Two years ago, she had wanted to tell Ettore the truth about her childhood. Or that was what she told herself. Was that true? She would never know because Oscar’s sudden arrival had turned her marriage into a no-man’s-land of accusations and lies.
And now there were more lies.
She stared down at the bracelet, her pulse blinking in time to the glittering gemstones as they caught the light.
‘I can’t take this—’
‘You must.’ The old man smiled. ‘And when your son or daughter has a child of their own, you can pass it on to them. That’s what we do. We are only the custodians of all this. The land. The property. This bracelet. We enjoy it and then we pass it on.’
She matched his smile, nodded as if to say,I understand, I approve. She could feel Ettore’s gaze beating down on her and she tried to pretend that she hadn’t noticed and didn’t care, but eventually she couldn’t help herself and she glanced up to find him watching her intently, his eyes narrowed on her face as if he was trying to read her mind.
‘Thank you, Papà. That’s very kind of you.’
‘It’s what your mother would have wanted.’
Had she not been so on edge, so aware of every tiny shift in tension between them, she might not have noticed the subtle change in Ettore’s expression.
In Paris, he had given her the briefest details about his family. The email he’d sent her had expanded on those details. She knew that his sister was travelling, his older brother had died in an accident and his mother had also died soon after. But there were no personal stories or insights. And since arriving at the castle, there had been no further revelations. She had seen the family photos in their silver frames clustered on a grand piano but, like all family photos, they concealed as much as they revealed.
Nobody looking at her family photos taken when Oscar was born would have guessed the chaos and conflict behind the smiles. A photo might be worth a thousand words, but they didn’t have to be true. In fact, you only really knew what you were looking at if you knew the full story.
And she didn’t.
Because, clearly, he was protective of his family and, judging by the almost imperceptible tightening of his mouth when Edoardo mentioned his mother’s wishes, he was silently appalled at his father giving something so precious, so laden with meaning, to a woman he was more or less paying to stay as his wife.
Edoardo smiled at her. ‘Don’t save it for special occasions. I know the insurers would disagree, but beautiful jewels are meant to be worn by beautiful women. Not kept in some vault. Isn’t that right, Ettore?’
Ettore didn’t speak for a moment but then he nodded stiffly. ‘Of course, Papà.’
The old man shifted in his seat. ‘Good. And now I think I need to get some rest. Would you mind if I borrowed your husband for a moment, my dear? I gave Giancarlo the evening off.’
‘Of course not.’
Edoardo got to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and, leaning in, she rose on tiptoe to kiss his papery cheek.
‘I’ll see you upstairs,’ Ettore said quietly.
She waited until the two men had left the terrace and then she turned and walked towards the garden, drawn as ever to the healing calmness of the natural world.
Her eyes dropped to the bracelet. Even without Edoardo’s guilt-inducing gift, the evening had been a pretty intimidating encounter. Ettore’s family were charming but, despite their languorous manner and drawling voices, his uncle, Frederico, and his cousin, Checco, in particular had picked over her story like Scotland Yard detectives.
Which was why it was so pleasant just to wander across the lawn, stopping occasionally to examine a rose here or a buddleia there. The garden felt like a hybrid to her. Clearly in the past there had been some attempt to impose order but there was also evidence that nature was being allowed to counteract the constraints of the formal garden.
Speaking of constraints…
Glancing down, she slipped off her sandals. Like with the rest of her outfit, she had taken Valentina’s advice and gone for a slightly higher heel than she would have chosen for herself, and it wasn’t that they were uncomfortable, but, wearing them, she didn’t feel like herself, and she had done enough pretending for one day.
The grass felt wonderfully cool beneath her feet. Now, she just needed to let down her hair. Her fingers fumbled against the pins. Usually, she would just use a claw clip, but Valentina had tutted at the thought and deftly pinned her hair into a perfect French twist. Now though, it was hard to know which pin to pull out first.
‘Here, let me…’
Her pulse jerked forward as a warm hand touched her neck.
‘I can manage,’ she protested, but Ettore was already pulling the pins free. She felt her hair come loose, the heavy waves tumbling over her shoulders, and even though she was fully clothed, there was something intimate about a man undoing her hair that made her feel exposed. But this man doing it…
It felt like the beginning of a dangerous game played with loaded dice where the outcome was predetermined, inevitable. Irresistible.
‘Thank you,’ she said after a moment. ‘I was just decompressing. If you want to go up, that’s fine.’
