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Well, she almost had. It wouldn’t take her long to do so, and Marianna wasn’t expecting her back for a couple of hours…
Putting her bag on the floor, she sat down on the edge of his bed—and, truly, that was how Aurora meant to remain. Except as she read unthinkingly she slipped off her high heels.
Nico would have told her to make herself at home, she told herself as she lifted her legs onto the bed and lay back on plump pillows. Of course he would. Well, if he’d behaved as he should then he would. How many times had he rested his head in her pink bedroom, after all?
It was the most peaceful hour she had found in Rome. There, in his bed.
Now and then she would glance up and look out to the lush green park, and then back to her book she’d go, letting out a contented sigh at the end.
It would be Nico who would read it next!
After she’d leant over and placed the book on his shelf, between his boring other ones, she lay back with a smile, imagining Nico’s expression when he found it.
Imagining him.
Imagining them.
It was something she knew all too well in her head…
‘Aurora!’
It was clearly her day for being caught daydreaming.
His voice startled her and her eyes snapped open. She realised she had dozed off. ‘You’re back!’
‘Clearly.’
In fact Nico wasn’t surprised to find her here. Marianna had mentioned that Aurora was at the house, sorting out the maintenance guys.
For the first time in living memory Nico had ‘popped home’ in the middle of a working day.
And there, in a blood-red dress, with her snaky black curls and bare feet, lay Aurora, asleep on his bed.
He was turned on even before he called her name.
‘I wasn’t asleep,’ she said.
‘Then what are you doing?’ he asked.
‘Daydreaming,’ Aurora said, for to her it was the most normal thing in the world to do.
She wasn’t flustered. She didn’t rush to sit up, and nor did she apologise; instead she looked him right in the eyes.
‘About…?’ Nico asked, when he knew full well he should be telling her off, or just getting the hell out. For there was seduction in the look she gave him, and he had sustained it with his low reply.
‘My husband,’ Aurora said. ‘My future one.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes.’
‘And what is he like?’
‘He has a beard,’ Aurora said.
‘A beard?’
‘Sì.’ She nodded. ‘And when he comes home to surprise me at lunchtime, he laughs when he finds me reading in bed and the house unkempt.’
