Ten minutes later he was downstairs, pouring himself and Matteo a glass of wine, his eyes dutifully scanning the guest list.
But his mind was elsewhere.
After they had made love Imma had fallen asleep, but he had been too restless to doze off. Lying next to her soft, naked body had been impossible too, so he’d got dressed and wandered down to the town for the early-evening passeggiata.
He’d been wandering through the square, past the cafes and bars, stopping occasionally to greet people, when he’d seen it.
It was the first dress, the first anything, he’d ever bought for a woman.
His mother didn’t count.
He hadn’t blinked—just walked in through the door of the boutique and walked out again five minutes later, with the box under his arm and a stupid grin on his face.
It was only now that he was wondering why he’d felt the need to get her a gift. Why he was suddenly so keyed up, so desperate to see her happy.
But wasn’t it obvious?
She’d been upset, in tears, and he’d felt guilty. Great. He could add it to the teetering pile of guilt he already carried around.
His breath scraped his throat as he remembered their conversation.
Imma thought he was an amazing businessman. A self-made man. The pride of his family. What a joke. She’d been closer to the mark when she’d accused him of living a charade.
His whole life was a charade. And the worst part was that his father—the one person who had known his weaknesses, his flaws—had lost his life playing along with it.
He wanted to tell her the truth, but he couldn’t bear the idea of losing the respect and trust he’d gained. So now he was trapped in yet another charade.
Only how long would it be before he messed up and she saw him for what he really was? It was only a matter of when, and how, and in the meantime there was nothing he could do but wait for things to fall apart.
‘Any problems, boss?’
Glancing at Matteo, he shook his head. He’d barely looked at the names on the guest list, but frankly he didn’t care who was going to the party as long as Imma was there.
His stomach knotted.
He wanted to show her that he wasn’t just a playboy who used his hotel as a private clubhouse. Okay, it was true that if Ciro had been running the business he would have already turned it into a global chain of luxury hotels. But his business was about more than world domination.
It was about people. Treating people like VIPs. And tonight he wanted to make Imma feel special.
He wanted her to enjoy herself. To relax, to laugh, to smile. More specifically, he wanted her to turn that sweet, shy smile his way.
‘It all looks great, Matteo.’
The two men stood up and Vicè clapped his manager on the shoulder.
Matteo grinned. ‘Okay, capo. I’ll catch up with y—’ He stopped midsentence, his mouth hanging open.
Turning, Vicè did the same. Imma was hovering in the doorway, biting her lip. Her hair was in some kind of chignon, and with her smoky eye make-up and glossy lips she looked as if she’d wandered off the set of a Fellini film.
And then there was her dress.
Beside him, Matteo whistled softly. ‘I’ll leave you to it, boss.’
He skirted past Imma, smiling, and Vicè heard the soft click of the door.
She turned, the smile she had given Matteo still on her face. ‘Could you finish zipping me up, please?’
‘Of course.’ Finding his voice, he crossed the room. ‘There—done.’