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Mia knew that one:Speak well of the dead.And she took a sip of the dark liquid and forced it down, for to her it tasted like medicine.
Then Stefano offered a toast, and though Mia couldn’t quite make out what he said, she politely raised her glass.
But then Luigi offered his toast and he stared right at Mia as he did so.‘Dove c’è’ un testamento, c’è’ un parente.’
Where there’s a will, there’s a relative.
It was a familiar saying following a death, but the implication that Mia was here for the money was made exceptionally clear.
Dante looked over at Mia, who didn’t as much as blink as the less than veiled slur was hurled, but neither did she raise her glass, and despite himself he rather admired her resilience. And, despite his loathing for Mia, Dante found himself leaping to her defence. ‘That is true, Luigi. I have no doubt you will be in the study tomorrow for the reading of his will.’ He looked around the table. ‘All of you will be.’
Mia had not expected even a sliver of support from Dante, and though grateful she dared not show it.
It felt odd to be in the same room as him, odd to be sharing a meal.
She felt odd whenever Dante was near in a way that was less than becoming, for he made her aware of herself, just by being himself.
As theprimo piattowas served, Dante got straight down to business. ‘It was Rafael’s request that he return to his home one last time. The hearse will be here at eleven and the funeral procession will leave shortly after that.’ Mia swallowed when he looked at her. ‘Naturally, you will be in the car behind the hearse,’ Dante informed her.
‘With?’ Mia asked, because her heart was hammering at the prospect of sitting alone.
‘That is up to you—whoever you’ve invited to support you on the loss of your husband.’ He did not wait for her to respond. ‘I shall be in the vehicle behind with Stefano, Eloa and Ariana. Luigi...’ he turned to his uncle ‘...your family shall be in the car behind that...’
‘Surely Mamma should be in the procession,’ Ariana said.
‘Ariana.’ Dante’s voice was a touch impatient. ‘She is so overwrought that she can barely stand. At least this way she can be seated in the church when the procession arrives.’
‘But it’s not fair that she won’t be in the procession when she was his—’
‘Enough!’ Dante warned.
Ariana was the first to leave the sinking ship. With a loud clatter, she threw down her cutlery and stormed out, and it was just a matter of moments before a car was summoned to take her back to be with her mother.
There was silence after she left.
Dante gave up on the pasta and declined more wine, asking for brandy instead, before continuing. ‘The procession will move slowly through the grounds,’ he explained. ‘First to the stables, and then on to the private vines and residences and then it will do a loop around the poppy fields. This will give the staff a chance to come out and pay their respects before they make their way to the church.’
It was going to be a long procession, Mia thought. Even though most of the land that surrounded them now belonged to the business, Rafael’s private property encompassed the staff residences, lake and poppy fields and was still huge. Mia took in a shaky breath at the thought of sitting alone in the vehicle behind the hearse and she tried,howshe tried, not to recall her parents’ funeral.
They ate in silence for a while, and for Mia it was excruciating, but as the plates were being cleared, she felt Sylvia’s hand come down on her shoulder, giving a little squeeze of support, and Mia briefly glanced up and gave the housekeeper a small grateful smile.
Dante noticed the supportive gesture, for he always noticed what was happening around Mia.
The staff adored Mia—that much was made evident whenever he visited here—and that confused him. They were always discreet, but little things, like that touch of support, made it clear to Dante that Mia was both respected and liked in the household.
She looked stunning in candlelight. Her lips were a little swollen, but apart from that there were no signs of tears. Dante doubted she had shed even a single one for his father.
Perhaps drawn by his scrutiny, she looked over and Dante realised she had caught him staring at her, and when he perhaps should flick disapproving eyes away he did not, for, despite his best intentions, his eyes were not disapproving...
Mia felt trapped by his gaze.
She could hear Eloa talking yet had little idea what was being said, and she was peripherally aware of her wineglass being topped up, yet it felt as if it were just her and Dante at the table.
For two years Mia had forced herself to ignore him and be her aloof best, she found that she too could not look away. For two years she had trained herself to deny the slight prickly sensations his presence evoked, and to ignore the stir of unfamiliar arousal he triggered, but she was unable to stop it now. Mia felt the creep of warmth spread up her throat to her cheeks, and down to her breasts. Dante made her, without words, want to shift in her seat; he made her want to touch her own mouth to check on it for it felt too big for her face.
And even as she willed him to look away, Mia found that she could not.
The prison doors felt as if they were parting as, for the first time since the day they’d met, she allowed herself to meet his gaze and be held there.
