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I forced the wayward thought back into the box marked Ancient History before it could derail me too.
The miscarriage wasn’t relevant now. Renzo had been the father of my baby, yes, but that’s all he’d been. I had wanted him to know about the pregnancy at the time, because I had never really been sure if my own father had ever known about my existence—and that had added to my confusion and insecurity as a kid. But I hadn’t needed or wanted Renzo’s help or support. I had never been intending to rely on him. I was the one who had wanted that baby. And so it had seemed right that I had been the only one to mourn its loss.
I sat down next to him and fidgeted some more with the panties. Not sure what to say.
‘What did you mean, that this is not who you are?’ he asked, far too perceptively. ‘Who are you tonight that you weren’t this morning?’
I sighed, then forced myself to meet his gaze. I tried not to fall into that endless green before I could get out the words which have made me sick with embarrassment all day. ‘I’m your mistress.’
His lips quirked, making him look both amused, but also puzzled. ‘This is a very old-fashioned word to use,’ he said. ‘But does it not just mean you are my lover? Why do you find this insulting?’
‘Because... You know.’ I shrugged, the embarrassment starting to strangle me again. Did he really need me to spell it out?
‘No, I do not. What does this word mean exactly in English?’ he asked, sounding genuinely confused.
‘That I’m your kept woman, that I’m here at your convenience. It makes me feel a bit powerless and pathetic if I’m honest. That I’m notmeanymore.’ I could imagine how naive and unsophisticated I probably sounded to him. Why couldn’t I just chill out and enjoy the experience for three weeks? Was it because he was so rich? Or the fact I was also working for him? Or was my struggle more deep-rooted—did it go back to the virginal girl he had rejected so easily four years ago?
‘But this is not true. You would not let me keep you here without insisting on working for me too,’ he pointed out, still confused.
‘Well, yes but...’ Okay, he had a point. Sort of. But I could still feel the crippling embarrassment when I had left Matteo in the kitchen preparing dinner. ‘I just... I missed dinner this evening because I couldn’t bring myself to tell Matteo he was making dinner for both of us. After doing a professional job with him all afternoon, working on menus and talking him through everything in the kitchen, it just felt wrong to expect him to make dinner for me... With you.’
Surely, he had to see how weird that would be? How wrong?
But his lips twitched with amusement again. And then he placed his palm on my knee and rubbed, sending unwanted sensation shimmering to my core. Because of course it did.
‘There is no need for you to tell Galvini of our arrangement,’ he said, easily. ‘As I have already done so.’
‘You... Wh-what?’My mouth dropped open as heat scalded my cheeks. ‘What did you say to him?’ I asked, so horrified I could barely form the words.
He shrugged. ‘That we are lovers and that I will expect him to cook a meal for both of us tomorrow evening.’
‘You didn’t!’ The lead weight in my stomach rammed my throat as panic assailed me. How on earth was I going to face the other chef tomorrow afternoon, and appear professional and competent, when we were supposed to be going to the produce market in Villefranche-sur-Mer together?
‘Oh god.’ I sank my burning face into my hands. ‘I can’t believe you did that.’
This was just...awful. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover it.
‘Shh, you are overreacting,Principessa.’ Renzo’s arm wrapped around my shoulders and I heard his husky laugh. Which should have made me angry. But I was actually too horrified to feel anything but mortification at the moment. ‘Galvini was not embarrassed, or upset by this news, so why are you?’
Well, of course, he hadn’tactedlike he was embarrassed or upset, I wanted to scream. Renzo was a powerful man and he was also paying Matteo’s wages.
‘What exactlydidhe say?’ I groaned, even though I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know.
I heard the gruff laugh again. ‘If you must know, he complimented me on my good fortune.’
‘He what?’ My gaze jerked to his, the rich glow of amusement and pride in his eyes making my already erratic heartbeat become loud and discordant. And the melting sensation between my thighs heat. ‘He didn’t?’ I said, not sure I believed him. Was he trying to make me feel better now? Less awkward and exposed? Because if he was, it was working but I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
‘Jessie,’ he murmured, the affection in his tone doing something equally disturbing to my insides. He brushed his palm over my burning cheek, hooked an unruly tendril of hair behind my ear. ‘Galvini is Italian. And a talented chef.’ He grinned. ‘Although not as talented as you of course,’ he continued, the gentle tone doing nothing to ease the turmoil in my insides. ‘He is a man of good taste, in all things,’ he added, his gaze intensifying. ‘Of course, this would be his response. But if he did dare to judge you, or me, I would have fired him on the spot.’
‘That’s my point exactly!’ I said, horrified but also stupidly comforted by the fierce protectiveness in his expression. ‘He couldn’t say anything else.’
‘Except this is not the point,’ he disagreed, the smile disappearing. ‘Galvini’s reaction is not important. The point is, why is it important to you? He does not judge you, so why do you judge yourself? Is it that you are ashamed to be my lover?’
Hurt flickered in his eyes, throwing me back four years to that awkward moment when we had first slept together, and I had insulted him without meaning to.
‘No, not at all,’ I said, glad when I saw the tension leave his face. ‘It’s not about you... I guess it’s to do with my mother.’
‘Tua madre?’His eyebrows rose. ‘You think she would not approve?’ he asked, clearly confused again as he searched my face looking for a coherent answer.
