Page 46 of Public Wife, Private Mistress

And suddenly she recognized the room. 'This was your study—-'

He lifted broad shoulders in a dismissive shrug. 'I preferred the view from one of the other rooms.' But there was a warmth in his eyes that held her captive.

For one wild, blissful moment she thought he'd done it for her. That last night had changed something for him.

And then she heard Chiara sigh and remembered that a change this big must have required some planning and that Rico never did anything that didn't serve a practical purpose.

And in this case the purpose was to convince Chiara that they were a happily married couple. That he was a thoughtful spouse.

The gilt of the moment was instantly tarnished. 'It's wonderful,' she said woodenly. 'Thank you so much.'

He frowned slightly, gave her a searching look and then glanced at his watch. 'I have an important call to make. I'll see you both later.'

Without warning, he pulled Stasia towards him and dropped a kiss on her parted lips but she couldn't re­spond. It was both a reminder of the night before and a promise of things to come but she couldn't respond.

How much would she have given for Rico to provide her with a studio when they were first married?

And how much would she have given for him to have done it now for her benefit, rather than for Chiara's benefit?

But if it weren't for Chiara she wouldn't even be here, she reminded herself. What with the lovemaking and all the extravagant gestures of 'love', she was hav­ing trouble remembering that none of this was real. That at any moment Chiara could regain her memory and all this would be over in a flash.

Rico was still looking at her and his cool expression left her in no doubt that he was affronted that she'd been less than effusive about his latest gesture.

Remembering that she was supposed to be playing a part, Stasia glanced round the room again and forced a smile. 'It's great. Rico.' she said stiffly. 'Really great. Thank you.'

His gaze rested on her for a moment longer, his dark eyes giving away nothing. 'I'll see you both later.' Unusually tense, Rico strode from the room without a backward glance and Stasia watched him go with a lump of lead where her heart should have been.

But Chiara didn't appear to have noticed anything amiss.

'Never thought I'd see my brother so crazy about anyone,' she drawled, strolling across the room and ex­amining some paints. 'And I certainly never thought I'd see him give up his beloved office. This is the best room in the villa, do you know that?'

Stasia managed a smile. 'It's the best. Perfectly nat­ural lighting.'

Chiara frowned and lifted a hand to her head. 'It isn't like my brother, is it? Taking all this time away from work—'

Stasia hesitated. 'Not really,' she said finally and Chiara pulled a face.

'I'm being a bother. Asking endless questions. Trying to complete a mental jigsaw puzzle.'

'No.' Stasia shook her head and on impulse leaned

forward and gave the other girl a hug. 'I'm really en­joying spending time with you.'

It was true. The teenager was a changed person since her accident. Gone was the defiant, moody girl who had made Stasia's life so difficult and in her place was a thoughtful, sweet natured girl.

Chiara pulled away slightly, her expression puzzled. 'You make it sound as though we've never done this before. But I lived with you in Rome. Didn't we spend time together then?'

Stasia tensed, realizing that she'd inadvertently stim­ulated questions that she wasn't ready to answer. Wasn't able to answer. 'Of course we did,' she hedged, 'but we each had separate lives. Now. about this paint­ing-—how do you feel about making a start?'

Chiara smiled. 'Let's do that.'

Rico stared at the painting, recognizing the real talent displayed on the canvas.

It had been a week since Chiara had been discharged from the hospital and during that week the three of them had spent a considerable time relaxing by the pool. But he was aware that whenever the occasional business is­sue demanded his attention Stasia vanished to her stu­dio. And curiosity had driven him to find out exactly how she was spending her time.

He uncovered another canvas and sucked in a breath, captivated by what he was seeing. It was amazing. With a flash of discomfort he realized that he'd never taken any notice of her art before. He'd been too busy looking at her to waste time looking at what she was painting.

He stepped closer, examining the bold brush strokes, the vivid colour. The painting was bright and eye­catching—like the woman herself.

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