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‘Mmm?’ Lost in a dreamworld dominated by Giovanni and only Giovanni, Kate looked up at her sister absently. ‘Aren’t I what?’
‘Crazy about him? Even more than before.’
There was a moment of silence. ‘I guess I am.’ How could she not be? ‘He’s gorgeous,’ she sighed, then shrugged, as if it didn’t really matter. ‘Though I guess it’s easy for him to be gorgeous—the situation is very beautiful, but very false. We meet in glamorous destinations, we stay in glamorous hotels. We eat delicious meals and make delicious love, and then I come home again.’ She looked at her sister candidly. ‘I guess that’s what it’s like—being a mistress.’
‘Yes,’ said Lucy thoughtfully, ‘I suppose it is. You’re intimate in so many ways, and yet not intimate at all. You get the sex and the glamour—but none of the ordinary stuff that makes for companionship.’
Kate tried to make light of it. ‘What, like washing his socks, you mean?’
‘Something like that.’ Lucy’s green eyes were piercing. ‘And he never says he loves you?’
‘Never.’
‘Nor express any desire for a bit more…permanence?’
‘Never.’ Kate saw the expression on her sister’s face and sprang to his defence, as though her pride expected her to. ‘He hasn’t long come out of a broken relationship, remember? He’s hardly going to want to leap straight back into another.’
‘And you’re happy for things to continue this way, are you, Kate—the long-term mistress?’
‘Happy enough.’ Because what was the alternative? Life without him was a million times worse than these snatched moments of bliss; she had already tried that.
‘And what’s he like, during these weekends?’ persisted Lucy.
‘Perfect,’ answered Kate simply. ‘Absolutely perfect.’
‘Not mean or moody any more?’
‘No.’ Kate looked at her sister with an air of defiance. ‘I may be besotted with the man, but I’m not into masochism, you know, Lucy. And what would be the point of spending time with him if he continued to be angry with me?’
That much, at least, had changed.
These days, they had almost as much conversation as sex, and Kate wanted that. She wanted shared experiences which she would be able to store up in her memory. She wanted to learn more about him.
And she had.
He had told her about his parents and his younger brother, and the house he had grown up in, in the hills outside Palermo. The brother was now ensconced in Rome, running that branch of the Calverri empire.
He described the beautiful villa he had bought for himself and Kate had wondered wistfully if she would ever see it. He had spoken about his early life, and the Sicilian culture, and its proud, aloof people, and Kate had nodded in comprehension, remembering the print-out from her computer.
For Giovanni epitomised the Sicilian man. Proud, yes. And aloof—yes, more than a little. He gave so much, but that was all. She knew as much of him as he would allow her to know, and yet at times she felt as though she knew him better than she knew herself.
But maybe that was because physically, at least, they were so perfectl
y in tune with one another.
He called the following week, when Kate was feeling out-of-sorts, even though she knew that she should be feeling delighted, because he had just suggested coming to London. But she had been feeling off-colour for days now, and was beginning to wonder whether she had eaten something which disagreed with her. Or whether it was a mild form of jet lag.
‘London?’ she questioned weakly as little spots danced before her eyes.
‘That’s right.’ Giovanni frowned at the telephone. He had thought she would be pleased. ‘What’s the matter, Kate—have you grown too used to room service?’ he teased. ‘I don’t have to stay at your place, you know, cara. We can always go to a nice hotel, and you can pretend to be a tourist in your own city!’
She took a deep breath and sank down onto the sofa, wondering why her legs felt as though they were made of cotton wool. ‘No, that’s fine—I’d love you to stay here. When are you arriving?’
He paused, his heart beating hard with excitement. He had things he needed to tell her. ‘Tomorrow,’ he told her.
A wave of nausea washed over her. ‘Tomorrow?’ she repeated feebly.
‘This is not the rapturous response I expected,’ he murmured drily. ‘Don’t tell me you’re becoming bored with me, cara?’
