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Their gourmet meal continued, but though she knew she was eating the most delicious and terrifyingly expensive dishes, she knew she was not doing them justice. And not because of all the calories she’d cut down on, but for a reason she did not want to think about.
Must not think about.
Not now.
Not yet.
But she did feel, for all that, as if she were a balloon which had just been punctured with a tiny pinprick, deflating very slowly...
Worse, she was aware that Rafaello, despite his bonhomie, seemed to be keeping her under surveillance through those lidded eyes of his. As if he were in lawyer mode, assessing a witness...or a defendant...
A defendant with something to hide...
It made her overreact, to hide her feelings, and she became more outwardly cheerful, more vocal, trying to participate in the lively conversation, focusing on Dante’s proposed expedition to Amalfi and what awaited her there.
‘I’m not sure I can face Pompeii, though,’ Connie heard herself saying. ‘So unbearably sad. All those lives destroyed...’
There was a melancholy note in her voice, and yet she knew it was not just because of the hideous tragedy of two millennia ago, sweeping over the unsuspecting Pompeiians. It was about something much closer...far more personal.
Something that she did not want to give voice to. Could not bear to contemplate right now.
‘Then we shan’t go,’ Dante said decisively. ‘I’m not having you upset. But how about a trip across to Capri instead? If the weather is good enough?’
‘Oh, that sounds much nicer,’ she said gratefully.
Dante gave her another warm smile, personal and intimate—and, again, it should have reassured her. But something was happening to her...something she couldn’t explain and wasn’t sure about. Despite her chattiness she felt distracted—and disquieted by the feeling that Rafaello was watching her, speculating about her...
Does he think I’m bad for Dante? Clingy...? Possessive, maybe?
It was an unpleasant thought. He’d never approved of Dante’s marriage from the first—she knew that.
She became anxious for the meal to finish, for reasons she couldn’t articulate, but when it finally did, in leisurely fashion, and Rafaello took his leave, lightly kissing Connie on the cheek and slapping Dante equally lightly on his shoulder as he thanked him for his hospitality, adjuring both of them to enjoy the rest of their stay in Rome and then Amalfi, Connie found she still wasn’t relaxing.
Dante took her hand as they made their way towards the lifts, having waved off Rafaello in the hotel lobby.
‘Let’s have another coffee and a nightcap upstairs,’ he said genially.
Connie smiled and nodded, conscious of feeling constricted. Up in their room, with its view over the city of Rome, and the vast dome of St Peter’s lit up, Dante flicked on the in-room coffee machine and poured them both a liqueur—sweet for her, strong for him—carrying them over to the sofa positioned by the window.
‘Too cold for the balcony,’ he said, and Connie agreed.
He sat down beside her, stretching out his legs and putting his arm companionably around her shoulder. Then he kicked off his shoes and flexed his ankles, loosening his tie with his free hand.
Connie glanced at him. There was something about a loosened tie that made her insides melt, and combined with the incipient signs of darkening along Dante’s jaw she felt the melting accelerate. Oh, sweet heaven, he was just so irresistible...
For the first time since Dante had silenced Rafaello she felt her feelings of disquiet subside. She nestled into Dante’s encircling arm, reaching for her liqueur and taking a tiny sip of its sweet but fiery contents. She could hear the coffee machine beginning to perk as Dante reached for his own glass.
‘Good old Raf,’ he remarked, and his voice was much more relaxed, Connie was glad to hear. ‘Always knows how to push my buttons... But I don’t want him doing the same to you.’ He took a taste of his liqueur. ‘I can take it—and I give back as good as he hands out—but I don’t want you dragged into it. He doesn’t mean anything by it, but all the same...’
His expression darkened, and annoyance was now visible in it.
‘His warped sense humour did enough damage that night in Milan. I told him straight off that I’d had to go into damage limitation mode with Bianca Delamondi, and phone her the next day to tell her he was just fooling around.’
Connie swallowed. She’d hoped she hadn’t understood the gist of what Dante had said to Rafaello in Italian over dinner earlier. But now...
‘Dante, is that what you said to Rafaello tonight? I... I caught some words, but I wasn’t sure I was understanding. Did you say you’d told Bianca that of course we weren’t married...’
Dante pulled back from her a fraction, to look at her upturned face. ‘It was the easiest way to get her off my case,’ he said warily.
