‘From the first you must have been laughing at me…’
‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘That was never true—believe me.’
‘Then what is the truth?’ Flora asked stormily. ‘That it amused you to play the prince in disguise, with me as some bloody Cinderella?’
His mouth tightened. ‘I hardly found you in rags. But I admit that perhaps I had a foolish wish to be wanted for myself. It has not always been so in the past.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Her voice bit. ‘You poor rich man. I bet you didn’t turn down many of the offers, for all that.’
‘What do you expect me to say?’ Marco threw back at her. ‘That I lived a celibate life while I was waiting for you? I will not insult you by such a pretence.’
It was her turn to shrug. ‘What’s one more among so many?’
‘Why are you so angry?’ he asked curiously.
‘Because I feel stupid,’ she said. ‘And because I wonder what else you’ve been hiding.’
‘One thing I never hid,’ he said quietly. ‘That I wanted you from the moment I saw you. And the only reason you are here at this moment is because we both wished it. And, for me, nothing has changed.’
He paused. ‘However, I shall not force you to stay,’ he added levelly. ‘If it has become impossible for you to remain with me then I can arrange to have you flown anywhere else in the world you wish to go. The choice is yours, carissima.’
For a long moment she was silent, as her head and her heart fought a short, fierce battle.
Then she said in a stifled voice, ‘There’s nowhere else in the world I wish to go—and you know it.’
‘Ah, dolcezza mia,’ he said softly. ‘Sometimes you tear me apart.’
She sat beside him, her hand clasped in his, and saw the envy in the eyes of the pretty girls who waited on them. Who thought she’d won the jackpot—sexually, as well as in money terms.
And she smiled back, and thanked them for the lunch and hot towels, because they might be right. Because for the next two weeks she was going to be spoiled and cosseted by day, and taken to heaven each night.
And then it would be over. Midnight would strike and Cinders would be back in the real world.
But, for now, she was having a wonderful time—of course she was—with even better to come. And she had no illusions—no crazy naïve dreams about the possibility of a future with the man at her side. Or not any longer, anyway, she amended swiftly.
Her time with him was finite, and she accepted that.
So, there was no need for this niggling feeling of unease. No need at all.
And if I say it often enough, she thought, I may even begin to believe it.
But no uncertainty could cloud her first view of San Silvestro.
As the helicopter began its descent Flora saw the sun-baked stones of the castello, gleaming pink, grey and cream in the afternoon light as it reared up from the riot of greenery which surrounded it.
That first heart-stopping glimpse showed her a cluster of buildings, roofed in faded terracotta and surmounted by a square tower. Its clifftop setting had clearly been chosen with an arrogant eye for impact, and it lay, like a watchful lion, overlooking the azure sea.
For Flora, it was a fairytale image—a vision of Renaissance power—but for the man beside her, she realised, it was home. Emphasising the very different worlds they inhabited, she thought with sudden bleakness, picking out the turquoise shimmer of a swimming pool.
As the helicopter landed on a flat sweep of lawn at the rear of the castello, Flora could see people descending the steps from the imposing terrace and coming to meet them.
Her stomach clenched in swift nervousness.
The man leading the charge was tall, with silver hair. He was dressed in dark trousers and a discreet grey jacket, and the austerity of his features was relieved by a smile of sheer delight.
That must be Alfredo, Flora thought, remembering what Marco had been saying on the flight down.
‘He is my maggiordomo, and Marta, his wife, is the housekeeper,’ he’d told her. ‘Alfredo’s father worked for my grandfather, so he was born at the castello, like myself, and loves it as much.’
She found herself swallowing as Marco helped her alight from the helicopter, maintaining his firm grip on her hand.
‘Avanti,’ he said briskly, and they set off across the lawn towards the welcoming party, Flora struggling to match his long-legged stride.
After the warmth of his greeting for his master, Flora found Alfredo’s calm correctness towards herself slightly daunting. She was also aware of the shrewdly assessing glances being directed at her by the rest of the staff as they were formally presented to her.
‘This is Ninetta, signorina.’ Alfredo indicated a plump, pretty girl in a dark dress and white apron. ‘She will unpack for you, and attend you during your time with us.’
‘Grazie,’ Flora murmured, wryly reviewing the modest contents of her luggage.
Alfredo gave a stately inclination of the head. ‘So, if you will follow me, signorina, I will show you to your room.’
As he went past Marco spoke to him softly and briefly in his own language. Just for a second the impassive mask slipped, and the major-domo let surprise show. But he recovered instantly, murmuring a respectful, ‘Si, signore, naturalamente,’ as he set off for the house, snapping his fingers at Ninetta to pick up Flora’s case.
Inside the castello, Flora received a whirlwind impression of large rooms with tiled floors, low ceilings and frescoed walls. Then she was ascending a wide stone staircase, walking along a gallery, navigating a long corridor and climbing another short flight of stone steps.
Alfredo opened the double doors at the top and bowed her into the room. Its square shape told her instantly that she was in the tower of the castello, and probably its oldest part, too.
She stared round her, her jaw dropping at the subdued magnificence of the tapestry-hung walls and vast canopied bed. There was little furniture, but the few pieces were clearly very old and valuable, and the ancient carpet spread on the gleaming wood floor was possibly priceless.
There were deep cushioned seats in the window embrasures, and on the wall opposite the bed long glass doors had been fitted into the stone, giving access to a balcony with a wrought-iron rail and a stunning view over the sea.
Alfredo, observing her reaction with discreet satisfaction, pointed to a door in the corner of the room. ‘That is the signore’s dressing room.’ He opened another door in the opposite corner. ‘And here—the bathroom, signorina.’
Peeping past him, Flora saw it contained a sunken bath as well as an imposing circular shower cubicle.
She said quietly, ‘It’s all—so beautiful. I can hardly believe I’m not dreaming.’
