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Dante glanced unenthusiastically around him at the other wedding guests as everyone tucked into the lavish wedding breakfast. Rafaello had had a quiet word with his friend the groom, and his English bride, and Dante was now included in their number to replace a no-show. Although he couldn’t help thinking rather cynically that being young, wealthy and not exactly ugly meant his presence here was probably quite welcome.
‘You can... What is that English expression...?Case the joint,’ Rafaello said in his languid manner. ‘See if any unattached females here meet your urgent requirements. I can already see that you are being eyed up as an object of new interest...’ he added, with the same wry amusement.
His answer was an unamused scowl from Dante. Raf might be finding his predicament hilarious—damn him—but it wasn’t him facing it!
How would he like having to lose his freedom—just when he thought he’d gained it?
Living his life under his grandfather’s control had become increasingly chafing as the years had gone by, and, love him though he had—he’d been grateful for the stability of his upbringing when it would otherwise, courtesy of his feckless parents, have been chaotic and haphazard, spent mostly packed off out of his neglectful parents’ way in boarding schools—Dante knew that his grandfather’s unexpected and sudden death from a heart attack three months ago had also been a kind of release for him, harsh though it was to acknowledge it.
I felt I had finally got my life to myself—free to do whatever I wanted. No responsibilities. No answering to anyone else! Making my own decisions about my own life.
Of course he would still have the responsibility for taking on the running of Cavelli Finance—that was understood and accepted. Welcomed, even. He already had plans to develop his grandfather’s business and take advantage of new opportunities for investment—especially in the field of green finance, which his highly conservative grandfather had obdurately blocked, despite all Dante’s persuasive arguments.
But when it came to his personal life... Well, he’d thought he would finally be free to do whatever he wanted with it. Which was, he’d decided not settling down into marriage, or starting a family, but also not being anything like his own self-indulgent, party-loving parents had been either. There had to be a happy medium.
And now his grandfather had reached from beyond the grave to get his own way...
Frustration and anger roiled in him again, darkening his mood even more. He couldn’t even drown it in alcohol—he was booked into a hotel in the local town, and the wedding venue was packed solid, so he needed to drive tonight. Besides, he wasn’t in a mood to drown his frustrations. Only to let them feed upon themselves. Dark and brooding—and totally unsolvable.
Connie was hurrying down the long drive from the Hall towards the electronically controlled gates, head bowed, for it was starting to rain. The wedding party was still ongoing, but she’d made it clear to the catering manager she had to leave at eleven. She could not ask Mrs Bowen to stay any longer with her grandmother, and besides, Gran would need to be put to bed, not just doze in her armchair. Even though these days she hardly noticed what time it was.
A sigh escaped her. Oh, what were they going to do now that their home was going to be taken away from them? The problem went round and round in her head. Totally unsolvable.
Her tired feet stumbled slightly on the gravelled drive. She still had half a mile to walk down country lanes to reach the village, and she would need a torch once she was beyond these gates.
She’d just passed through the gates, which had opened to the exit code she’d been given, and was standing on the other side, fumbling for her torch in her handbag, when she heard a noisy car, accelerating fast. She saw the gates were starting to close, then was blinded by headlights approaching at speed. Presumably the driver wanted to make it through the gates while they were still wide enough, rather than slow down and wait to reopen them.
With a final roar the car made it through the narrowing gap, throwing up a slew of gravel, a little of which hit Connie in the legs as she lurched back instinctively to get away from the car. She gave a cry of shock, mixed with pain from the stinging gravel, and dropped her torch. Immediately she crouched down to find it, not registering that the speeding car had slowed to a halt and the driver’s door was opening.
‘Are you all right?’
The voice that spoke out of the darkness was sharp. And accented. And familiar.
Her head flew up. ‘I dropped my torch,’ she said.
He hunkered down beside her—the Italian wedding guest with the face of a movie star.
‘Here,’ he said, picking it up from the place it had rolled away to, holding it out to her.
‘Er...thank you,’ Connie said, clambering to her feet.
The drop-dead gorgeous man did the same. Light from the security lamps fell on his face, making his features even more arresting, and the rain created diamond drops in his dark hair and on his ridiculously long eyelashes.
The light also showed her he was frowning.
He said something in Italian, then in English. ‘You’re the waitress who dropped the glasses.’
‘Yes,’ said Connie. There wasn’t much else to say.
His frown deepened. ‘You have no umbrella,’ he observed.
‘Er...no,’ said Connie.
She made to shuffle away. She was getting wetter and wetter and she needed to get home.
Suddenly she felt her arm taken.
‘Get in the car,’ he said. ‘No, don’t object—I’m getting wet too.’
