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A sigh came down the other end of the phone. ‘Look, Dante, there’s a photo of you kissing a strange woman on the steps of your villa, very passionately I might add. The merger conference is days away. The Americans have made a big deal about no unnecessary publicity. You know Buchanen has always disapproved of your playboy status … and with his strategic importance—’
‘I am aware of that Alex.’ Dante bit out. ‘And I’m two steps ahead of you. The woman is called Alicia Parker and she will be accompanying me to the conference as my …’ he searched for the right word. ‘hostess.’
‘Oh …’ His assistant was momentarily lost for words. He wasn’t even going to bother attempting to ask where she’d emerged from, knowing he’d be stonewalled. ‘Is she aware of this?’
‘Not yet. But it won’t be a problem.’ Dante terminated the call and smiled but it was a shark’s smile. This photographer, who’d had his camera confiscated but who had somehow managed to take a snap anyway, had played beautifully into his hands. He made a phone call.
‘Paolo? Come and see me at the hotel please.’
Alicia woke and felt strange. Curiously rested. For a second she was totally disorientated. And then she realized that she was in her old room. In the apartment she’d shared with Melanie before going to Africa. Realising where she was sent sudden panic rushing through her. Melanie! And then she sagged back against the mattress. All the events came rushing back. And with them, Dante D’Aquanni. He had brought her here yesterday and left her at the door. They’d said a stilted goodbye. Well, she thought slightly defensively to herself, what could she say to a man whose life she’d single-handedly upended? To a man who still believed himself and his brother to be victims of a huge scam, orchestrated by her and her sister. Alicia could have laughed if it wasn’t so ridiculous. Melanie was so scatty she barely had the wherewithal to make it to work in the morning, never mind dream up such an elaborate scheme.
The fact was, Dante was not the father of Melanie’s baby. His brother was. And if their greeting had been anything to go by, quite apart from his own assertion to her, he most certainly wouldn’t be bankrolling his brother’s love affair, baby or no.
Dante D’Aquanni was not going to play the part of benevolent uncle.
So she was back to square one. Feeling a little resurgence of her old energy as she got up, Alicia was thankful. She was going to need it. Even if they could at least count on Paolo’s promise, his wages, she would have to work hard now too, to try and finance moving them to London and guaranteeing Dr Hardy’s care for Melanie. She couldn’t even contemplate not getting her that care. Melanie was everything to her. Her whole world. Ever since they’d been dropped at the steps of the orphanage by their sick, harried and stressed mother. Alicia had been four, Melanie two and half. Alicia had held tight on to Melanie’s hand as she’d wailed uncontrollably. She could still remember the stoic calm she’d felt watching her mother’s thin back as she walked away. She hadn’t looked back once. And Alicia hadn’t seen her since.
She blanked those thoughts. She didn’t have time for sad memories. She made a quick call to the hospital. Melanie was getting better and better and sounded strong. And distracted—Paolo was still with her. Alicia put down the phone with a frown. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Paolo, if they could trust him, although he seemed to be genuine and certainly didn’t seem to share his brother’s dark, suspicious nature. She shouldn’t have stayed away for so long; she would have met him before now if she’d been at home.
But she hadn’t been able to leave, she’d been sucked into the relentless grind of trying to save so many lives.
But she was home now. That was what mattered. Tying her hair back with a band, she was walking towards the bathroom when a knock sounded on the door just feet away. Immediately and for no good reason, Alicia’s heart started to pound. She glanced quickly down at herself—faded loose pyjama bottoms, an old threadbare sweatshirt. She was presentable enough for the postman or a neighbour.
But it was neither when she opened the door. It was Dante D’Aquanni, the man she’d imagined to be firmly ensconsed back in his palatial, idyllic villa, no doubt thankful to have her out of his hair.
She blinked up at him. He looked gorgeous and devastating in another dark suit. ‘You …’
‘Yes. Me.’ His glance flickered down her body and her bare feet curled into the carpet.
‘What are you doing here? Why aren’t you gone?’ Her hand gripped the door.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me in?’
What choice did she have? She moved back to allow him through and the sheer size of him as he passed her made her legs feel weak. He even had to duck his head. The apartment was like a doll’s house with him in it.
She closed the door. He was looking around, taking in the bare furnishings, the photos of the smiling sisters, a few books on the shelves. When he looked at Alicia he could see something flare in her eyes and her chin tilt up defiantly. He recognized that look because he’d seen it before—on himself. It was a look that said, We may not have much but it’s ours … mine. The immediate empathy he felt surprised him; he covered it up. And also covered up the way her sleep-flushed face made him want to reach out … touch her cheek. Touch more than her cheek.
Alicia tried to remain calm, not to allow the tremor she felt develop into uncontrollable shaking. He was obviously just here to reiterate that she and Melanie would be getting nothing. To make sure she didn’t go to the papers. To tell her to keep her sister away from Paolo. And right then, despite her recent misgivings, she vowed that if he did, she’d fight him tooth and nail. Because even if he wasn’t the father, Paolo, his brother was, whether he chose to believe it or not. She was prepared to accept that Dante wouldn’t pay, but he couldn’t separate Paolo and Melanie now. And, assuming he’d meant the marriage proposal, Melanie would need Paolo’s support desperately, although she’d have to leave that to Melanie to discuss with him … Alicia’s head started to pound. Why did everything have to be so complicated?
Dante slid his gaze up and down. It turned mocking.
‘Don’t you own one fitted garment with its colours still intact?’
Stung, and hating herself for it because she didn’t normally give two hoots about her appearance, Alicia asked sweetly, ‘What? Haven’t you heard that the messy-chic look is in?’ She cocked her hip and gestured with a hand. ‘If you open the magazines they’re all wearing these clothes.’
Then pride made her straighten her spine. ‘There isn’t much call for high fashion among the refugee tents in Africa, Signore D’Aquanni. But, as I doubt we’re ever likely to move in the same circles, you shouldn’t have to endure my wardrobe insulting your sensibilities. Now, I’m sure you haven’t lowered yourself to come here to discuss my lack of style.’
His eyes narrowed on her for a long moment. ‘So you did work in Africa then?’
Alicia tensed so much she thought she might break. ‘Yes. For a year.’
He passed a look over her that patently said he put her claim under serious doubt and then, to her surprise, he took off his jacket and sat down on the couch. It was a three-seater but he practically took up the whole thing.
‘Actually, Alicia, your style or lack of it is one of the things that will come up for discussion. Now, what does a man have to do to be offered coffee around here?’
Alicia cupped her mug of steaming coffee in her hands and looked at Dante warily over the rim. She perversely hoped that he was sitting on the bit of sofa with the exposed spring. But, looking completely at ease, unconcerned, Dante sipped his own coffee, taking his time before setting the cup down on the low table. He leant forward and rested his arms on his knees.
‘I’m here to offer you a proposal.’
