Latin Lovers: Italian Husbands: The Italian's Bought Bride / The Italian Playboy's Secret Son / The Italian Doctor's Perfect Family

‘So do I.’

More silence, and Allegra longed to say something, but she didn’t know what it was. What did you say to someone you’d been planning on spending the rest of your life with? Having his children?

Loving him?

What did you say to someone who had never loved you back, who had planned to marry you for your name and your status and nothing else?

What did you say to someone who had broken your heart?

‘Goodbye,’ she finally said quietly, and put down the telephone.

In the end, it was remarkably easy to hand off her few cases. Since she freelanced, her work wasn’t permanent anyway, and within a week she’d cleared her desk, sublet her flat and packed two suitcases with the things she thought she’d need.

It was strange and a bit disturbing to realize how easily she’d dismantled her life, a life she’d built with her own sweat and tears over the last seven years. None of it had been easy, and yet now, for the present, it was gone.

It was a cloudy day in mid-September, the leaves drifting down in lazy circles under a wispy blue sky, when Stefano arranged to pick her up.

Allegra waited outside since it was warm, felt nerves leap to life as she gazed down Camberwell Road for the first sign of Stefano’s luxurious black car.

When it finally pulled sleekly into view, she was calm, focussed on the firm purpose of her journey and its destination.

Stefano exited the car. He was dressed in a dark suit, a mobile phone pressed to his ear, and his manner was so abrupt and impersonal that any anxiety Allegra had felt about seeing him again since their kiss trickled shamefacedly away.

At the moment, he looked as if he didn’t even remember her, much less their kiss. She wondered if he’d spared it a moment’s thought, while she’d given it several hours’ confused contemplation.

Stefano was still on his phone as the driver put her bags in the boot and Allegra climbed into the car.

They pulled away from her street, her home, her life, and Stefano hadn’t even said hello.

Twenty minutes into their journey, Stefano finally finished his conversation.

‘I apologise,’ he said. ‘It was a business call.’

‘So it would seem.’

He smiled, his eyes glinting with a rare humour. ‘I told Bianca about your arrival, and she’s looking forward to meeting you. You’re providing a new hope for all of us, Allegra.’

Allegra nodded. ‘Just remember there are no guarantees, no promises.’

‘No, but there aren’t with anything in life, are there?’ He spoke lightly, yet Allegra heard an undercurrent of bitterness, saw it flash across his face. Was he referring to something else? Their own disappointed dreams?

She gave herself a little shake and gazed out of the window as they came on to the motorway. She had to stop reading innuendo and remembrance into every word Stefano said.

The past was forgotten.

It felt like a prayer.

They took a private jet to Rome. Allegra realized she should have expected no less, yet the blatant, if understated, display of Stefano’s wealth and power awed her.

‘Are you richer now than seven years ago?’ she asked curiously when they were seated on the plane, the leather seats huge and luxurious.

Stefano glanced at her over the edge of his newspaper. A bit.’

‘I know my father was wealthy,’ Allegra said, ‘but, to tell you the truth, I don’t feel I saw much of it.’

‘You were comfortable?’ Stefano asked, his eyebrows raised, and Allegra laughed.

‘Yes, of course. Trust me, I’m not giving you some poor little rich girl story.’ She shrugged. ‘I just saw very little of life, and I think that’s why I was so swept away when I met you.’

‘I see.’ His voice was neutral, betraying no indication of agreement.

Allegra gazed out of the window. The plane was rising above the grey fog that covered London and a bright, hard blue sky stretched endlessly around them.

She had a strange urge to talk about the past, even though she knew there was no point, no purpose. She wanted to exorcise it, to show Stefano how little it mattered, how utterly over it she was.

It was a childish impulse, she knew, and worse, she wasn’t even sure if she could pull it off.

Yet what was there to talk about? What was there to say, that hadn’t been said that night?

Do you love me?

What more is there?

Even if their marriage hadn’t been a business arrangement, Allegra knew, it wouldn’t have been a good match. It wouldn’t have made her happy. Stefano hadn’t loved her, not in a real or worthwhile way. He’d only thought of her as a possession, something to be protected and provided for, tucked on a shelf. Taken care of.

Nothing else, nothing equal or giving or real about it.

And he’d shown her in a thousand tiny ways since then that he was the same. Thought the same, loved the same, which really wasn’t love at all.

Worthless.

Allegra turned back to Stefano. He was reading the paper, his head bent, his legs crossed.

‘You have a flat in Rome,’ she said. ‘Which part?’

He glanced up, smiling at her faintly, the glint in his eyes making Allegra feel as if he were simply humouring her. ‘Parioli, near the Villa Borghese.’

‘I’ve never actually been to Rome,’ she admitted, a bit embarrassed by her own inexperience. Her life in Italy had consisted of home and convent school, summers at their villa by the lake, and nothing more.

‘I’d show you the sights, if we had the time,’ Stefano said.

‘We’ll leave for Abruzzo right away?’

‘Tomorrow. I have a business dinner tonight. A social occasion.’ He paused, his gaze sliding away from hers. ‘Perhaps you would care to come with me.’

Allegra stiffened, felt the confusion of conflicting emotions. Alarm, surprise, pleasure. ‘Why?’ she asked. Her question was blunt but necessary.

Stefano raised his eyebrows. ‘Why not? Most people bring dates and I don’t have one.’