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She could feel his eyes on every inch of bare skin as Mia made her slow way down. Ariana must have said something caustic for Dante tore his eyes away and turned to his sister, and it was clear to Mia that he was scolding her.
Indeed, Ariana had failed at first hurdle to put animosity aside. ‘Hardlya grieving widow,’ she hissed when she first glimpsed Mia.
‘I told you, Ariana,’ Dante warned, ‘to cut it out.’
He turned his attention back to Mia and all he could think was,Thank God!
Thank God his father had been unable to attend last year, for had he seen her like that, he would have been plunged straight into hell. And while Dante knew only too well Mia’s beauty, he was simply blown away for in that stunning red she was, to Dante, absolute perfection. He saw she was not wearing her wedding and engagement rings, and when the earrings caught the light and sparkled he felt a certain pride that she worehisdiamonds tonight. She looked seductive yet elegant, and she had him fighting himself not to walk over and offer his arm for those last few stairs.
‘Mia,’ Dante said as she joined them, ‘you look stunning. Thank you for being here tonight.’
‘It’s my pleasure.’
‘How are you?’ he asked.
‘I’m fine,’ Mia said. Well, apart from being about to spontaneously combust! Dante looked impeccable and wore a dinner suit with utter ease. The jacket was velvet and as dark as his eyes, which were blazing with approval. His scent, that unique Dante scent, had reached her and as his suited arm brushed her bare one lust rippled through her like a stone skimming a pond.
Ariana and Stefano were rigidly polite but soon gave in and drifted off, leaving Mia standing with Dante.
‘Where’s Roberto?’ Mia asked, as he was supposed to be escorting her for her entrance into the ballroom.
‘Roberto is unwell,’ Dante said. ‘It’s nothing serious, but unfortunately he’s unable to attend.’
‘Oh.’ Mia blinked, sorry to have missed seeing him.
‘I can’t escort you in,’ Dante said. ‘That might be...inappropriate.’
‘Of course,’ Mia agreed, more than a little relieved because there were practically sparks flying between them.
‘However,’ he continued, ‘I have asked Gian—’
‘Dante,’ Mia interrupted, ‘you don’t have to rummage amongst family and friends for someone to escort me. I am perfectly capable of walking in alone.’
‘Very well,’ Dante said, admiring her greatly, and then, as the MC called his name, he added, ‘Oh, and just so you know, I shan’t dance with you, Mia. I think you know why.’
He left her standing there, a little breathless, a little stunned, as if she’d just been thoroughly kissed, and then, as it was her turn to be introduced, Mia entered the ballroom alone.
Heads turned as Rafael Romano’s widow made her entrance. There were, Mia was sure, whispers behind manicured hands that the widow wore red. Still, she focussed instead on the gorgeous décor as she made her way to the head table. The ballroom was heavenly and lavishly furnished, with rose-gold brocade walls and ornate arches and a central chandelier that cast endless stars over the many tables, which were adorned with silverware and a centrepiece each of a tall column of fragrant gardenias.
The people seated at her table were all standing and as Mia approached she was grateful to Gian, who politely kissed her on the cheeks, and only when she had taken her seat on a gorgeous Chiavari chair did the rest of her table sit down.
It was going to be a very awkward night, although she had expected no less.
Mia was seated between a minister—of what, she couldn’t quite catch—and Gian, which provided somewhat of a buffer for this dinner of discontent. Ariana, looked ravishing in a black ballgown, was seated on the other side of Gian. She was pointedly silent towards Mia. Stefano and Eloa had eyes only for each other, while Luigi and his wife made no attempt to be friendly.
And Dante?
He sat opposite Mia, with the minister’s wife by his side and someone Mia didn’t know on the other. But she was beautiful and laughed loudly at everything Dante said and gazed up at him with utter adoration.
Would he be so cruel as to bring a date?
Mia truly didn’t know.
There was a toast to Rafael to kick off the night, and they were told by the MC that all the champagne was from his private cellar. Naturally Mia raised a glass and took a pretend sip, though the flash of tears in her eyes as she toasted Rafael were genuine as she thought of her dear friend.
They nibbled their way through the antipasti and for theprimo piattoit was ravioli, stuffed with pecorino, in a creamy white truffle sauce. It was perfection and Mia wished she wasn’t too nervous to fully enjoy it.
‘This was Rafael’s favourite meal,’ Mia commented to Gian.
