When she’d tried on the gown—a silk slip dress that fell to the floor, with delicate ribbons for sleeves and a neckline that revealed just a hint of cleavage, in a colour that was silver, like wet sand in the moonlight—she had wondered if she’d ever wear it. It made a little too much of her assets, showing off her rounded breasts, her neat waist and gently swollen hips, her rounded bottom. She hadn’t thought she’d ever want to draw attention to herself, the kind of attention a dress like this demanded. And she still didn’t want attention. At least, not from the crowds, not from random strangers. But from her husband?
Heat took over the ice in her body as she imagined Luca’s response to the dress. For him, this was worth it.
She slid her feet into heels, the red soles just visible as she walked, grabbed a clutch purse from her dressing table and checked it for the essentials—phone, credit card, lipstick—then made her way to the top of the stairs. Purely by happenstance, the front door opened as she reached the landing, so she had a moment to observe Luca without his knowledge. He’d changed at the office, into a jet-black tuxedo and snowy white shirt, a black bow tie at his neck. It was a completely appropriate outfit and yet his primal, raw energy made a mockery of the formality of his tuxedo. Even the suit couldn’t hide the fact that he had a latent energy just waiting to be expelled. Her heart leaped in instant recognition, moving from its position in her chest and somehow taking up almost all the space within her body, so its rapid beating was all she was conscious of.
She placed her hand on the railing to steady herself, her wedding ring glinting in the evening light. She stared at it for a moment—for courage?—then began to move down the stairs.
Since when had her wedding ring become an object of strength? Initially she’d viewed it as a mark of possession, something she’d resented almost as much as the necessity of this marriage, and now she took comfort from it? Olivia didn’t want to analyse that—she could barely acknowledge it to herself—as though she knew danger lurked somewhere behind the realisation, a danger she didn’t want to face.
Luca placed his wallet and phone on the hall stand when a slight movement caught his eye and he turned, chasing it down before anticipating that it might be Olivia. One look at her and the world stopped spinning, all the breath in his body burst from him, and his eyes seemed incapable of leaving her.
She was—there was no way to describe her. ‘Beautiful’ was a word he’d used before, to describe other women at other times, so there was no way he could apply it to Olivia now, because she was more magnificent, breathtaking and overwhelmingly stunning than he’d ever known a woman could be. Her eyes held his as she moved down the stairs, and with each step she took it was as though an invisible cord formed between them, knotting, putting them together inexorably, unavoidably, until she reached the bottom of the stairs and then they were both moving, his strides long and determined to her elegant.
They stopped a few feet apart. He stopped, because he wanted to be able to see her properly, and she stopped because she hesitated. Her eyes clouded with something like uncertainty. As though she sought reassurance. Surely not. Olivia had to know that she was the most spectacular woman who’d ever walked the earth.
‘What do you think?’ she asked after a moment, her eyes almost pleading with him to reassure her.
A frown pulled at Luca’s mouth. What was he missing? Her hand lifted, self-consciously running over her hair, and he remembered her disclosure about the time she’d applied make-up and done her hair, for her twelfth birthday party, and her mother had overreacted. She’d never dressed up again.
Not until now.
His gut twisted at his insensitivity, at the momentousness of this night, and he ached to reassure her and comfort her, but his own body was still in a sense of shock at the sight of Olivia, so it took him a few moments longer than he would have liked.
‘I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate.’ She dug her teeth into her perfect, bright red lower lip and every part of him tightened. He wanted to cancel the whole damned night. He wanted to throw her over his shoulder and take her back upstairs to bed, to strip the dress from her body and destroy her perfectly curled hair, to run his fingers through it until the curls were untidy and her make-up was smudged from passion. He wanted...but that was precisely the lack of control he wouldn’t allow into this marriage. It was the reason he’d been forcing himself to stick to his regular work schedule, to limit their time together. It would be so easy to forget the terms of their marriage, to allow himself to want more of Olivia, and he would never put himself in that position again. He established the boundaries of his life. He relied on no one. He loved no one. Jayne had taught him well there, and it was a lesson he never intended to forget.
‘You are perfect,’ he said, the word coming to him out of nowhere. But it was the right way to describe her. He reached out, running the back of his hand over her hair. She swept her eyes shut, impossibly long lashes forming half-crescents against her cheeks.
‘Not too much?’
‘Perfect,’ he said again.
‘I wasn’t sure.’
Her insecurity made him simultaneously sorry for her and furious on her behalf. How could a twenty-four-year-old woman be so unsure of herself? Her mother had failed Olivia completely. She’d been denied all opportunities to experiment socially and to explore herself, so that she might know who and what she was. And yet, somehow, Olivia had come out of it as socially adept and fascinating as anyone he’d ever known. It was only her looks that made Olivia uncomfortable, as though by dressing to attract attention she was stepping into an unknown arena, one she’d prefer not to occupy.
‘You will be the most beautiful woman in the room tonight.’ And every night, he silently added.
Ambivalence flared inside Olivia. There was pleasure at his praise, his obvious admiration, but there was also a deep sense of guilt, as though she were betraying her mother. She offered a tight smile, then looked to the door. ‘Should we go?’
His eyes held hers for a beat too long. ‘Sì. And we will stay only as long as is absolutely necessary.’
There was promise in those words and it fired heat deep within her, pushing everything else aside.
Olivia was aware of Luca on a cell-deep level in every minute that passed, from the moment they exited the house until they arrived at a restaurant across from the gold-lit Coliseum, the ancient stadium taking Olivia’s breath away for a moment. She wasn’t aware of the photographers standing in a roped-off area to the side of the doors—she was, briefly, not even fully aware of Luca, as she stood and gaped at the sight, surrounded by the hum of evening traffic, so stately and terrific, her heart trembling as she imagined the scenes of terror that had been played out, while simultaneously admiring the craftsmanship of creating such an epic space.
‘Have you ever toured it?’ His breath fanned her cheek, bringing her back to the moment with a rush.
She shook her head. ‘We didn’t have time when I came as a child.’
‘And this week you have been far too busy with the Pope,’ Luca teased, reaching down and weaving their fingers together. It was such a natural gesture, Olivia had to remind herself it was all completely for show.
‘That’s right. Though perhaps next week,’ she said, and then, with a small frown furrowing her brows, ‘Definitely before I leave Rome.’
It was like the setting of a stopwatch, or perhaps simply reminding them of the incessant ticking of time in the background of their lives.
They were halfway into this marriage of theirs. Two weeks down, two weeks to go. She glanced up at him but his expression gave nothing away.
Whatever she’d been about to say flew from her mind as a photographer’s bulb flashed close by and instinctively Olivia flinched closer to Luca.