‘You know I am. I would have been happy going anywhere with you, but Paris is just perfect.’
It was perfect, Dulcie thought, three hours later as they finally left the hotel.
They hadn’t had a honeymoon two years ago. Somehow, organically, they had decided it would be best to wait and then, of course, they had argued and everything had imploded.
At the time, even more so now, she’d assumed Ettore had wanted to wait because he was trying to process his actions. And she had agreed to wait because she hadn’t told Oscar she was getting married.
She hadn’t wanted to lie to her brother, but their relationship was still so new then. They had only just reconnected, and Oscar still found it so hard to trust that every day he tested her. She’d tried to reassure him, but getting married would make him question her commitment, which was why she hadn’t invited him to the wedding. She’d felt wretched about it. But it was too great a risk because she hadn’t been entirely sure of how he’d react. Or maybe she’d known exactly how he’d react.
How would he react to this version of her marriage? Her eyes dropped to the ring on her finger and then to the sapphire and diamond bracelet on her wrist.
Before she went to Puglia, she had assumed Oscar would never find out. That the marriage would be over. But if the marriage was over that would mean that Edoardo had died.
The thought made her feel sick with self-loathing.
But if the marriage wasn’t over then she would have to tell Oscar, and that made her feel sick with panic.
‘Where would you like to go first?’
Ettore’s hand wrapped around hers, and she looked up, her heart pounding at the sight of him.
‘Actually, could you choose? My brain is still playing catch-up.’
‘You need some food. Let’s grab some lunch and we can take it from there.’
The sun was front and centre in the clear, delphinium-blue sky and the air seemed to be scented with roses although she hadn’t seen a single one.
It was as if the city were pulling out all the stops to prove it was worthy of the title of ‘City of Romance’. It helped that currently it was host to the most beautiful man in the world, she thought, glancing sideways at Ettore.
He was dressed casually like a typical tourist in jeans and a T-shirt and trainers. Like every third man they walked past. But that was like saying a house cat was like a jaguar. There was something about how Ettore moved through the world, the way he carried himself, that made men straighten their backs and women glance over, then again over their shoulders as they passed by.
They were staying in an elegant hotel nestled discreetly off the Place de la Concorde. Le Grand Appartement penthouse suite was as grand as it sounded with velvet-covered sofas, antique furniture and a view across the city to the Eiffel Tower. The restaurant was close by, but equally discreet.
‘Feeling restless yet?’ Ettore leaned over and took a piece of asparagus off her plate.
She nudged her shoulder into his biceps. ‘We only just got up.’
‘It’s our honeymoon,dolcezza. And we’re in Paris. And I’m sharing a suite with the sexiest woman on earth.’
‘So it’s my fault you’re acting like a silverback.’
He grinned. He seemed younger, freer than he had in Puglia. And he was young, she realised with a jolt. Too young to have had so much responsibility thrust on him out of the blue. Losing his brother, his mother, being injured himself and then having to step up and take care of the estate and his family.
How had he coped? He looked after everyone else but who looked after him now that his mother was gone?
‘Are you happy?’
He looked stunned, as if nobody had asked him that question in a long time, then pleased. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.’
It was just words. It had to be, she thought. How could it be true? This wasn’t real. It was a charade. Or that was how it had started. Now though this life with Ettore felt more real, more stable and constant than her so-called ‘real life’ had ever felt.
He leaned in, his mouth fitting to hers, and kissed her softly.
‘What would you like to do now? I’m at your disposal.’
Her mind clicked through a series of X-rated images and his pupils dilated as if he were reading her thoughts.
She laughed. ‘No, we can’t. We’re going to be civilised and cultured. We’re going to go up the Eiffel Tower and then I would like to go to the Jardin des Plantes. Would that work for you?’
