Page 138 of A Diamond Deal
One thing she’d come to realise was that she couldn’t be completely at his whim while she was here. She needed to investigate university courses, but also the niggling thoughts about the Italian language came back to her. She should start learning the language. There’d have to be an app for that, or some textbooks she could order online. Except, she had money now, she didn’t need to think of the cheapest way to achieve her goal. She could enrol in a school, or get a tutor. Something that would fill her days over the next two years.
She took her time showering that morning, and dressed with care, the other women’s criticism of her ringing in her ears.Dull.Yeah, well. You could buy a girl all the designer clothes in the world, but she supposed a leopard really didn’t change its spots. There was a pair of expensive jeans in the wardrobe, which she slipped on, with an oversized T-shirt. Her hair, she pulled into a high ponytail, before applying a little lip gloss. Her bruise had completely faded, which meant there was no need to cake make-up on her face.
When she walked into the kitchen, it was to find a note from her newly minted husband, propped against the coffee machine.
Signora Moretti—
Gone to the office. You looked too peaceful to wake. Call my assistant for a rundown of the house. See you for dinner tonight.
MM.
Her pulse exploded. The very idea of him peeking in on her while she slept, just to see if she was awake or not, or perhaps to say goodbye, made her whole body catch fire. But the thought of yet another dinner, being trotted out by her husband to show off his Rossicontessinabride, made her stomach drop to her toes.
This was their agreement, though, and she was being very well paid for it. Her gaze shifted to the windows, and, at the view of Rome, her heart kicked up a gear.
Coffee beckoned, and then the day yawned ahead of her—a day that was hers to control, hers to fill, however she wanted. She had never been mistress of her own time, free to do what she wished, when she chose. And suddenly, excitement at the possibilities of that made it impossible to feel anything other than pleasure, no matter what. Because Amelia had spent such a long time being beholden to someone or something, having responsibilities up to her eyeballs, that she almost couldn’t believe the freedom she now had. A freedom that was thanks to her husband. No matter what, she’d always be grateful to him for that.
Whatever else she might think about Massimiliano, as she dressed for dinner, she recognised two equally strong, competing feelings. Anticipation, as her body sought those same experiences he’d lavished on her the afternoon prior. And pride, that she would not be seen as dull by the haughty women he’d been with in the past.
To that end, she chose an outfit that was the polar opposite of dull. The slinky minidress was a dark blue in colour and fitted her body like a glove. She teamed it with a pair of ankle boots and a faux-fur jacket, styled her hair in loose, voluminous waves, and followed yet another online tutorial to do her make-up. Her lips she painted a deep cherry red, then stood back to admire the sultry effect, with the hint of a smile. She emerged from her room at the same time he strode into the luxurious penthouse, wearing a dark navy suit and crisp white shirt. He didn’t see her at first, so she had the opportunity to let her eyes soak him in, reacting privately to how absolutely gorgeous he was, before his gaze lifted and flicked across the room, landing on her with a palpable thud.
Her lips parted—she couldn’t help it. Breath escaped her lungs in a whoosh. She fidgeted with her engagement ring, standing right where she was.
He turned, changed direction, began striding towards her. ‘Signora Moretti,’ he murmured, eyes scanning her face.
She fought the temptation to bite into her lip, to keep fidgeting. But she was nervous. This was such a different look for her, and she realised then it wasn’t just for the benefit of the women they might meet at restaurants. This was about her husband, just as much. About wanting him to approve.
But he simply quirked a brow, as if waiting for her to speak.
She didn’t. She couldn’t. Her mouth felt completely dry.
‘Are you ready to go?’
Her stomach dropped to her toes, her eyes followed, landing on the floor between them. ‘Sure,’ she managed to croak out, ignoring the wave of disappointment, and not letting it take over. ‘I’m starving.’
Then his hands shifted to her hips, holding her through the slinky material of her dress. ‘That makes two of us.’ Except when she glanced into his eyes, she blushed to the roots of her hair, because it didn’t feel as though he was talking about food. She had no experience to explain why she felt that, it was simply an instinct. But pleasure exploded through her and heat began to build in her chest.
‘Then we’d better go.’
Neither of them moved. His eyes held hers and then, slowly, his hand lifted, to curve around her cheek. ‘Are you better?’
She blinked at him, not understanding.
‘Last night. You were exhausted.’
‘Oh, right,’ she murmured. She’d been ruminating on the women she’d overheard, the facets to the man she’d married. She’d wanted space. She’d also really, really wanted him.
‘Yeah.’ She nodded unevenly. ‘I’m all good.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Then he dropped his hand to hers and laced their fingers together. ‘Let’s go.’
It was yet another incredible restaurant filled with Europe’s elite. Wealthy, well-heeled people who made no effort to hide their interest in Massimiliano’s new bride. She felt the surreptitious and not-so-surreptitious attention of the room on her for the entire meal, despite the fact their booth was on the wall at the back of the restaurant.
Despite the fact that her husband had spent the night in a skilful, slow seduction that had wound her up almost to breaking point. His every touch, every glance, had sparked something inside her, so when he suggested dessert, she wanted to scream ‘no’. All she could fantasise about was going home and dragging him to bed. Not for another lesson, either, but for the whole kit and caboodle. She wanted him. Sex. She needed that more than she could say.
‘Have you ever hadmaritozziAmelia?’
His voice was deep, raw. She shook her head, not sure if she could speak. He signalled to the waiter for some to be brought, then topped up Amelia’s champagne.
