She looked up at the waiter who had approached to take their order. ‘The chicken breast in marsala cream,’ she told him. ‘With pommes parmentier and buttered green beans.’
She closed the menu decisively as Salvatore gave his own order, and then named the champagne he’d selected. Lana felt her mood lift. There was a definite upside to what she’d done—and it wasn’t just because of the mortgage she was going to be free of. She’d also be free of her constant near-starvation diet. That was a definite bonus.
Moments later, when the champagne arrived, she all but thrust her glass out to be filled. Alcohol was a calorific luxury in itself.
As the beaded bubbles blinked at her, gently fizzing in the flute, and the waiter slipped away, Salvatore raised his own glass. ‘To a successful partnership,’ he said.
His voice was still brisk, but there was something else in it too. A lighter tone. Slight, but discernible.
She lifted her lass, keen to taste the champagne. As she took a careful sip, savouring the soft mousse, a warning came to her.
All this is temporary—nothing more than that. Don’t ever forget it.
It was a timely reminder. Everything about the life she had just stepped into was temporary.
Of their own volition her eyes flickered to the man opposite her, casually tasting the uber-expensive vintage champagne.
Including him.
As her eyes rested on him, on his looks as lethal as the rest of him, she knew with a slight tightening of the breath in her lungs that that was what she must remember most of all.
Salvatore heard the landing gear release and felt the plane move into its approach path to Fiumicino. Beside him in First Class his new bride sat, absorbed in looking out of the window.
‘Have you been to Rome before?’ he asked. It was something he would be expected to know about the woman he was going to present to the world as his new bride.
His mood darkened. In a very short while they would be in Rome, and the reality of what he’d done was hitting home. A woman who was all but a stranger was to be regarded by everyone as if she really was the woman he wanted to spend his life with—as if a whirlwind romance had indeed taken place. That was the fiction he had to make Giavanna and Roberto believe—and everyone else would have to believe it too. Including his friends. And his household. Everyone who knew him.
They’ll believe a lie.
And, whilst he might not care over-deeply about what Giavanna and her father believed, it was different when it came to his friends, to those who knew him well...
Impatiently he pushed the unwelcome thought aside. What was done was done—now he just had to ensure it would work. And if that made him less than relaxed...well, so be it. The situation was inherently stressful, and that was all there was to it.
‘A few times,’ came the answer, and Lana turned her head to look at him as he addressed her. ‘Fashion shoots. But I never have time to see the places I go to—just fly in and out.’
‘Well, you’ll have time now,’ he replied. Briskly, he went on, ‘We’ll spend long enough here socialising to show you off—send the message to Giavanna and her father—and then I’ll take you off to Tuscany, to the family palazzo. Officially we’ll be on our honeymoon, so we won’t have to entertain.’
The welcome thought lifted his mood. At the palazzo he could relax. They could both relax. And there, with Lana at his side, away from everyone else, with nothing to distract him, he could finally focus on her and her stunning beauty exclusively.
It was a pleasing prospect...
The stewardess was gliding by, inspecting their seat belts, interrupting his pleasing thoughts about life with Lana in Tuscany away from the world’s eye.
Moments later the plane was on the ground, and shortly after that they were heading into Rome. During the drive he double-checked with his new bride just what she was to tell the people he introduced her to about how they had met and why they had married so precipitately. It was essential their story was convincing.
His eyes slid to Lana, sitting in the spacious passenger seat beside him, long legs elegantly slanted, her stunning beauty effortless in her well-cut wedding outfit, and he remembered how he’d given her a lift back to her flat after the fashion show party. She’d caught at his senses then, just as she was doing now.
His thoughts lingered a moment, then refocussed on what he still needed to tell her.
‘We’ll have this evening to ourselves, to allow you to settle in, but tomorrow we are lunching with friends of mine and I will introduce you then. That will serve to start the spread of the word.’
He gave her a brief rundown on them, and then moved on to the next essential item on his list.
‘As my wife, you’ll need a wardrobe to match your position, so use this time in Rome to go shopping.’ His eyes glanced at her again in the passing streetlight now fitfully illuminating the car’s spacious interior. ‘You chose well for today,’ he allowed.
‘Thank you,’ she answered evenly. ‘It seemed to fit the bill. I’ve got something with me that I have in mind for lunch tomorrow. It’s not this season—models don’t get given those—but it’s by an English designer, so not likely to be something your friends will have seen. Would that work?’
‘I’m sure it will,’ Salvatore replied.