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But what bride could possibly feel beautiful at such an advanced state of pregnancy?
Yet Sophia had hugged Eve like a sister, and run her hand over the bump in a delighted way which spoke of pride, rather than something to be ashamed of. ‘Stand up to him,’ she had said, when rose petals and rice had flown off on the wind towards the water. ‘He has had too much of his own way for all his life. And I’ll see you in Rome, once you are settled, sì?’
Settled?
Eve wasn’t sure that she would ever feel settled again, and when they arrived at the front of Luca’s apartment she felt the very opposite as he turned to her, his dark eyes glittering.
‘Shall I carry you over the threshold, Eve?’
‘Is that an Italian custom, as well as an English one?’ she said breathlessly.
He smiled. ‘It is indeed. Come.’
And he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the apartment.
‘Put me down, I’m too heavy,’ she protested.
‘Not for me,’ he demurred.
No. He was a strong man and Eve wondered if he could feel or hear the thundering of her heart. It was, she realised, the closest they had been for a long time. With one hand beneath her knees and the other locked around her expanded waistline and her leaning against his chest. She could smell the raw, feral masculine scent of him, feel his hard body as it tensed beneath her weight.
If this had been a real wedding, he would carry her straight into the bedroom and lay her down and slowly undress her and make love until the morning light came up.
But it was not, and he did not. Instead, he put her carefully down in the centre of the vast, spacious sitting room as if she were some delicate and precious container, which was exactly, she guessed, how he saw her. For she carried within her his child, and nothing could be more precious than that to the man who had everything else.
The undrawn curtains framed the stunning beauty of the night lights of Rome, though she was blind to it. All she could see and sense was him. He was still wearing the dark and elegant suit he had worn for the wedding, though she had insisted on changing from her wedding finery for the journey home.
‘It’s more comfortable this way,’ she had explained in answer to his silent look of query as she’d appeared in a trousers and a pink silk tunic, which by no stretch of the imagination could be classified as a ‘going-away’ suit. But it was more than that. She hadn’t thought she could bear to go through the charade of people congratulating her, them—making a fuss of her on the flight, behaving as if they really were a pair of exquisitely happy newly-weds, when nothing could have been further from the truth.
His eyes had narrowed. ‘So be it, cara,’ he had said softly. ‘Comfort is, of course, essential.’
And now they were here, and she was ready to begin her new life and she didn’t even know what the sleeping arrangements would be.
He saw the wary look on her face. Like a cornered animal, he thought grimly. Was she afraid that he would drag her to the bedroom—insist on consummating this strange marriage of theirs?
‘Would you like to see your room?’
Well, that told her. ‘I’d love to!’ she said brightly. ‘I’m so tired I think I could sleep for a whole century!’
‘A whole century?’ he echoed drily.
In any other time or in any other situation, Eve would have exclaimed with delight at the bedroom he took her to. It was perfect. A room full of light, furnished in creams and softest peach.
But Eve had seen his bedroom. Had shared that vast bed of his, where tonight he would sleep alone. For one brief and impetuous moment she almost turned to him, to put her hand on his arm and say shyly that she would prefer to spend the night with him. But he had moved away to draw the blinds, and part of her was relieved, knowing that if they made love it would change everything—it would shatter what equilibrium she had and make her vulnerable in a way she simply couldn’t afford to be. And there were far too many other things going on to risk that.
He turned back from the blinds, and the blocked-out night made the light in the room dim, throwing his tall, lean figure into relief so that he looked dark and shadowy, like an unknown man in an unknown room in an unknown city.
And that, she thought painfully, was exactly the way it was.
‘Goodnight, Eve,’ he said softly.
‘Goodnight, Luca.’
‘Do you have everything you need?’
No. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
She stood exactly where she was, listening to the sounds of Luca moving around, until at last she heard the sound of his bedroom door closing quietly, and it was like a sad little signal.
