He gave a quick shake of his head, as if to dispel the word and the thoughts that went with it. Okay, so it might be complicated that the woman he wanted was also the woman he’d married for the reasons he had. But that was their only connection.
She is a woman I desire, who just happens, for now, to be the woman I have married.
That was not complicated—it was very simple. The way he liked life to be.
He turned away from the window. It had been a long day—and he’d thought about it quite enough for now. As he headed for his en suite bathroom his glance went to the thin communicating door on the opposite side of his bedroom.
Lana was on the other side.
For now, she would stay there. There were things that had to be done before that door could open.
One last thought flickered in his head.
She’s in my mother’s bedroom. My poor, unhappy mother—
He banished the thought from his head, firmly closing his bathroom door. Leaving the past behind.
Lana paused at the head of the staircase on the landing outside her bedroom. Dinner last night had passed easily enough, though an air of reserve had still emanated from Salvatore, as it had over lunch and their flight out to Rome. Now they were about to set off to meet his friends for lunch.
Nerves plucked at Lana fractionally as she walked down the stairs. Not because she was going to be on show—she was well used to that—but because of the role she had been cast in.
Salvatore Luchesi’s bride.
Her task was simple—make his friends believe her to be just that. Well, she would do her best. No point having nerves of any kind. She would just do what she had to do—what, after all, when it came right down to it, she was being paid to do.
Salvatore was waiting for her in the entrance hall and she was all too conscious of his presence there. He looked, as he always did, a knock-out, in another hand-tailored suit, pale grey this time, and radiated the kind of effortless style that seemed to come naturally to all Italians, male or female.
Hopefully, though, she could hold her own. Certainly as she came up to him she saw approval in his eyes sweeping over her.
‘You have chosen well—again,’ he said, and there was slightly less reserve in his voice.
His dark eyes flicked over her once more, taking in the soft grey jersey dress that draped with deceptive ease over her tall frame, looking both simultaneously understated and eye-catchingly chic.
She was reassured by his praise, but then he frowned. She’d accessorised the dress with a heavy necklace of large haematite beads, but these, apparently, met with his displeasure.
‘Wear these instead,’ he instructed, fetching a large flat box from a nearby pier table and clicking it open.
Lana’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, how beautiful!’ she exclaimed. ‘And absolutely perfect for this outfit!’
It was a necklace of huge coin-flat baroque pearls and a matching bracelet. The price tag would have had a large number of zeroes on it, she knew, having modelled—under strict security conditions—enough expensive jewellery in her time. And modelling this fantastic necklace and bracelet was all she was doing now, she reminded herself, as she removed her own beads. Part of the role she was playing.
‘Turn around...’
A moment later she felt the pearls move around her in a long loop, and then cool fingers were at the nape of her neck, fastening the necklace. It was only a moment—the merest snap of a clasp and a safety chain—yet something had been done to her nerve-endings in the sensitive exposure of her skin to Salvatore’s touch. It echoed even after he stepped away, subjecting her to a critical appraisal, and then, with a nod of apparent approval, he handed her the matching bracelet to fasten around her wrist herself.
‘Okay, let’s go,’ he announced.
Lana found herself glancing at him. There had been an audible tension in the brief command. Did he think she wouldn’t pass muster with his friends? Eat peas off her knife? Make embarrassing remarks? Surely not.
Even so, she felt a flicker of unease go through her. She was about to be put in front of people he’d told her were long-standing friends, and they were meant to think that a whirlwind romance had so enthralled him that he’d married her on the spot. Wasn’t that deceiving? She gave a mental shrug. Well, it was not her responsibility. She would just act her part, play her role to the best of her ability—what else could she do?
She put aside her faint unease, and headed off with him.
Lunch, so he’d already told her, was to be at the famed Viscari Roma, and when they arrived they were shown into a salon privé off the main dining room. Inside, four pairs of eyes snapped to her.
Keeping her expression carefully schooled, Lana let Salvatore guide her forward. Swiftly, she took in what was facing her.
The two men were not as tall as Salvatore, but they were both ludicrously good-looking in dark Italian style. The two women were quite unalike. One was an extremely pretty blonde, with a slight figure, a lot of make-up and short hair, wearing a sunshine-yellow outfit which Lana immediately recognised as the work of one of Italy’s glitziest designers. The other female was taller, a long-haired brunette with a full figure, wearing a closely fitting dress that showed it to best advantage.