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‘Of course, I need you to look the part, Edie. Some people will assume you’re my mistress.’
‘They will?’ The heat flared in my cheeks.
‘Is that a problem?’ The muscle in his jaw tensed and I had the horrible thought that I might have insulted him with my shocked reaction.
‘No, not at all. It’s... I just didn’t expect you to pay for my clothing. As well as the generous salary you’re paying me.’
The muscle relaxed and his smile returned. ‘It’s all part of the job, bella. If you really want to, you can always return the clothes to me once the event is over. But I doubt they will fit me.’
I laughed, and his smile widened.
He stepped closer and his thumb skimmed my cheek. ‘Has the bruise healed? Or is tha
t the work of a good make-up artist?’
Something shimmered through me, more than the heat. I tried to pull it back. His concern was nothing out of the ordinary. He was just being a conscientious employer. The only reason I was taking it so much to heart was that I’d never had a man look at me like that before, as if he actually cared that I had been hurt.
‘Yes, it’s better, thanks,’ I said.
‘I’m glad,’ he murmured. The something shimmered through me again. He dropped his hand—and I felt a strange sense of loss. Holding out his arm, he indicated the table behind us as two serving staff entered the room. ‘Let’s sit down,’ he said. ‘This is a working dinner. We have much to discuss about next week.’
My heart lurched into my throat as he seated me and the waiters set out a selection of delicate salads, fresh bread and charcuterie for our starters.
I needed to come clean about my qualifications for this job, or rather the lack of them, I told myself. My panic attack over the clothes was proof of that.
He poured me a glass of wine and I gulped it down as he served me from the terrines on the table.
‘Mr Allegri, there’s something I...’ I began.
‘Call me, Dante,’ he said. ‘You are part of my team, not a waitress.’
I cleared my throat, the colour flushing through my system at the intimacy in the look he sent me. ‘Dante, I’m not sure I’m who you think I am.’
‘How so?’ he asked, leaning back in his chair to sip his wine.
The colour rose to my hairline under that assessing gaze.
I’d never been ashamed of my background. I was illegitimate—I’d never met my father; in fact he’d never even acknowledged me or my sister. Because we’d been the product of an extra-marital affair. But, despite that, I’d never been ashamed of my mother’s choices.
She’d been reckless and irresponsible and selfish in a lot of ways, and careless—especially with other women’s husbands—but she’d also been loving and vivacious. And she had also been notorious, her exploits, her affairs, her lack of decorum or compunction documented in minute detail and found wanting in the tabloid press. She’d tried to shield us from that as children. But I’d heard all the whispers about her behaviour at the boarding schools I’d attended. That she was a marriage-wrecker, a slut, a whore. I’d got into enough fights over the years defending her honour, even though I knew in some ways she didn’t have any. The one time I’d confronted her about one of her ‘protectors’ when the story had hit the tabloids that she had broken up the marriage of a famous actor—and the girls at school had made my and Jude’s life a misery—she had simply laughed and said, ‘If his wife wanted to keep him, she should have made more of an effort to entertain him.’
But, here and now, as I sat in front of Dante, it was hard for me to explain my upbringing without wishing it could be different.
‘I think you may have got the impression because of Belle Rivière...’ I swallowed, trying to alleviate the dryness in my throat ‘...and my background, that I’m an aristocrat and I know the workings of high society. I don’t.’
He didn’t seem surprised by this revelation. ‘You are the granddaughter of a British duke—is this not true?’
My ribs felt as if they were squeezing my lungs. So he had heard the rumours. The few bites of salad I had eaten coalesced in the pit of my stomach.
‘My mother always maintained as much,’ I said. ‘But I never met him or my father. And our father certainly never acknowledged us.’ I tried to sound flippant; the circumstances of my birth had never been important to me before. Why would they? My father had chosen not to be a part of my life. But, for the first time ever, instead of feeling belligerent and indifferent about the man who had sired me, I actually wished I could claim the pedigree Dante clearly believed I had.
I didn’t want to lose this job, and it wasn’t about the money any more. This was the first chance I’d ever had to prove myself. And then there was the thought of being able to spend a whole ten days in his company. I might as well admit it, after his rescue a week ago and the way he had swooped in to give my sister and me a way out of our problems, not to mention the memory of that kiss, I had a massive crush on him. When he’d said that some people might consider me to be his mistress, I’d had the weirdest reaction. Not embarrassment or humiliation, but excitement and pride.
‘I was educated in private schools,’ I continued, because he was still watching me with that assessing gaze, not giving away his feelings about my revelations. ‘But I’ve never been to an event like the one you’re hosting here,’ I finished.
His eyes narrowed and the muscle in his jaw tensed again, but I couldn’t tell whether he was angry or disappointed with this information.
‘Why are you telling me this?’ he said at last.
