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Her smile remained filled with uncertainty. That wasn’t quite the sweet nothing she’d been hoping to hear, but I pretended not to notice.
‘Cheers, Daisy,’ I said, and raised my glass.
After a second’s pause she clinked her glass with mine and we both sipped.
‘So...the Caribbean in a few days,’ I said, my tone deliberately nonchalant. ‘I can’t wait to show you the beaches. We’ll go scuba diving...have you ever been?’
She gave a disbelieving laugh. ‘What do you think?’
‘At least you have a passport,’ I said lightly. I’d had it rushed through when we were first married.
She nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I suppose.’
Her golden-brown gaze searched mine for a moment, probing and testing me while I looked blandly back. Whatever she was looking for she didn’t find, and she put her champagne aside and got out of bed, reaching for a robe.
‘Come back to bed.’ The words burst from me before I could think them through.
She gave me a fleeting smile. ‘I will.’
It was foolish to feel bereft, to wonder what she was thinking—and, worse, to want to know. For nearly thirty-five years I’d prided myself on not needing anyone, and more importantly, not caring. At an early age I’d discovered love to be the illusion it was—the evil illusion. Because no matter how hard you tried to earn it, work for it, it was never yours for the taking. And the reason for that was, I had decided a long time ago, because it wasn’t real in the first place.
I had Andreas to thank for teaching me that lesson—although of course he hadn’t meant to. Andreas and my grandfather. Because
I’d seen how my grandfather’s love for my half-brother had turned to ash the moment he hadn’t been useful any more. He’d banished him to the top floor of his house and never visited him at all. That had hurt almost as much as his complete rejection of me.
Seeing that change had made me realise just how pointless and arbitrary love was—how fleeting and foolish and false. And I was glad to have learned it when I was young. When I’d needed to.
With my mouth set in a grim line, I drained the rest of my champagne and then stretched out in bed, determined to relax.
Let Daisy sulk. Let her be sad. I wasn’t going to chase after her—I wasn’t going to chivvy her out of her melancholy mood like a child who needed to be given sweets.
But when she returned to bed twenty minutes later she surprised me, because she wasn’t sulking at all. She smiled at me and then, with a hint of playfulness, shrugged off her robe.
My eyebrows rose. ‘I could get used to this,’ I said.
‘So could I.’
Still smiling, she stretched out next to me and opened her arms, everything about her a warm invitation.
What could I do but take her in my own? The feeling of her body nestled close to mine was exquisite, and the kiss she gave me so freely was triumph. She was playing by my rules. She’d received, understood, and accepted them. I could feel it in the way she both responded and surrendered, and afterwards, both of us sated a second time, in the way she held out her champagne glass for a refill, a small smile playing about her mouth, her eyebrows slightly raised, as if to say, See? I get it. I understand.
I filled it gladly, trying not to notice the sadness that lingered in her eyes like a shadow in the corner of the room—and trying not to feel it myself, because that was ridiculous.
This was exactly what I wanted. It had to be.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘WELCOME TO ST CRISTIANO!’
I smiled as Matteo and I headed through the front archway of his newest luxury resort. A young woman, wearing the hotel staff uniform of white polo shirt and tan skirt, had stepped forward to hand me a bouquet of lilies and orchids in vivid pinks and purples.
‘Thank you, they’re beautiful,’ I said, giving her a warm smile.
She smiled back and I glanced at Matteo, who was looking around the hotel in narrow-eyed assessment. It had been five days since we’d been at the gala in Paris—since we’d made our marriage oh-so-real. And it had continued to be very much real as we’d toured Paris, had dinner in several Michelin-starred restaurants, met his business associates and spent more time than I ever had before in bed, learning and loving each other’s bodies. In addition, Matteo had showered me with more jewels and clothes than I knew what to do with.
I was overwhelmed by the elegance, indulgence, and the sheer decadent luxury of everything Matteo gave me so freely, seeming to take pleasure in my pleasure. He gave me everything—everything but himself. And I was trying to be happy with that. I was trying to let it be enough, for now, because I still had so much hope that things would change. The very fact that he was holding back meant there was something to hold back—a depth of emotion he wasn’t yet ready to reveal. And I could wait; it had only been a few weeks, after all.
‘This is amazing,’ I murmured as the staff led us through an enormous lobby filled with tropical flowers and tinkling fountains. Latticed shutters were thrown open to the hotel’s inner courtyard, with a set of five cascading pools.
