Cesare had assumed the old man knew where Ida was though he’d claimed not to. He’d probably supported her, laughing up his sleeve as he watched Cesare contend with the far-fetched rumours about his missing wife.
Yet Ida had said she’d worked as a cleaner for four years. It made no sense. She was Calogero’s golden charm, his way into the elite society he’d been jealous of all these years. He’d have been delighted with her for marrying Cesare. She had no reason to hide from him.
Cesare needed to get to the bottom of the mystery. Because therewasa mystery.
Cesare rolled onto his side, watching the woman asleep in his bed.
She was an enigma. Feisty and strong yet vulnerable.
Her virginity had been a total surprise and it altered his view of her.
Lack of sexual experience doesn’t mean she was truly an innocent. There was nothing innocent about marrying a man for money and prestige. Or being party to blackmail.
Calogero had made much of his granddaughter’s innocence. Maybe that was why she’d still been a virgin, because she knew some men prized that.
The thought stirred nausea.
Yet the woman he’d met yesterday—was it only yesterday?—wasn’t the one he remembered.
In London Ida had been angry and abrasive, unimpressed to see him and impatient to end their marriage.
Cesare’s thoughts slowed. That had been a blow to his ego. But it didn’t explain the compulsion he’d felt, theneedfor her. That predated London.
She’d shown a strength and determination he hadn’t noticed before. She’d been open and, as far as he could tell, utterly authentic, both in her dislike of him and later when sharing her body.
Heat beat through his blood at the memory of Ida’s soft gasps, that pleased purr and the shocked cries of delight as she’d found her peak. He’d revelled in them all. They’d roused him to a point where pleasure became pain as he tried to keep control.
Cesare had seen Ida’s surprise at her own responses and knew the woman in his bed hadn’t been playing a game. She’d seemed shocked at her own capacity for pleasure.
Cesare knew he’d finally met the real Ida.
In Rome and before, in her grandfather’s home, he’dfelther constraint and understood she was careful with her responses to him.
He’d known the woman who’d agreed to marry him was a façade, a construct made to appear as a sweet, appealing fiancée. There’d been a deep reserve about her and the glances she’d shot her grandfather made it clear she took her lead from Calogero.
In London yesterday Cesare had again sensed constraint, and an unwillingness to let him into her world. She’d built walls around herself.
But in Tuscany something had shifted. Had the walls fallen? Or was Ida allowing him carefully curated glimpses of herself, projecting some new image? Was she playing an even deeper game than before? Having seen women string his father along, he knew about female manipulation.
Cesare sighed. He knew better than to think that because Ida surprised him and he liked what he’d discovered, everything had changed.
He’d never let attraction blur caution or common sense. He’d seen the debacle his father had made of his life, seduced by sex, his judgement flawed, the results disastrous.
He needed the truth about Ida. The more he understood, the greater the possibility of uncovering more ammunition against Calogero. But mainly because this felt like unfinished business between him and Ida.
The sheet had fallen low over her shoulder and Cesare pulled it up, brushing the cool flesh of her back. Instantly she rolled closer.
Cesare stilled, then after a moment’s hesitation hauled her to him.
It felt surprisingly good, having her snuggle up. He rarely spent the night with a lover, not wanting to raise expectations of permanency.
This wasn’t permanent. Even if, for a while longer, his lover was Ida Brunetti, his wife.
Strange how after years of negative thoughts, the idea of this woman bound with him in marriage didn’t spark instant rejection.
It had to be because the end was in sight. Divorce papers signed, Calogero’s hold on the company gone and the man himself heading towards a criminal trial, though he didn’t know it yet.
As Cesare relaxed, drawing in the alluring scent of sated woman and spring flowers, realisation hit.