Page 32 of Unveiled As The Italian's Bride
She hit the bottom of the stairs just as her phone beeped with a message from Dante that he would meet her at the restaurant. His meetings had over-run.
Disappointment flooded through her, which was puzzling, because it wasn’t as though she had actually been looking forward to spending time with him in the back of his chauffeur-driven car! On the occasions when they had found themselves confined in the restrictive space of a car, he had barely spoken a word to her, instead choosing to work while she passed her time gazing through the window, frantically trying to marshal runaway thoughts.
There was a moment of self-consciousness as she reached the restaurant, was ushered inside and relieved of her coat. She had heard of this place. It was an intimate space cleverly partitioned by arrangements of various ferns and palms on dramatic pedestals. Nestled between these arrangements were cosy chairs and sofas, all upholstered in vivid royal-blue. The lighting was mellow and, although the place was packed to the rafters, it still managed to convey the impression of not being busy. There was a library-like hush—no loud roars of laughter or the clatter of voices competing to be heard.
She was shown to Dante’s table with deference, and there he was, sprawled in one of the chairs with a glass of whisky in front of him, scrolling through his phone, which he dropped the second he realised she had arrived.
She looked spectacular—that was the punch-in-the-gut thought that hit him as soon as he spotted her dithering by the entrance. He could sense her awkwardness, just as he could understand it, although no one looking from the outside would have seen anything but cool, sophisticated elegance. She had chosen her wardrobe thoughtfully. Everything he had seen her in was streamlined and simple, and this dress was no exception. It made the most of a slender frame that was no less sexy because of her lack of curves.
There was a delicate, uber-feminine prettiness about her that only now seemed to reveal itself, although maybe, for the first time and in these extraordinary circumstances, he was seeing beyond the image she had always striven to project.
He frowned, shifted and half-stood as she approached the table.
‘My apologies for the change of plan,’ he murmured, watching her with brooding intensity as she settled into the chair and immediately fiddled with her hair, tucking it behind her ears and not quite meeting his gaze for a few seconds.
‘That’s okay.’
‘Drink?’
‘Water would be fine.’
‘Surely not?’ Dante shot her a crooked smile. ‘Not when we’re engaged and having a relaxed evening out...’
‘Do you think people are looking at us?’
‘This is a very private place, and no, despite what you may think, we haven’t suddenly turned into show ponies required to go through hoops and gallop over obstacles,’ Dante returned wryly. ‘Forget about an audience. Why not try and relax, Kate?’
He signalled to a waiter, ordered a bottle of wine then relaxed back in the chair and looked at her for a couple of seconds. ‘How are you...dealing with all of this? You’ve moved from the sidelines to take centre stage and I want to make sure that you’re dealing with the sudden shift comfortably. Are you?’
‘It’s early days...’
‘And the attention is only going to become more focused, I must warn you.’
‘I understand that,’ Kate said quietly. ‘And it’s worth it.’ She sat back, allowing the waiter to pour them both some red wine, which he did with suitable flourish.
Dante nodded. The money... He lowered his eyes and was suddenly keen to move the situation to a different footing.
But what footing? And why?
Dante was aware of his shortcomings. He knew only too well that his austere upbringing had prepared him for a life of success, achievement and duty but had left him without any capacity for emotional generosity. His only access to what he expected was a normal childhood had been via his uncle, whom he had adored. But Antonio’s occasional visits had left him gazing through a window at what love,joie de vivreand physical closeness might look like, unable to get past that barrier to sample those things first-hand. That just wasn’t him. Perhaps, if Antonio had been more of a constant, then his influence might have been greater, but he hadn’t been. He had dipped in and out.
And so Dante had long ago accepted the man that he was. It was why he had not flinched at his arranged marriage to Luciana and, whilst disappointed with the outcome, had been prepared to suffer through it, with rules laid down once Angelina had been born. He might have found her antics distasteful but, on a basic, emotional level, he had remained unscathed.
So this arrangement, this distance between them, the politeness of two strangers...why the sudden urge to change that dynamic?
‘So...’ He cleared his throat. ‘Our wedding.’
‘Yes. The wedding.’
‘How does it sound that we proceed within the month?’
‘Sure.’
‘I’ve already deposited a substantial amount of money into your account. Perhaps you’ve checked?’
‘Thank you.’
‘Once we are married, I will continue to give you a generous monthly allowance, which will be independent of whatever you need for your daily requirements as my wife. But of course, that’s already been confirmed in our pre-nup agreement.’
