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With a start, she realised she should do likewise. She texted the nurse looking after her grandmother, asking after her. A reply came shortly, telling her that her grandmother was having lunch, and seemed a little less agitated. Connie was half reassured, half not.
But I have to be reassured because this has to happen—that’s all.
She put the phone away in her handbag, staring out of the window with a troubled expression on her face. An air of complete and absolute unreality possessed her. But then, it had ever since Dante Cavelli had returned, as he had said he would, a week after he had walked into the cottage with his incredible offer and she had given him her reply.
Since then, everything had felt dreamlike. Including the brief civil ceremony that had just taken place.
Had the registrar wondered at how bizarre it was...marrying two people who could not have been more unalike?
If she did it’s something I’m going to have to get used to—that kind of reaction from people.
She felt her heart grow heavy. How was she going to get through this coming week, being paraded as the wife of the man sitting beside her—a man who might as well be from another planet to the one she lived on?
At least it will all be in Italian... All the comments, the disbelief, the murmurings, the shock and astonishment.
Not just that Dante Cavelli had returned to Italy with a wife.But with such a wife... So completely and utterly not like the kind of beautiful, svelte, chic, elegant wife a man like him would be expected to have.
I’m nothing like that! Nothing at all—in fact I’m the very opposite.
She felt the colour start to mount in her face again and forced it back. She had no reason to feel so abashed. So what if she wasn’t the kind of woman a man like Dante Cavelli was likely to marry? It was no one else’s business what she and the man beside her chose to do.
She was aware that Dante was putting away his phone and turning to her. As ever, Connie gave a silent sigh. He was looking as breathtakingly drop-dead gorgeous as ever. His grey silk-lined suit had obviously been tailor-made for him, designer-styled, and he wore it with the flair that only Italian males seemed to possess. His movie star looks, those fabulously expressive dark eyes fringed with impossible lashes and his sculpted cheekbones and chiselled jawline—all just compounded to make her want to gaze and gaze and gaze.
But that was something she must not do. Or at least must not be caught doing. That would just be too embarrassing—mortifying, in fact.
Though he must be totally used to females gazing at him, swooning over him...
Even women who looked as unappealing as she did.
She gave another silent sigh. She’d made an effort today, dragging on a dress for the occasion, but she had known, grimly, that trying to make herself look good by styling her hair or putting on make-up would hardly turn her into a suitable bride for a man like Dante Cavelli. So she’d left well alone, contenting herself with looking neat and tidy. It was the best she could do—and a poor best at that, as she knew all too well.
But he didn’t marry me for my looks. He married me because I’ll stay out of his hair—not make any demands on him!
Nor would she, of course. All she wanted was security for her grandmother and herself—and that was what she had. The deeds to Gran’s cottage were now in her own handbag, and the feeling of relief at their possession was worth anything—anything at all.
‘So, how do you feel?’ he asked.
His voice was friendly, and she was grateful. Friendliness was really all she could cope with from him. All she would get, obviously. She knew that perfectly well. And was glad of it.
It was the way she would treat him in return. It was the only way she would be able to deal with this whole situation. As if their vastly different looks—him so gorgeous, her so totally the opposite—were simply non-existent.
It’s the only way I can manage—by ignoring it.
They were, after all, simply two people solving their own respective predicaments in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with anything personal between them.
We’ll just have to get on with it—deal with it, and deal with each other, in whatever way it’s easiest to do so. Honest and upfront and not making a fuss....
It was therefore in a robust fashion that she answered him now. ‘Weird,’ Connie said bluntly. ‘You must too, surely?’
He nodded. ‘We’ll get used to it.’ He paused. ‘We won’t be seeing many people in Milan. Just my grandfather’s lawyers—his executors.’
She frowned, a thought striking her. ‘Didn’t he make you one, if you’re his only grandchild?’
‘No,’ Dante said tersely. He paused again, then spoke. ‘I suspect he thought I would try and use being an executor to evade the terms of his will.’
‘You said that was impossible,’ Connie said.
‘Precisely,’ came the tight-lipped reply.
