An Inconvenient Love (Crimson Romance) Page 8

  “What about your family?”

  “My family were very rich. But I liked Luca. He was not up himself, as you English say. I could talk to him. My parents, they had lots of money but no love. They only cared that I did not get into trouble, darken the family name. That is probably why I married the first man who said he loved me.”

  “Dante?”

  “No, I was married once, before Dante. To a terrible man. He hit me and stole all my money. Luca was very angry. He tried to warn me Federico was no good, but I would not listen. Your husband, he is very protective of the people he cares for. But you will know this already, because he loves you.”

  Should she tell Isabella that theirs was a business arrangement? No, she’d let Isabella keep her delusions. Then maybe Sophia could indulge in them from time to time. It may be the only thing to cling to in the lonely months ahead, left in the villa with two people she could barely communicate with.

  “Isabella, do you have any interest in interior design?”

  “Yes, of course. But I have no experience. I was a journalist until a few months ago. It was very stressful, and Dante and I want to have a baby. Stress is not good for the conception.”

  “Would you be interested in working with me? I’ve almost completed my interior design course and was thinking about starting a business.” Her coursework had been slow, with little time to devote to it in London. But with all the time she currently had on her hands, she could probably finish within a month. Then she’d be well and truly bored.

  “It sounds a very interesting idea. I will discuss it with Dante. What does Luca say about you starting a business? He has lots of money; I am sure he does not expect his wife to work.”

  “He’s so busy, I’m sure he won’t mind.” She turned her attention back to the swatches. “What do you think of this fabric?”

  After choosing a suitable material, they went for lunch and then a pedicure. Sophia tried to be discreet in checking the time, but Isabella caught her.

  “Am I boring you?”

  “No, not at all. Why would you say that?” Sophia stalled.

  “Because you keep looking at your watch. If I am not boring, then you must be counting the minutes until you see Luca again.”

  Busted.

  “Do not worry. I did the same when I started to see Dante. And even now, when he is away playing rugby and I cannot go with him, I feel like a piece of me is missing. It is stupid, no? We are smart, beautiful women. But without our man, we are a little lost. Some days it makes me sad to be so dependent. But then I look at my husband and I would not have my life different. I love him and do not care that his happiness is more important than my own. Because I know he feels the same way.”

  Sophia looked away. Would she and Luca ever feel that way about each other? Did she want to be so dependent on someone for happiness? No, it would be better if she built her own life, found her own place in the world. Then if Luca tired of her, she would have something to fall back on. It was too dangerous to put all her eggs in the Luca basket—no matter how enticing he made it seem.

  Two hours later, Sophia was giving herself the same pep talk. She sat beside her husband in the Maserati, crawling through Milan traffic. Luca seemed deep in thought as he stared out the windscreen, his hands clenched on the steering wheel.

  “Is everything okay?”

  He turned to her as if surprised she was there. “Sorry, my mind was still at work.”

  “Is there a problem? Sometimes talking about it helps.”

  “No, I can take care of it. Tell me about your shopping with Isabella. Do you need more money?”

  His message was loud and clear—she was his wife, his partner, only when other people were around.

  • • •

  Sophia put her book down on the table, rested her head on the back of the sofa, and stared at the ceiling. This isn’t working. None of it.

  Marriage to Luca was supposed to have given her financial security, time to pursue her dreams, and become the person she wanted to be, far from the troubled girl who had fled her home at the age of sixteen. Instead she was a twenty-three-year-old woman who spent her whole day in anxious anticipation of the fifteen minutes or so when she saw her husband—if she saw him.

  After three weeks of living in the villa, she knew if she got up at 6:00 a.m., she just might catch Luca before he left for work. He’d ask her what she planned to do that day, his hot gaze roving over her body. But then he’d politely kiss her goodbye on the cheek, and the next sound was his car fading into the distance. Maybe if she moved into his room, he’d find more time for her. But he still treated her like a possession, albeit a pampered one. She was the rare pet he’d bought to show off to his friends but forgot when it suited him.

  Before she could share her body with him, she needed him to share some small part of his life with her. Preferably a non-business part, if that even existed.

  Sometimes she even stayed up until he came home around midnight. He’d look exhausted, dark shadows under his eyes, his jaw covered in stubble. Again he’d ask about her day and respond with a list of meetings or contracts he’d bid for when she asked about his. With the amount of work he seemed to accomplish each day, she wasn’t surprised he was so tired.

  So far, Sophia had divided her day between her interior design coursework and learning Italian from the books that Jonathan had given her. She practiced her pronunciation on Vittore and Maria. She’d also discovered a love of gardening and spent many hours following the older man around as he explained to her, patiently and slowly, about the plants he tended. She had a grubby little notebook she carried with her, and when he used a word she didn’t understand, she wrote it down to look up later.

  Every couple of days, Luca would email a letter or document for her to check his English. It took a whole twenty minutes to correct and return each one, so they neither filled her time nor brought her any closer to her husband.

  Last week, when the weather had turned wet, Sophia had asked Maria to teach her to cook, and she’d spent several happy days in the kitchen. She could now manage to make a couple of Italian specialties. While showing her how to prepare ravioli so they didn’t explode while cooking, Maria had prattled on about bambini. With the pointed look Maria had given her during the conversation, the cook probably wondered if there would ever be any children in the house.

  With a sigh, Sophia got up from her chair and moved to the mantel, running her index finger over Luca’s handsome face in the photo with his mother. If she was unhappy with her marriage, then it was time she did something about it and stopped being a doormat. What would Luca would do if, when he came home tonight, he found a note saying she’d gone to Paris for the weekend? Would he worry? Call her back immediately? Or not even notice she was gone? The phone rang and she raced to answer it.

  “Amore, I will be working very late and I have a breakfast meeting in the morning, so I will be staying at the flat in Milan tonight,” Luca said. “Sleep well, and I will see you tomorrow.”

  After hanging up, she released a loud moan of frustration, glad there was no one else in the house to hear her. Nope, this marriage wasn’t working. The question was, what was she going to do about it?

  • • •

  Sophia paid for the get-well-soon card and stamps and sat down at the village café to write a note to her mother so she could post it right away. James had called earlier in the week to say their mother hadn’t responded well to an initial cancer treatment, so the doctors were trying something else. It seemed pathetic to write a card to her own mother. A real daughter, a good daughter, would hop on a plane and go visit her. But she wasn’t ready yet—doubted she’d ever be—to see her parents again. Their lack of love and support had destroyed any connection she’d had with them as a child. So when Kathy Summers had attacked her, Sophia hadn’t turned to her parents. She’d left home and never looked back.

  “Sophia, do you need rescuing again?”

  She shielded her eyes from the
hot sun to see Jonathan standing in front of her.

  “No, I’m fine today. Sorry about last time. It was all rather awkward, wasn’t it? I’m glad to see you again, though. I wanted to thank you for the learn-to-speak-Italian books. They’ve been a great help.”

  The waitress chose that moment to ask what she wanted, and she ordered an iced coffee and biscotti in Italian.

  “You have improved,” Jonathan said, laughter in his eyes.

  “Grazie, would you like to join me? It would be nice to speak English with someone for a few minutes.”

  “If you think your husband won’t mind,” he answered but pulled out a chair anyway.

  “My husband doesn’t control who I speak with.”

  Jonathan placed his order with the hovering waitress, who Sophia guessed was trying to decipher their conversation. Teresa, the cleaner girl, walked by and called out a greeting.

  “You’re like a local,” Jonathan said as another couple waved to her.

  “I’ve ordered a few pieces of furniture and bought some other things from the village, so I guess people know who I am now.”

  “Do you know much about furniture and stuff?” Jonathan took a sip of his iced coffee.

  “Yes. I’ve just sent in my last assignment on my course. Provided I pass, I will be a certified interior designer. Of course, it’s a British certification, so I’m not sure how it will translate here in Italy.”

  “Would you be interested in taking on a client? I don’t care where your certificate comes from. I have no idea how to decorate and furnish my place. Bricks and plaster I can understand. But all those frilly bits scare me.”

  “Frilly bits are what makes a house a home. You need to get in touch with your feminine side.”

  “My feminine side walked out the door two years ago. And good riddance to her. What I need is someone else’s feminine side to guide me.”

  She searched his face. “Are you serious? You want to hire me?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But I barely speak Italian and don’t drive. My friend Isabella is thinking of helping me, but she’s busy for the next two weeks. She’s travelling with her husband on an international rugby tournament.”

  “You and Isabella are friends now?”

  “Yes, it was all a misunderstanding.”

  “Glad to hear it. Speaking of misunderstandings, your husband is a pretty powerful bloke around here. One word from him and I’ll never get another delivery of concrete or anyone to work for me. He’s not going to mind if you help me out?”

  “Oh no, Luca doesn’t care what I get up to during the day. As long as I’m available when he needs me to attend a business dinner, the rest of my time is my own.”

  Jonathan looked skeptical but shrugged. “Brilliant. I can drive wherever we need to go. As long as you don’t mind my old truck. How soon can you start?”

  “Right away. I just need to finish my letter and post it, then I’m all yours.”

  The waitress dropped a cup at the next table before scurrying back inside the café.

  “Wonder what flustered her?” Jonathan remarked.

  “I don’t know. Something I said?”

  She glanced back into the café to see all the patrons staring at her. Very odd.

  Chapter 8

  Luca put his feet up on the desk in his study, leaned back in the chair, and closed his eyes. Dio, he was tired. Everything took so much longer since his marriage. He had to read everything multiple times, focus twice as hard. If he didn’t, Sophia’s face would appear on the page in front of him and scatter his concentration.

  He’d tried staying away from the villa, hoping that not seeing his wife in person would lessen her influence. Yet each night he returned home, he felt her presence. Staying at his flat in Milan had also been a disaster, leaving him unable to sleep knowing Sophia was so far away.

  When they did spend time together, she would fidget and tidy things, move about the room as if trying to keep her distance from him. How could he make love to her if she could barely stand to be near him?

  He’d been living in purgatory for over three weeks. Something had to give. And soon.

  His eyes snapped open at a faint noise. He blinked, sure he had fallen asleep and was dreaming. Sophia stood in front of him, wearing only a lace-trimmed ivory camisole and silky shorts. Her hair was tousled and her face scrubbed clean of makeup. He’d never seen her more beautiful.

  “I didn’t hear you come home,” her voice was barely above a whisper, as if she was afraid to shatter the moment with words. “I came down to get water, lots of water. Vittore introduced me to limoncello and kept refilling my glass. I saw the light on in here … ” The words tumbled out of her mouth, and she kept staring at his throat. “You look tired,” she said almost to herself.

  Before he could respond, she moved behind his chair and started to massage his temples. He released the breath he hadn’t even been aware he was holding with a groan of pleasure. Her touch, tentative at first, became bolder as he relaxed.

  “I have been working on a presentation for Chet Wilkins. There is an abandoned village for sale a couple hours out of Teramo. If he buys it for his hotel, and I get the contract for the renovations, then my company is guaranteed work for several years. In this economy, that is very important,” he said. He wanted her to understand it was work that was keeping him from her, not a lack of interest.

  Her fingers ventured into his hair, massaging his scalp. He should tell Sophia to stop; her small hands were working wonders on reducing his tension level—but they were raising other parts of him.

  “I’d like to know more. What you do fascinates me. I can’t imagine bringing a whole village back to life,” she prompted.

  “Really?” Even his mother’s eyes had glazed over when he’d talked about his work. So he’d learned to not mention it with those outside the business so he didn’t bore them.

  “Yes. You rebuild parts of the past so future generations can enjoy them as well.”

  Sophia seemed genuinely interested. And he longed to let her into this part of his life, to draw closer to her, like a real married couple. Isabella had hated rugby when she’d met Dante. Now she followed him around the world and watched every game. Maybe if Sophia developed an appreciation of architectural restoration, she’d find him more interesting. Then she wouldn’t have to pretend so much when they were with others.

  “The village I want to show Chet has been abandoned for thirty years. All of the buildings are derelict, but the location is fantastic. It is surrounded by hills and the beautiful Adriatic coast is only a few miles away. It would make a perfect spa hotel, a luxury property where guests could have their own house for privacy.”

  “It sounds wonderful. But where is Teramo? I don’t recognize the name.”

  “It is almost six hours from here. But there is not so much work in this area now, and I have people relying on me for employment. I can weather a few lean years, but if work is available I cannot, in good faith, turn it down.”

  Her fingers stilled on his neck. Before she could pull away, he reached for her hands and drew her around in front of him. “What is wrong? Are you worried we will not have enough money?” Would she leave him if he lost the company? The tension she’d released with her massage came back twice as hard in his stomach.

  “No, I’ve lived with nothing before. I can do it again. It’s … ”

  “Tell me, Sophia. I am your husband. You can share your worries with me.” She squeezed his hands lightly but didn’t pull away. A lock of her hair slipped from behind her shoulder and caressed her face. He wanted to tuck it back behind her ear, but his hand refused to let go of hers.

  “It’s just that I barely see you now. If you take this job, I won’t see you at all.” There was a catch in her voice as she said the last words. His chest constricted, and he drew in a large breath to ease the tightness. Money didn’t matter to her, she wanted him.

  He stood and pulled her into his arms, resting
his chin at the top of her head. She didn’t resist or stiffen, and he reveled in her scent, the feel of her in his arms. “We will work something out. I would not leave you.”

  “I miss you, Luca.” She whispered the words and a lump formed in his throat. He’d brought her to his country and then virtually abandoned her. And she hadn’t once complained or demanded that he stay home. He was a terrible husband.

  She raised her face and he searched her eyes. The fake smile he’d come to loathe was gone. “I miss you, too. We must fix this mistake. We have not had a honeymoon. Why do we not go away this weekend?” He held his breath, waiting for her answer.

  Her eyes sparkled. “Sounds wonderful.”

  • • •

  Sophia had three days to get over herself—stop wanting what she couldn’t get and hold onto what she had. Luca was taking her up to romantic Lake Como on Friday night, and she’d be damned if she was coming back a virgin. She’d let the past control enough of her life. If she was going to move forward in her marriage, then she needed to get out of the yellow bedroom and into Luca’s.

  She pulled off her muddy gloves and wiped the sweat off her forehead with her arm. It was almost ten o’clock, and the sun had started to burn her fair skin. Vittore had allocated a small patch of the garden to her so she could try various flower combinations. The formal Italian garden, with its topiary and manicured lawns, was beautiful. But she wanted a tiny spot of wild abandon where flowers could grow free of borders and boundaries—able to touch each other in the gentle breeze, support each other in a fierce wind.

  Her mobile phone rang in her gardening bag, and she quickly dug it out. She didn’t get many calls. Isabella was still away with Dante at a rugby tournament and Olivia was at a modeling assignment in the Caribbean. She’d already spoken to James yesterday, so that eliminated all the usual callers. Maybe Jonathan was calling to change their appointment to go antique hunting in Bergamo.