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‘We have a lot of time to make up for.’ The words caught in Lily’s throat, but she hoped he’d mistake her shaky tone for rising passion. If she was going to survive in this marriage she had to find a way to shield her heart and her true feelings from him.
‘What do you want to do now?’ Vito asked, running his hands over the curve of her hips and snuggling her closer to his erection.
‘No more talking,’ Lily said, dipping her body forward to run her tongue over the sensitive skin of his throat. Her nipples tightened as they brushed against his chest, and desire was already building within her, mercifully blotting out the pain in her heart.
She couldn’t bear to hear any more words that made her realise how little she’d meant to him, even back when she’d thought they were happy. Before he believed she’d betrayed him.
He had been everything to her. He still was.
CHAPTER NINE
LILY was still asleep the following morning as Vito dressed for work. He moved quietly around the room so that he didn’t disturb her. It was the first time since he’d brought her back to Venice that he’d seen her in a really deep sleep. Most mornings when he’d got ready for work she’d already been up. And most evenings, even if she’d been in bed pretending to be asleep, she’d been restless.
She made a small sound and rolled over, reaching above her head to flip the pillow over, then snuggled back down, surrounded by a wild mass of long blonde curls.
Vito smiled, recognising the action. Even in her sleep she liked the cold side of the pillow. She was such a warm-blooded creature that she always liked cool things. Iced water, ice cream. And now that she was pregnant it was like a tiny furnace was glowing inside her. He wondered how she would cope as the summer heated up. He’d take her away to his estate on the Veneto plain. Or even up to his retreat in the Dolomite mountains. But he’d need to keep her medical care in mind—he couldn’t allow anything to happen to her or the baby.
He gazed down at her. Possibly for the first time in months he really let himself look, safe in the knowledge that she was oblivious to his attention. She was lying on her side with one knee drawn up and the other leg stretched out. She looked like a graceful gazelle, frozen at the height of an elegant leap.
An unexpected feeling prickled through him, and he acknowledged it for what it was: he’d missed Lily, missed what he thought they’d had together before he’d discovered her betrayal.
This marriage was all about doing what was right for his grandfather—Giovanni deserved to reach the end of his life knowing that his legacy would go on.
But if things continued like last night—their love-making had been nothing short of incendiary—it was going to be much more pleasant than he’d thought when they were still at daggers drawn.
Lily slept late that morning, and when she awoke her body was filled with the languid glow of complete sensual satisfaction. She rolled over and stretched, noticing the time with surprise. But, after the utter lack of inhibition she’d shown with Vito the night before, she was pleased he’d already left for work. She wasn’t entirely sure that she was ready to face him yet.
She made her way to the en suite and ran herself a deep, luxurious bath. With her hair piled haphazardly on top of her head, she lay back in the soft bubbles and thought about what had happened with Vito. She could feel a blush rising to her cheeks as she remembered how wildly she’d behaved with him. His touch had sent her up in flames. They’d made love before—many, many times. But it had never been so intense.
Maybe that had been her body’s way of letting her know that she loved him.
Up until last night her mind had certainly rejected that possibility, after the way he had treated her. But perhaps it was impossible to change the reality of her deeper feelings simply by telling herself what she ought to believe. Her heart still knew the truth.
However, she knew that loving him made her vulnerable. A small sigh escaped her as she stepped out of the bath onto the marble mosaic floor. She must never let him guess the depth of her feelings.
She dried herself briskly and set about getting dressed for her visit to Giovanni. She liked to wear something nice for him. He didn’t see many people, and he often complimented her on her appearance.
Suddenly she caught sight of herself in the mirror, and stopped and stared. Her eyes were shining brightly, her cheeks were flushed, and her hair was bouncing wildly about her shoulders in a riot of curls.
She couldn’t visit Giovanni looking that that! The sharp-witted old man would guess immediately what had caused such a change in the way she looked. She’d simply feel too self-conscious—like a deflowered virgin the morning after her wedding night, wondering if everyone knew what she had just experienced for the first time.
She sat down at the dressing table and pulled her ceramic straighteners from the drawer. Then she hesitated. Vito had said he liked her hair curly. If she straightened it again, it would seem like she was making the point that she didn’t care about his opinion. But, on the other hand, she definitely didn’t want to make it appear that she would do anything to please him—she’d already been down that route when she’d started straightening her hair because of an apparently meaningless comment he didn’t even remember making.
In the end she did her hair in the same smooth style she’d worn since returning to Venice. She was already late for Giovanni, and she couldn’t let herself waste time worrying about silly details. She had more important things to concern her, like whether the old man would ask her straight out if she’d managed to ease the tension that he had detected between her and Vito.
As it turned out she need not have worried. Giovanni was tired that day a
nd spent most of her visit dozing. When he was awake he told her about the great flood of 1966. It had been more than forty years ago, but his memories were sharp and his descriptions vivid as he told her how the sea level had risen by two metres, washing right through the ground floor of Ca’Salvatore, and causing untold damage to the city.
Walking back home to the palazzo, Lily reflected on her new friendship with Giovanni. He was old, and according to his doctors did not have long to live, but Lily was so grateful for the time she was able to spend with him. He had accepted her so warmly into his family, and his personal stories about his life and the city that had always been his home meant a lot to her.
Whatever happened with Vito, in years to come she would tell her child how happy Giovanni had been, knowing his grandchild was on the way. She would remember the stories he had told her, so that her child would know about his or her Italian family—even if Vito still refused to acknowledge them.
Vito paced back and forth across his study impatiently. He’d come home to see Lily, but she hadn’t returned from her daily visit to his grandfather.
She was late. And he wanted to see her now.
He’d spent the morning totally distracted, until finally he’d given into his desire to come home and ravish her.
