That she’d come to know him well enough to recognise his moods slashed at his guts. What else could he do but nod?
He hadn’t expected to wake on the day his vengeance was finally being brought to fruition with a heavy weight in his heart.
It had very likely been the last time he would wake with Siena in his arms.
It hadn’t taken much to convince her to spend the day in bed, something they’d never done before. Something they would never do again.
He should be crowing that he’d reached the stage in his marriage where his mortal enemy, the beautiful Siena Esposito, had fallen so deeply in lust with him. Crowing that the woman who’d declared it would be a cold day in hell before they spenta day screwing each other’s brains out had been unable to hide her sadness when they’d finally had to get out of bed to get themselves ready for their guests. Crowing that this would all make his impending victory taste that much sweeter.
But he no longer looked at her and saw his enemy staring back at him. He just saw her. His soft-eyed wife, who had the softest lips and smile in the world and smelled of marshmallow.
What he was only hours away from doing was going to destroy her.
“Fix you a drink?”
“A rum and cola would be good… Are you sure you’re okay?”
Knowing it might be the last time he ever did this, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her gently. “I’m sure.”
He had to be. There was no turning back now.
Pulling away, he reached for the bottle of rum as she said, “I’ve just been in the dining room – there’s three extra places set. Who else is coming?
Glad his back was turned to her, he poured her a large measure of the rum. “My brother, sister and cousin. Sorry, I meant to mention I’d invited them. As it’s a meal to put the past behind us, I thought it would be good to have them here for it too.”
He could feel her stare boring into him, but anything she might have said vanished when the intercom rang out.
The first of their guests had arrived.
* * *
Siena ate the food Rocco had cooked for them – his spinach, mascarpone and ham hock rotolo was every bit as delicious and comforting as his carbonara – mechanically.
Something was wrong. She could see it in Elio’s eyes. Feel it in her bones.
She’d first sensed it when they were making love that afternoon. The last time that was. They’d spent the day in bed, and it had been bliss. She’d been happy. Truly happy. And then they’d made love that last time, and something about the way he’d looked into her eyes when it was over and the way he’d kissed her before finally climbing off the bed had sent a coil of fear snaking up her spine.
The fear had been clutching at her ever since, exacerbating every time she met his sister’s stare. Elvira’s silver eyes were as cold as ice. Such a chill had they given Siena that she’d slipped to her dressing room and tucked a gun into her suspender belt, just as she’d have been tempted to do if she’d married Elio in a traditional bridal dress.
If anyone else had the sense of something being off-kilter, they were all hiding it. The Espositos and Ranieris were dining together as if this were something they’d done a hundred times before. The atmosphere was light and peppered with laughter. Music was playing, the wine flowing. Even her mother and Tommaso gave the appearance of being relaxed.
But still Elvira’s eyes remained cold. As for Elio’s silver eyes…
He was sitting next to Siena, but he hadn’t looked directly at her since they’d taken their seats.
The dessert of pistachio and cherry nougat pandoro, also made by Rocco, was brought to the table by a member of Elio’s household staff. There were a lot of staff about, she’d noticed. Much more than usual.
She looked again at the people crowded around the dining table. Herself. Elio. His brother, sister and cousin. Siena’s mother and three brothers. Her two sisters-in-law. Eleven of them.
Did it really need five staff to serve and clear up? Three of them she didn’t even recognise…
The fear in her heart intensified, and it took all her self-control not to pat her inner thigh for reassurance that her gun was still there, even though she could feel the cold steel against her skin.
When she’d slipped it into her suspender belt, she’d imagined Elio sliding his hand up her thigh and feeling it there, and raising his eyebrows at her in question. Had desperately hoped she’d find reassurance that she was overreacting in his eyes.
But he hadn’t touched her. Just as he hadn’t made eye contact with her, he’d not let an inch of his body touch hers, not even a brush of his arm.
Once coffee had been served, she tried to catch Rico’s eye and convey that something was very, very wrong. If anyone could read her facial expressions, it was him, but he was locked in conversation with his angel wife. She caught Gabriella’s eye, but her friend just stared blankly in response to Siena’s facial beseech.
