‘I agree.’ Daniele joined the conversation. He draped his arm casually around Paloma’s shoulders and she wanted so badly to lean into him and kiss his hard jaw. ‘I hope I can be forgiven for planning a surprise for my wife that I believe will make her happy,’ he murmured.
Paloma longed to rip off his sunglasses and reveal his expression that might give a clue to his thoughts. Was he sending her an underlying message that he was prepared to forgive her for keeping her virginity a secret? He was impossible to read, she thought despairingly.
‘You should have discussed a honeymoon with me. I don’t see the need for one,’ Paloma told Daniele later when they were driven away from the castle in a car that had the Prince’s royal flag flying from the bonnet. Following the wedding, she had intended to return to the palazzo and stay out of the public eye. Her grandfather’s death that had made her a hugely wealthy heiress and now her marriage to Italy’s foremost entrepreneur had caused a media frenzy. When the car drove through the castle gates, there was a flurry of camera flashbulbs from the waiting paparazzi.
‘The board of trustees would think it odd if we did not follow convention and go away for a short honeymoon. Our marriage needs to appear to be real,’ Daniele reminded her. His coolness shattered Paloma’s fragile hope that he had planned a trip because he genuinely wanted to make her happy, as he had told Prince Dragan. Her expression must have revealed that she felt hurt, for Daniele said curtly, ‘We both knew the rules of the game before we started playing.’
As soon as they boarded the plane, he opened his laptop and was evidently engrossed in work for the short flight. Paloma pretended to flick through a magazine, but inside she felt like an emotional pressure cooker. After the plane had landed and they walked towards the domestic flights arrivals hall, she saw through a window a crowd of photographers waiting for them. Her steps slowed and she gave Daniele a despairing look.
‘I can’t do this. I can’t pretend in front of a bunch of journalists that we are madly in love when the truth is that our marriage is a sham.’
‘It’s all right,cara. You won’t have to face the cameras.’ The unexpected gentleness in his voice tore at Paloma’s heart. She did not know what was happening when Daniele led her down a corridor and into a small room. ‘Fortunately, you are wearing trousers,’ he said, running his eyes over her white culottes that she’d teamed with an ecru-coloured silk top. ‘You look very beautiful, by the way. But it could have been a flaw in my plan if you had worn a dress.’
She was even more perplexed when he handed her a motorbike helmet and a leather jacket. ‘I assumed we would catch a connecting flight to our honeymoon destination.’ It had seemed likely that Daniele had arranged for them to spend their honeymoon at a fashionable resort, perhaps in Monaco or further afield on one of the Caribbean islands where the paparazzi flocked to snap pictures of celebrities. Such places were Paloma’s idea of hell.
Daniele had pulled on his crash helmet and there was no chance for her to ask more questions. They exited the airport building through a back door, and the motorbike was parked outside. She guessed that one of Daniele’s ex-army friends had been involved in the plan that allowed them to drive away from the airport without attracting the media’s attention.
Once they left the city, the lush scenery of Tuscany was spread out as far as the eye could see. Verdant green fields scattered with scarlet poppies, hints of yellow where the sunflowers were beginning to bloom, groves of gnarled olive trees and tall cypress trees lining the roadside like sentinels, all beneath a cobalt-blue sky. Sitting on the back of the bike, Paloma wrapped her arms around Daniele’s waist and clung to him tightly while a kaleidoscope of colourful images flashed past. Her heart lifted even more when they drew up in front of his farmhouse. Hidden in a valley between two hills, it had to be one of the most peaceful places on earth.
‘I thought you would appreciate disappearing from public view for a while,’ he said when he opened the door and stood back to allow her to precede him into the cool hallway. ‘If we had gone to a hotel or holiday resort, we would have had the media circus follow us.’ He frowned when she did not say anything. ‘But if it is too quiet here for your liking, we can go somewhere else.’
Paloma stepped into the kitchen filled with late afternoon sunshine that danced across the terracotta floor tiles. The copper pans on hooks above the range gleamed and the scent of beeswax polish hung in the air. ‘I love the farmhouse,’ she said softly. ‘I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.’ Or anyone she would rather be with. The thought hit her like a thunderbolt and filled her with panic at the realisation that she could so easily fall in love with Daniele.
She quickly moved away from him and filled the coffee machine with water simply so that she had something to occupy her mind and hands, but she was conscious that his speculative gaze lingered on her.
‘Good,’ he murmured. ‘I have always found the serenity of this place cathartic. A lot has happened to you in a short space of time and I’m sure you miss your grandfather. Plus, I can keep you safe here.’
‘I am not your responsibility.’ She bit her lip. ‘Nonno should not have put that on you.’
Daniele shrugged. ‘You are my wife and that makes you my responsibility.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I have a few things to do. The files you asked to see regarding Morante Group’s business structure and reports by the chief operating officer and other department managers are in the sitting room. If you want to take a look through them, I’ll try to answer any questions you might have later.’
Her grandfather’s company and charitable foundation were the reason she was married to a lump of granite, Paloma reminded herself when she saw the daunting pile of reports on the coffee table. But she was soon engrossed in reading the history of the company, some of which she already knew, of how Marcello Morante had saved the leather goods business and restored the family’s fortune from near bankruptcy brought about by his father’s wild lifestyle of drinking and gambling. Her great-grandfather and her father, Roberto, must have had similar characters, she thought ruefully. But she took after Nonno, and she was inspired by him. She was prepared to work hard to make sure that Morante Group and the Morante Foundation continued to flourish under her leadership.
Some while later, Paloma’s stomach rumbled, and she went to the kitchen to prepare dinner. Through the window, she saw Daniele chopping logs to fuel the range cooker. He had stripped off his shirt, and his tanned torso glistened with sweat as he lifted the axe and swung it down again. His actions were controlled, and with every swing of the axe, his biceps bulged.
Paloma’s mouth ran dry as she watched him, remembering how indescribably good it had felt when he’d lowered his muscular body onto her and made love to her with powerful thrusts. Desire flooded hot and urgent between her legs. When Daniele put down the axe and stepped into the kitchen, she was conscious that her pebble-hard nipples were visible beneath her silky top.
She dropped her gaze from his, but not before she’d caught the gleam in his amber eyes. Lion’s eyes. For an instant, his face tightened in a predatory expression, before he turned away and picked up a towel to wipe his hands.
‘I heard a car earlier,’ she mumbled as she concentrated on chopping tomatoes to make a sauce.
‘A friend who knows to keep our location secret brought our luggage from the airport. I took your bags upstairs.’ He leaned his hip against the table and watched her assemble olives, onions and basil for spaghetti marinara.
‘I found some fresh prawns in the fridge that I plan to add to the sauce.’
‘You don’t have to do all the cooking.’
‘I do if I don’t want steak and eggs for dinner.’ Paloma’s heart missed a beat when he suddenly grinned.
‘You remembered that my culinary skills are limited.’
She remembered every tiny snippet of information she had gleaned about him. It wasn’t much. Daniele was as much of a mystery as he had always been, and the reality that he was almost a stranger hurt more than it should.
‘I’ll go and shower before dinner.’ He sauntered out of the door, and minutes later, Paloma heard the sound of the shower from upstairs. She wouldnotpicture Daniele naked, or imagine that they were on a real honeymoon, and she would join him in the shower to play out one of her erotic fantasies where she smoothed a bar of soap over every inch of his magnificent body.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked when he returned to the kitchen. ‘You look flushed.’
‘It’s from the steam when I drained the pasta,’ she lied.