they were such good friends I would imagine your mother will be very disappointed with you when she learns that you’re forcing me to marry you.’
‘We will never know. She has dementia. My father’s death accelerated the process. There are days she doesn’t even know who I am.’ Something else he absolutely blamed her father for and, by extension, Elena herself.
Her latent beauty might now have pushed to the surface but that was all it was: surface.
Beneath the skin she was a Ricci to her core and he would never allow himself to forget it.
ELENA WAS MIGHTILY relieved to go straight to her father’s voicemail.
‘Hi, Papà, it’s me. I’m in New York, finally taking that holiday you keep nagging me about.’ She injected a false laugh, meeting Gabriele’s eye.
He was watching her from the dining room table, his expression inscrutable.
‘You’ll never believe who I bumped into last night—Alfredo Mantegna’s son.’ She cleared her throat before ploughing on. ‘I’ve decided to stay in New York for the week and do some sightseeing. Christie will be running things for me. Hope you’re well. Ciao.’
Done, she disconnected the call, then, for good measure, turned the phone off and stuffed it in her favourite of the designer handbags Liana had selected for her, then faced him with her chin up.
‘Well? Was that convincing enough?’
‘On a scale of one to ten I’d give it a five,’ he drawled, rising to his feet. ‘Let’s see how you perform this evening—see if we can get it to an eight.’
Tonight they were going to dine at another paparazzi-encamped restaurant, a thought that thrilled her as much as swimming in a shark-infested pool. Since their return from shopping, she’d checked the Internet a dozen times to see if her name was out there but so far, nothing.
Throwing him a brittle smile, which more than spoke the caustic response she wanted to give, Elena slung her handbag over her shoulder and headed to the elevator.
Inside, she surreptitiously checked her appearance.
She was pleased to see the magic Adrian had done to her face was mostly still intact. Scared of damaging his work, all she’d done for their evening out was apply some more of the lipstick she had taken the lid off a dozen times to smell—who knew cosmetics smelt so good?—and spritzed some perfume onto her neck and wrists. She’d changed out of the jeans into a pair of bright red straight-legged trousers and a pair of silver sandals with a low pointy heel, but had opted to keep on the shimmering top she loved so much.
Gabriele’s only remark had been to say, ‘That is a definite improvement on last night.’
Except the look in his eyes had said something else.
For the first time she wished she had some experience with men, something that would allow her to translate Gabriele’s unspoken expressions. All she had was gut instinct but that was becoming unreliable. All she felt when he looked at her was a feeling she couldn’t quite interpret but which she was terrified meant nothing but trouble.
Her response had been a glare and a, ‘I’m delighted I meet your approval.’
She didn’t believe for a second that he was attracted to her.
All Gabriele wanted was what she could give him. He wanted her body. Not her core. Not her soul. He wanted Ignazio’s daughter. If she’d had sisters, any of them would have served his purpose equally well.
Now, catching his eye in the mirror, she quickly looked away, but not before she caught the expression she’d seen earlier, when she’d been presented to him like a fully made-over doll.
That strange feeling stirred in her stomach again.
He doesn’t want you.
And neither did she want him. She could never want someone so cruel.
When they reached the ground floor, he turned to her. ‘Ready?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’ Smiling broadly, he took her hand and led her out into the Manhattan night for the second time.
Her pulse kicked into life.
This was the first time he’d properly touched her skin other than that fleeting kiss earlier.
His hand was enormous, swallowing hers like a giant paw.
His driver was ready for them.
Thankful to be able to shake her hand out of Gabriele’s so she could get into the open back door, she sat down and pressed her hands between her thighs, wiping away the moisture that had sprung on her palms.
They rode in silence, the darkened glass dividing them from his driver meaning they didn’t have to fake conversation or adoration.
Traffic was lighter than the night before but it still took them twenty minutes to arrive at the restaurant Gabriele had chosen for them.
The second the driver opened her door, Elena knew her identity had been discovered.
Lights flashed in her face, blinding her with their brilliance.
Gabriele took charge, getting out first and marching through the waiting paparazzi, to take her hand. Placing a protective arm around her waist, he led her inside.
Totally unprepared for a siege, she shrank into him, horrified at such behaviour and the shouts being called out as the horde yelled questions about their relationship.
They were led straight to their table. When they were sitting down and facing each other, she was astonished to see a look of satisfaction on Gabriele’s face.
‘You enjoyed that?’ she asked.
His eyes gleamed but there was a fury contained within them.
‘I’ve dealt with much worse. And their presence here—they were waiting for us, in case you hadn’t realised—guarantees that your father will have his morning coffee seeing pictures of you held in my arms.’
It was at that precise moment she understood Gabriele genuinely believed her father had set Alfredo up.
The hate he had for her family was built, at least in his own mind, on solid foundations.
He’d taken the rap to protect Alfredo but could not allow himself to believe in his father’s guilt. He was in denial. Rather than accept the truth he’d pointed the finger at her father.
Which meant that Gabriele himself was innocent of the crimes he’d spent two years in prison for.
Was it possible he was right about Alfredo’s innocence too...?
No, she couldn’t believe that. Because that would mean he was right about her own
