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It had nothing to do with being alone with Luca—properly alone—for the first time in so, so long.
But something had changed. She could feel it. Loathing was no longer the chief emotion binding them together. It was more than just desire too, although yesterday, sitting on that bed with him cupping her breast, the heat from his hand permeating the fabric of her top...
They had both been fighting to contain the desire that leaped from one to the other, almost as if the charge that lived within her plugged into a charge within him.
She’d had to fight with everything in her not to press her chest into his palm. She’d had to fight not to touch his face, not to rub her cheek against his, not to simply jump onto his lap, smother him with craven kisses and...
She shuddered and closed her eyes.
If Lily hadn’t been in the room with them, she had no idea if she would have been strong enough to keep the war within herself going.
However much she wanted to deny it, anticipation brewed within her too. That treacherous charge in her stomach flamed brightly.
It was at times like this she could punch herself. She was in control of her body and its reactions. She and she alone.
To take her mind off her strangely melancholic mood and thoughts, she opened the wardrobe door and stared, not for the first time, at the hideous dress. If there were a bottle of red wine to hand she would happily tip it all over the vile creation. For good measure she would splosh the dregs all over the foul beige shoes Luca had selected for her to wear with it. Her dowdy old primary school teacher had worn similar shoes. However, looking at them cheered her up a little; right then she needed physical evidence of her husband’s bastard tendencies.
Checking her watch for the umpteenth time, she saw she still had well over an hour to kill before they were due to leave. Luca had disappeared to a meeting within minutes of their arrival saying only that he would be back in time to shower and change. She hadn’t asked who the meeting was with—who else could it be but Francesco? Still, for all she knew, he could be overseeing the beating of another hapless fool stupid enough to try to cheat Luca Mastrangelo and associates.
He hadn’t always been like this. The first year of their marriage—although restrictive in terms of freedom—had in all other respects been perfect. Luca had been perfect.
The change had been so subtle she had hardly noticed it, not at first. As his evenings away from her had increased from the odd one here and there to almost every other, she’d comforted herself knowing that more often than not he would join her in the early hours, whether in the master bedroom or the smaller bedroom in her studio. By the last few months of their marriage, those evenings when he was around, instead of the coffee they usually used as fuel, he would have a Scotch in hand. His temper had shortened too—not against her, apart from that one time in his office, but she had been acutely aware of how tense he was, the sharpness of his tone. She’d been desperate for him to confide his troubles in her. But he’d refused. He’d refused to even acknowledge there was anything wrong.
Looking back, she could see she’d never pushed him that hard for answers. Apart from the row they’d had the day before she left him, she’d never really pushed him, and even then she’d backed down.
It had been far easier to bury her head in the sand and pretend everything was all right.
And was that what Luca had been doing—was doing—too? Burying his head in the sand?
The more she thought about it, the more confused she felt. His abhorrence at being labelled a gangster was real. He genuinely didn’t see himself with those eyes.
Closing the wardrobe door, she debated calling Donatella again and checking that Lily was okay. Before she could dial the number, a message pinged into her phone. Opening it, she felt her heart lighten to see a photo of Lily lying on the sofa in her usual starfish position, beaming her new gummy smile. The picture had also been sent to Luca.
The accompanying message read:
Lily sends you both big kisses and says she wants you both to stop worrying and enjoy your night away.
Grace bit her lip and brushed away a relieved tear.
God, she was being such a sap. She wasn’t the first woman to leave her baby and she wouldn’t be the last. Lily was being cared for by someone who loved her deeply and wouldn’t harm a hair on her head.
She reread the message. The both part of it jumped out. Did that mean Luca had been calling his mum too?
Watching him bathe and dress their daughter had been so funny and so very touching. When she had got up that morning to give Lily her early bottle, he had appeared within minutes and chivvied Grace back to bed, insisting on feeding Lily himself.
