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‘It’s you I came to see.’
Just that. No explanation. No smile. Just that unwavering gaze.
Surprise held Olivia silent for a moment. He wanted to speak to her? It couldn’t be about the wedding. He had no role in the preparations. It couldn’t be business. Alessandro didn’t discuss commercial matters outside the office, except with company executives. She didn’t qualify...yet.
Her grandparents? Fear bubbled at the idea that something had happened to one of them. Except, if that were the case, it wouldn’t be Alessandro Sartori passing on the news.
‘We need to speak. Now.’
Typical of the man to expect her to drop everything the moment he arrived.
Olivia wanted to refuse, to suggest he make an appointment, since her schedule was fully booked.
She’d love to see his face if she did. He’d probably never had anyone refuse him anything. According to Carlo he’d always been the family favourite, the one who did no wrong, held up as a model to his younger brother.
A pity he hadn’t learned a little humility along the way.
Yet she found herself turning to Sonia. ‘I apologise for the interruption. But could you give us ten minutes?’
Sonia nodded. ‘Of course. We’ll go to the kitchen and grab a coffee. Call when you’re ready.’
The two women left the room. Only then did Alessandro snick the door closed and cross the inlaid marble floor.
Strange how different the room felt without the other women here. Despite the salon’s lofty ceilings, gilded antique furniture and vast space, it had seemed almost cosy as they chatted and worked on her wedding dress. Now the atmosphere chilled.
Maybe it was because of Alessandro’s continuing silence, or his purposeful stride. As if some weighty matter brought him here.
Despite her high heels Olivia had to tip her chin up to meet his stare. He stood so near she saw tiny grooves at the corners of his mouth. They seemed to carve deeper as she watched.
‘What can I do for you, Alessandro?’
It struck her suddenly that this was the first time they’d been alone together.
Olivia’s heartbeat throbbed faster, banging against her ribcage.
‘I have some news.’ He looked past her towards a priceless but uncomfortable sofa. ‘You might like to sit.’
Without thought she reached out and grabbed his sleeve. Her fingers clutched fine wool over reassuringly solid muscle and bone.
‘Is it my grandparents? Has something happened to them?’ They weren’t a close family and the old couple weren’t demonstrative in their affections, but they loved her in their own way. The thought of losing them made something inside her dip and heave.
‘No, no. Nothing like that. Everyone is well.’
He lifted his other hand, as if to cover hers, then dropped it to his side.
Instantly Olivia let him go. She felt the keep off vibes as clearly as if he’d held up a sign. She looked away, feeling foolish.
‘Come, you might as well be comfortable.’
‘I can’t. Not in this dress.’ A sweeping gesture encompassed the beautiful concoction. ‘I don’t dare wrinkle it.’
‘It can be ironed.’
Olivia didn’t bother to answer. The comment showed his complete lack of appreciation of the delicate materials and exquisite, handmade details. Or an absence of sympathy for the poor seamstress who’d have the onerous task of making it pristine again without damaging it.
‘I can stand and listen. What’s this news?’
For a beat of her pulse he said nothing. ‘Have you heard from Carlo lately?’
