Ella felt a little fizz of pleasure.
‘Have you ever met a duchess?’
‘I have, as it happens. She was more pleasant and down-to-earth than some of the snobby society types I’ve met.’
‘I can imagine.’ Her father was one such snob. He’d forgive you anything so long as you were rich or socially superior.
‘So, what sort of nursing?’ Donato sounded genuinely interested.
‘Community care. I visit people in their homes, often the elderly or patients just released from hospital.’
‘In their homes? Do you work in pairs?’
‘I’m part of a team but I do my home visits solo.’
Donato’s arms tightened. ‘That’s dangerous. You don’t know what you could walk into.’
‘We’re fully trained. We have safety protocols in place. Anyway, most of my clients are frail.’
‘It’s not just your clients. Anyone could be there.’
‘I can look after myself, Donato.’ She turned in his arms and pressed a finger to his mouth before he could contradict her. ‘But I appreciate your concern.’
In all her years of nursing none of her family or friends had expressed concern for her safety. That must explain the strange melting sensation in her chest as she met his stare. She’d never had a protector. There’d been no one since her mother or Aunt Bea who worried about her. Fuzz and Rob saw her as capable and efficient, able to look after herself. And their father...he’d never cared enough to worry.
Crazy that the man logic told her not to trust was the one man who worried about her.
Crazier still that she liked it.
‘WELL, YOU COULD have knocked me down with a feather. Really!’ Samantha Raybourne’s laugh tinkled melodiously, turning heads in the packed theatre lounge. ‘I’d never thought of you marrying, Ella. Much less snaffling the most eligible man in the country.’
Ella’s smile froze. Why had she told Donato she wanted to see this play? She should have known opening night would attract people like the dreadful Samantha, who’d once made her life hell. She hated that she’d put herself in this position, an unwilling partner in a public charade. But the constraints had been too great, despite her misgivings.
‘What Sam means is congratulations.’ Samantha’s partner spoke. As compère of a reality television show he was adept at reading tension and knew when to intervene. ‘We hope you’ll both be very happy.’
Before Ella could respond Donato slipped his arm around her waist. His grip reminded her, as if she could forget, of the promise he’d extracted. He’d keep her father from badgering her daily about arrangements for the society wedding he planned and in return Ella would play along in public. Even though it meant maintaining the fiction that their relationship was permanent.
A wave of stifling warmth enfolded her. She and Donato wouldn’t really marry and it drove her crazy trying to work out why he let her father peddle such a fantasy. What had he to gain? Surely this wasn’t the behaviour of an honest man. Yet everything she’d learned of Donato testified that he was straight down the line, often brutally so. His refusal to explain, and to stop the charade, was a dark blot on a relationship that was otherwise almost too enticing.
‘Thanks for the good wishes.’ Donato’s deep rumble sliced through the chatter around them.
Ella was tempted to blurt out the truth, that the engagement was a lie. But Donato had warned that without the ‘engagement’ he’d stop all involvement with her father. That wasn’t an option, not while her siblings needed Reg Sanderson to repay the money he’d taken.
She’d grown tired of trying to force the issue. Whatever strange machinations went on between him and her father, ultimately neither could make her marry Donato. In the meantime she could only find relief in the fact that her real friends had no notion of the fake engagement. Only those in her father’s set. Yet guilt and frustration gnawed at her.
‘I had no idea the pair of you even knew each other,’ Samantha purred, leaning forward to reveal even more pumped-up cleavage.
Anger pierced Ella. If she really were Donato’s fiancée she’d take exception to the way the other woman pawed at him, chattering on about a party they’d both attended in Melbourne and giving him that intimate smile.
But Ella was just his temporary lover.
She hadn’t let him encroach too far into her world. As for the time they spent on mutual interests, like antiques and art or activities new to her, like sailing and climbing, that didn’t feel like encroachment. Those were pure pleasure.
In fact, she realised with a hitch to her breathing, all her time with Donato was pleasurable. Their sexual connection had grown into something more complex.
Ella blinked when Samantha leaned in and said with a saccharine smile, ‘I get so bored when the men talk business, don’t you? Media trends and market growth.’ Beside them their companions were deep in discussion.
‘No, I don’t. I find it interesting.’ When Donato spoke of his wide span of investments, she was fascinated.
‘But then you’ve always been so serious, Ella. Serious and sturdy.’ Samantha’s violet eyes, their colour as artificial as her smile, swept Ella dismissively. ‘That reminds me. Rumour has it your father’s engaged Aurelio to design your wedding dress. Is it true?’
Ella shrugged, aiming for nonchalance despite her dismay. Surely her father hadn’t gone as far as organising a dress and hiring the country’s most exclusive designer! This was a nightmare. The sooner it ended the better.
Except when it ends you and Donato will go your separate ways.
Ella’s stomach pinched. The thought of Donato moving on to another lover brought bile to her mouth.
She wanted what they had to last. She enjoyed being with him. No one else had ever made her feel like this.
The revelation knocked her for six, making her sway.
Instantly Donato’s arm tightened around her. He looked down, flashing her a reassuring smile before turning back to his conversation, and her stupid heart kicked up pace.
She wanted to be with him.
‘I’m amazed you’ve got Aurelio to agree to design your gown.’ Samantha had taken her silence for assent. ‘His work is exquisite but he prefers to work with petite clients to show off his amazing designs.’ Again that sharp gaze, dismissing Ella’s body as unfashionably rounded.
‘Rake-thin women, you mean?’ Ella didn’t bother pretending to misunderstand. ‘I wouldn’t know. I’m not really familiar with his designs.’ She knew the name, of course, but that was all.
‘You’re
