The Italians: Alessandro, Luca & Dizo: Alessandro's Prize / In a Storm of Scandal / Italian Groom, Princess Bride

‘Can’t we at least try to resolve our break-up?’

She met his gaze squarely. ‘It is resolved. As in finito, finished, over. With not a hope in hell of reconciliation.’

He leant forward in an earnest attempt to redeem himself. ‘We shared a great life in Sydney. Surely you can accept I’ve—’

‘Realized the error of your ways, James?’

‘Yes. I swear.’

‘No.’

His expression hardened. ‘That’s your final word?’

‘Yes. Absolutely. Beyond doubt,’ Lily added with emphasis, in the hope he would finally get it.

He sat back in his chair. ‘Then you leave me no choice.’

She measured him carefully. ‘The only sensible choice you could make is to return to Australia.’

‘You’re going to pay, big time,’ he vowed with ill-disguised vengeance. ‘I’ve prepared a comprehensive list, waiting to be emailed to my lawyer to file suit to sue.’

‘Which no lawyer will touch, given you lived in my home, for which you failed to contribute so much as a cent.’

‘There’s breach of promise, loss of future benefits, expenses incurred, to name a few. I’m entitled to half your income for the time we were together, the loss of a home in which I expected to reside as your husband. Not to mention a comparable sum to compensate for my grief and heartache resulting in my inability to continue working.’

He really imagined he would succeed? When she had proof to negate any claim he made?

‘A cool two million should do it.’

He was out of his mind.

Don’t lose it, she bade silently. Anger on her part would only feed the fire.

Lily looked at James, the man she had once thought she loved and planned to marry, and wondered how she could have made such an error in judgment—been so wrong.

All along James had wanted her for what she had. A person with whom he could share a cruisy life, and enjoy sexual satiation outside the sanctity of his marriage.

What she’d thought was affection and love was merely an image she’d conjured that had little basis in reality. He’d played a part she’d believed to be genuine … and it hadn’t been. Their marriage, if she’d gone ahead with it, wouldn’t have lasted long. His indiscretions would eventually have come to light, and she’d have filed for divorce.

With enforced calm she stood, collected her shoulder bag, and fastened his truculent gaze with her own. ‘Good luck with that. Be aware I’ll counter sue,’ she added with deadly resolve.

If there was going to be a legal battle, then she’d need to be prepared. An email to her lawyer outlining James’s threatened intention would clarify legal right under Australian law.

The dinner shift was even more hectic, if that were possible, than lunch had been, and there was a sense of relief to finish up at evening’s end and drive home.

The apartment was silent, and she reset the security system, tossed her keys onto the table, followed them with her shoulder bag, and headed for the shower.

It was late, it had been a long day, and bed had rarely seemed more welcome. Yet she took her time, letting the hot water ease tired muscles before drying off and donning sleepwear.

Then she retrieved her laptop, logged on, checked emails, composed one to her lawyer, and pressed ‘Send'. With the differing time zones, he’d receive it during Sydney business hours and she’d have a response within twenty-four hours.

Surprisingly she slept well, and woke feeling refreshed. Perhaps it was because it was her day off, the knowledge James, now he’d shown his hand, would leave Milan, especially her, and life would return to normal.

A spur-of-the-moment decision to do some exploring on her own added enthusiasm to the day, and with the aid of a map she sorted out a picturesque route, ate a hasty breakfast, then she caught up her keys and took the lift down to the lobby.

It was cool … OK, cold, although the sky looked clear as she slid in behind the wheel of her car and began heading south west.

There was a yen to wander the Piazza della Vetra linking San Lorenzo to Sant’Eustorgio. She recalled her mother relaying historic events linked to the area, the beautiful churches, and she had the day, the time, and there was a sense of freedom in having no set plan, other than to return to her apartment by sunset.

Music emitted from a disc she slotted into the player, upbeat and mood-elevating, and she smiled, really smiled for the first time in a while.

There was a small trattoria where she pulled over and ordered lunch, lingered over a latte, then just as she was about to leave the insistent peal of her cell-phone caught her attention.

Alessandro appeared on caller ID, and she picked up. ‘Hi.’

She sounded happy, and he leaned back in his chair as he idly viewed the city skyscape. The terracotta roof tiles of aged buildings, the church domes, spires, and the gathering of clouds looming low.

He liked the sound of her voice, the light Australian intonation and lilt apparent. Yet she spoke Italian like a native.

‘I have tickets for tonight’s performance at the Teatro alla Scala.’ He named a time. ‘I’ll collect you.’

‘I haven’t said I’ll accept the invitation.’

‘Are you going to refuse?’

La Scala? Are you joking? ‘La Scalais very appealing.’

‘Consequently you’ll suffer my company in order to enjoy opera,’ he drawled with a hint of humour, and heard her soft laughter.

‘Yes. But it’ll be a stretch.’

‘Such a gracious acceptance, Liliana.’

‘What would you have me say?’ It was easy to tease, easy to assume a slightly breathless tone. ‘Caro mio, grazie. I can’t wait to see you?’

‘That’s an improvement.’

‘Enjoy it while you can. Ciao.’

La Scala, she mused as she paid for her meal. Dress-up time. Thanks to her shopping expeditions with Sophia, she possessed a choice of suitable gowns to wear.

She adored opera, and bit back an oath that she hadn’t thought to ask which performance was scheduled.

Did it matter? Not in the least, and as she set the car in motion she punched up the volume a fraction, and sang in tune with the vocalist as the final track played out.

The day’s light was beginning to dim as she reached her apartment, and she made straight for the shower, shampooed and dried her hair, she donned a robe, checked the time, then padded out to the kitchen to cut up some fresh fruit to eat.

Alessandro hadn’t mentioned dinner, which indicated they’d probably go on somewhere afterwards.