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PROLOGUE
VENICE, THE MOST romantic city in the world.
That was what people said, and Natasha was becoming convinced that it was true. Where else could she have met the man of her dreams within hours of arriving, and known so soon that she was his and he simply must become hers?
Sitting in a café by a small canal, she looked out at the sun glittering on the water. Nearby she could see a gondola containing a young man and woman, wrapped in each other’s arms.
Just like us, she thought, recalling her first gondola ride in the arms of the man who had changed the world in moments.
Mario Ferrone, young, handsome, with dancing eyes and a rich chuckle that seemed to encompass the world. She’d met Mario just after she’d arrived in Venice on a well-earned holiday. He’d insisted on showing her the city. As his brother owned the hotel where she was staying, she’d briefly thought this a professional service, but that idea soon changed. There was an instant attraction between them, and nothing had ever seemed more wonderful than the time they spent together.
Until then, there had been little in her life that could be called romance. She was slim, pretty, humorous, with no difficulty attracting admirers. But where men were concerned she had an instinctive defensiveness.
It went back to her childhood, when her father had abandoned his wife and ten-year-old daughter for another woman. Until that moment Natasha’s life had been happy. Her father had seemed to adore her as she adored him. But suddenly he was gone, never to get in touch again.
Never trust a man, her mother had told her. They’ll always let you down.
She’d been content to heed the warning until Mario came into her life and everything turned upside down.
Her own reactions confused her. Her heart was drawn to Mario as never before to any other man. Sometimes her mother’s voice echoed in her mind.
No man can be trusted, Natasha. Remember that.
But Natasha felt certain that Mario was different to all other men—more honest, more trustworthy, more faithfully loving.
Last night he’d kissed her with even greater fervour than before, murmuring, ‘Tomorrow I want to...’ Then he’d stopped, seeming confused.
‘Yes?’ she’d whispered. ‘What do you want?’
‘I can’t tell you now...but tomorrow everything will be different. Goodnight, mi amore.’
Now here she was in the café where they often met, waiting for him to appear and transform her world yet again.
She almost ached with the yearning to know what he’d meant by ‘everything will be different’. Was he going to propose marriage? Surely he must.
Oh, please hurry, she thought. How could Mario keep her on tenterhooks when it mattered so much?
Suddenly, she heard his voice call, ‘Natasha!’ Looking up, she saw him walking by the canal, waving to her from a distance.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, joining her at the table. ‘I got held up.’
She had a strange feeling that he was on edge.
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.
‘It will be, very soon,’ he said.
His eyes never left her and every moment her conviction grew that tonight they were going to take the next step—whatever it might be.
He took her hand. ‘There’s something I’ve been trying to tell you for days but—’
‘Trying? Is it so hard to tell me?’
‘It could be.’ His eyes met hers. ‘Some things just aren’t easy to say.’
