“Because this is the start of a new life.”
His words seared something deep in her soul. He reached forward and lifted a silky negligee from the drawer, exquisite with lace trim and a dusky peach colour. Alessia’s cheeks felt warm as he held it out to her. “Your bags are downstairs,” he murmured huskily. “If you do not like this, Carlotta will unpack for you tomorrow.”
Mollified and far too distracted now to think about the suitcase of things she’d packed, she could only stare up at him, their eyes sparking in the soft light of the wardrobe.
He lifted a hand to her cheek, his touch soft, his eyes the darkest shade of brown, almost black. “How could you ever have thought…” his words trailed off into nothing, his expression dark.
She waited for him to finish, her breath held.
“How could you not have realised how much I wanted you?”
Dangerous feelings burst to life in her gut. Hope and pleasure, a sense of release and coming home, of vindication and pleasure – all of twenty-year-old Alessia’s dreams seemed to be slotting into place, but they were old dreams and Alessia no longer valued them.
Max had hurt her.
He’d hurt her again and again and he couldn’t say anything now to undo that. Perhaps he was telling the truth. Maybe he had felt something like desire for her – though she found it almost impossible to believe. He would need to have been made of marble not to have succumbed to her admittedly awkward but none the less persistent attempts at seduction! In which case, it was far more credible to believe he’d found her as desirable as three day old fish and was simply trying to make this marriage work now, given the necessity of it with the impending arrival of their daughter.
Her smile was tight, a bare acknowledgement of what he’d said. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“No.” He dropped his hand and took a step backwards, his features forming a mask that was more familiar – one of polite disinterest. That was the man she’d been married to. “You said you were tired?”
She had been – bone weary. But the shower and standing in such close proximity to him in the wardrobe had energised every single one of her senses. She nodded her agreement anyway.
“Would you like me to fetch you anything?”
She arched a brow, amusement surprising her from nowhere. She tamped down on it – it was far wiser not to let her guard down with Massimo in any way.
“Such as?” Her words were loaded with something approaching icy disdain.
“Water? Tea?”
His thoughtfulness threatened to unpick some of her reserve. She held onto it with effort. “I know my way to the kitchen if I need anything.”
He looked as though he wanted to argue but he didn’t. Instead, he nodded and moved to the door, his eyes holding hers for a moment before he stepped out, leaving her in peace.
Their clothes were hung side by side. It was a small detail but a new intimacy, one they’d never observed in their first marriage. She’d had her room and he’d had his. Seeing beautiful dresses and skirts nestled against his suits weakened all her good intentions and in solitude, she allowed that, softening just for a moment as she ran her fingers over their clothes, the fabrics soft beneath her touch. Her hand stilled on a work shirt of his and she pulled it from the rack before she could realise what she was doing. It was starched, obviously top quality, but that wasn’t what drew her attention. It had a fine silver thread through it that was instantly familiar. He’d been wearing this – or a shirt just like it – on the day they’d signed the divorce papers. Her heart pounded at this physical talisman of that painful day and salty tears filled her eyes unexpectedly.
She wasn’t that girl anymore. She’d done so much since then, changed so completely. She’d graduated her medical degree and got a job working at a clinic in Ondechiara. She’d volunteered in Morocco each summer, helping immunise children and treat street kids. She’d kept herself busy since their divorce as a survival technique but from that she’d grown so much.
One day – no matter how momentous – shouldn’t still have the power to upset her. She pushed the shirt back quickly and pulled a drawer out instead. Eventually she found some t-shirts, all designer, each with delicate fabric and beads, none of which would be comfortable to sleep in. Stifling a yawn, she grabbed for one of his work shirts instead, a large white one, and pulled it on, buttoning it up to the neck before adding a pair of silk underpants beneath it. Alessia was by no means short but Massimo had the height advantage by at least two inches so the shirt fitted like a comfortable nightgown. Perfect.
She pulled her hair over one shoulder and padded into the bedroom. The lights were out, and Massimo was lying in the bed, on his back. Her own lamp remained on, so it was easy to see the tall glass of water he’d placed there. Her heart skipped a beat and she gave it a stern, silent admonishment as she pulled the covers back.
It was too tempting to look at him – impossible not to. Her eyes feasted on his bronzed body before she could stop herself, the cotton of his boxer shorts doing nothing to hide his virility and masculinity, her eyes landing there as her blood threatened to explode through her body. Feelings of need suffocating anything else. Good intentions be damned. Memories of their night in London exploded through her. Heaven help me, this is going to be a long marriage.
“Do you like what you see, bella cara?”
His words were teasing but his tone was not. It was rich with the same needs that were eating her alive. She dragged her eyes away, up the ridges of his abdomen, over hair-roughened nipples to a face that could have been carved from granite.
Helplessness was rich in her features. He held a hand out to her, his eyes promising her the world, but she stayed where she was, as though her feet were glued to the spot.
“I’m not –,” she swallowed, not sure what she’d been intending to say.
“It is our wedding night.”
Her heart skipped a beat, but the words simultaneously evoked painful memories of their first wedding night, when all of her expectations and excited anticipation had been torn into shreds. “Wedding nights don’t mean very much though, do they?” It broke the spell. She sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, careful not to brush his outstretched hand, her back to him. She took a sip of water, placed the glass carefully back on the coaster and then lay down, her body right on the edge of the mattress, her eyes fixed on the wall across from her.
His heavy sigh brushed her back.