wife.
There wasn’t a bone in Natalie’s body that would bend to any man’s will, and certainly not to Angelo Bellandini’s.
‘These came for you while you were at the lawyer’s,’ Linda said when Natalie came back to the studio a couple of hours later.
Natalie looked at the massive bunch of blood-red roses elegantly wrapped and ribboned, their intoxicating clove-like perfume filling the air.
‘Aren’t you going to read the card?’ Linda asked.
‘Er … yes,’ Natalie said unpinning the envelope from the cellophane and tissue wrap. She took the card out and read: See you tonight, Angelo.
‘From Angelo?’ Linda asked.
‘Yes,’ Natalie said, frowning.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You’re frowning.’
She quickly relaxed her features. ‘I’ve got a few things to see to in my office at home. Do you mind holding the fort here for the rest of the day?’
‘Not at all,’ Linda said. ‘I guess you’ll have to leave me in charge when you go on your honeymoon, right?’
Natalie gave her a tight on-off smile as she grabbed her bag and put the strap over her shoulder. ‘I don’t think I’ll be away very long,’ she said.
‘Aren’t you going to take the roses with you?’ Linda asked.
Natalie turned back and scooped them up off the counter. ‘Good idea,’ she said, and left.
Angelo looked at the three-storey house in a leafy street in the well-to-do Edinburgh suburb of Morningside. It had a gracious elegance about it that reminded him of Natalie immediately. Even the garden seemed to reflect parts of her personality. The neatly clipped hedges and the meticulous attention to detail in plants and their colour and placement bore witness to a young woman who liked order and control.
He smiled to himself as he thought how annoyed she would be at the way things were now out of her control. He had the upper hand and he was going to keep it. He would enjoy watching her squirm. He had five years of bitterness to avenge. Five years of hating her, five years of wanting her, five years of being tortured by memories of her body in his arms.
Five years of trying to replace her.
He put his finger to the highly polished brass doorbell. A chime-like sound rang out, and within a few seconds he heard the click-clack of her heels as she came to answer its summons. He could tell she was angry. He braced himself for the blast.
‘How dare you release something to the press without checking with me first?’ she said as her opening gambit.
‘Hello, cara,’ he said. ‘I’m fine, thank you. And you?’
She glowered at him as she all but slammed the door once he had stepped over its threshold. ‘You had no right to say anything to anyone,’ she said. ‘I was followed home by paparazzi. I had cameras going off in my face as soon as I left my studio. I almost got my teeth knocked out by one of their microphones.’
‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I’m so used to it I hardly notice it any more. Do you want me to get you a bodyguard? I should’ve thought of it earlier.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Of course I don’t want a bloody bodyguard!’ she said. ‘I just want this to go away. I want all of this to go away.’
‘It’s not going to go away, Natalie,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to go away.’
She continued to glare at him. ‘Why are you here?’
‘I’m here to take you out to dinner.’
‘What if I’m not hungry?’
‘Then you can sit and watch me eat,’ he said. ‘Won’t that be fun?’
‘You are totally sick—do you know that?’ she said.
‘Did you like the roses?’
She turned away from him and began stalking down the wide corridor. ‘I hate hothouse flowers,’ she said. ‘They have no scent.’
‘I didn’t buy you hothouse flowers,’ he said. ‘I had those roses shipped in from a private gardener.’
She gave a dismissive grunt and pushed open a door leading to a large formal sitting room. Again the attention to detail was stunning. Beautifully co-ordinated colours and luxurious fabrics, plush sofas and crystal chandeliers. Timeless antiques cleverly teamed with modern pieces—old-world charm and modern chic that somehow worked together brilliantly.
‘Do you want a drink?’ she asked uncharitably.
‘What are you having?’
She threw him a speaking glance. ‘I was thinking along the lines of cyanide,’ she said.
He laughed. ‘Not quite to my taste, mia piccola,’ he said. ‘Can I have a soda and lime?’
She went to a bar fridge that was hidden behind an art deco cabinet. He heard the rattle of ice cubes and the fizz of the soda water and then the plop of a slice of lime. She fixed her own glass of white wine before she turned and passed his drink to him with a combative look on her face.
‘I hope it chokes you,’ she said.
He lifted the glass against hers in a salute and said, ‘To a long and happy marriage.’
Her gaze wrestled with his. ‘I’m not drinking to that.’
‘What will you drink to?’
She clanged her glass against his. ‘To freedom,’ she said, and took a sip.
Angelo watched her as she moved across the room, her body movements stiff and unfriendly. She took another couple of sips of her drink, grimacing distastefully as if she wasn’t used to drinking alcohol. ‘I drove past your studio on the way here,’ he said. ‘Very impressive.’
She gave him a quick off-hand glance over her shoulder. ‘Thank you.’
‘I have a project for you, if you’re interested,’ he said.
She turned and looked at him fully. ‘What sort of project?’
‘A big one,’ he said. ‘It’s worth a lot of money. Good exposure for you, too. It will bring you contacts from all over Europe.’
She stood very still before him, barely moving a muscle apart from the little hammer beat of tension at the base of her throat. ‘Go on,’ she said, with that same look of wariness in her gaze.
‘I have a holiday villa in Sorrento, on the Amalfi Coast,’ he said. ‘I bought another property nearby for a song a few months back. I’m turning it into
