AllFreeNovel
Share Us
'From...England, actually. ’ How bizarre it sounded.
It seemed difficult to follow that, and no one else said a word. They all sat there in an awkward silence and waited for Cesare to return from dismissing the taxi. He seemed to take for ever, but when he did, he was holding aloft a plastic carrier bag which was filled with shampoo, conditioner and knickers. In the darkness, Sorcha blushed.
'Your luggage, I believe? ' he drawled, and deposited it by her chair. Then he said something in Italian and some of the frost in the atmosphere seemed to evaporate— but only by a fraction.
He shot her a look. She had taken him by surprise, and it was not a familiar role for him to be cast in—especially in front of other people. She was on his territory, and she must understand that they did things differently here. If she was expecting him to drop everything and leave the table in order to...what? Why was she here?
A smile curved his lips. 'My friends were concerned that you might be some kind of
stalker—some disgruntled ex-girlfriend—but I reassured them that I was unlikely to offer a glass of wine to anyone who posed a threat. ’
She knew that he was trying to salvage a fairly impossible situation, but Sorcha could have curled up and died. Yet how else must it look to these sophisticated people? Because sophisticated they certainly were.
'Let me introduce you’ Cesare said wryly. "Luca you've met—and this is his wife, Pia, with Gino, my godson.' His black eyes softened as he glanced at the toddler, and then his gaze travelled to the other guest—a woman in black silk, with a blunt-cut raven bob and shiny lips the colour of claret. 'And this is Letizia...'
How easy it was to notice the absence of a wedding ring on the woman's finger, the way she looked up at Cesare and then at Sorcha, the unmistakable body language which said, He's already taken! Sorcha met her bright, hard dark eyes.
'Hello’ said Sorcha.
'Do you speak Italian, Sorcha?' asked Letizia guilelessly.
'Unfortunately, no—I don't.'
'Oh, well. Then you will have to suffer our English.' Letizia gave a tinkling little laugh. 'It will be good for us to practise—si, Cesare?'
'Effettivamente' Cesare murmured, his gaze capturing Sorcha's as he lanced her with an impenetrable look. 'I'm fascinated to know what has prompted this unexpected visit—and at such an extraordinary time.' He glanced over to the doorway, where a chef was standing with his hands on his hips, looking as if he was about to do battle. 'But, like all great chefs, Stephan is a little temperamental—and as he is just about to serve the entree it will have to wait until afterwards.'
He raised his eyebrows in imperious query, as if daring her to do anything other than sit there and be guided by him. 'Unless it is so urgent that it cannot wait, Sorcha? ' Oh, yes—sure she was going to blurt it all out now,
‘I think I love you, Cesare, I know now stupidly I've acted, and so I've rushed over here to see if our relationship has any future’
The answer was glaring her in the face as clearly as if he'd spelt it out for her. He was having dinner with a cluster of his mates, which may or may not be part of a packed social calendar. But whether it was or it wasn't didn't really matter—far from sitting around the place moping about her, or even thinking about her, Cesare was living his life. He had moved on.
'No, that's fine,' she said lightly.
It was the worst meal Sorcha had ever had to endure—and because everyone kept forgetting to speak English she felt more and more of an outsider as every second passed.
But she pushed the food around her plate and tried to keep smiling. At least she was opposite Gino—who was the sweetest little thing and the most amenable of all the guests.
Cesare sipped his wine thoughtfully and stared down the table as she poked a fork uninterestedly at a piece of lettuce. He had never seen her so...
He shook his head. Why was she here? Did she have business in this part of Italy? No, of course she didn't. He had heard of travelling light—but three pairs of lacy panties and a toothbrush?
His mouth hardened. Had she decided on a whim that she wanted him? Was that why she had turned up out of the blue like this? Had she been hoping to find him alone and act out some wild sexual fantasy of walking in and pretending that he was a stranger and making hot, silent love to him?
Meeting the burning look of censure in his eyes, Sorcha quickly looked down at her plate. How could she have had the temerity to turn up here like this and try to convince him that in the space of a few days she had undergone a massive change? That she had suddenly discovered she wanted to jack in her supposedly precious career and settle down to a l
ife of cosy domesticity with him? Or at least to work out some kind of mid-way compromise. As if he even cared!
Because he hadn't fulfilled his part in her fantasy. He hadn't asked her to. He hadn't been sitting, waiting to fling his arms around her and lift her up into the air, to whirl her round and tell her that he loved her and had missed her.
That was only make-believe.
The reality was that he was sitting, laughing and joking with his friends, and it was
like seeing a different side of him. In England he had been her powerful and autocratic lover, yes, but never a permanent fixture in her life—he had just dipped in and out of it as mood and circumstance took him. The dark, enigmatic foreigner who always seemed to stand out like an elusive rare breed.
Whereas here he seemed to have become real—it was as if she was watching a black and white photo suddenly begin to glow with glorious colour.
