magnanimous in victory, he left her standing there not sure whether
