Page 37 of Unveiled As The Italian's Bride
Sitting next to Dante in the back of the cab, Kate wondered what was going through his head. She didn’t want to look at him. He came from the very upper echelons of Italian society and was accustomed to a life of sophistication and luxury—a life filled with people waiting on him hand and foot, moving from one exciting city to another, always surrounded by bright lights and the very best that money and influence could buy. What on earth must he make of this slow and tortuous trip from a tiny provincial station where, at this time of the year, he could be forgiven for thinking that the majority of the population had upped sticks and left because everywhere was shrouded in darkness?
His prolonged silence was saying it all, as far as Kate was concerned. ‘It doesn’t usually take so long,’ she eventually blurted out, turning to look at him, and then past him into swirls of snow rushing against the windows.
‘Is this where you grew up?’
‘I... Not exactly.’
‘It’s difficult to see what the place is like,’ Dante confessed. ‘It’s very—quiet. Is it always this quiet? Is it somewhere that comes alive in summer?’
He sounded dubious.
‘I know it probably seems dull in comparison to what you’re used to,’ Kate said defensively, ‘but it’s beautiful here. As beautiful as Venice, in fact. A different kind of beauty, but equally stunning. The greens of the trees in summer and the colours of the hills in autumn are spectacular. Out here, in this part of the world, it’s all open spaces and you can breathe—really breathe.’
‘Kate,’ Dante said softly. ‘What I say is not meant as a criticism. And, for the record, why do you imagine that I would find it dull out here?’
‘Because...’ She was ensnared by the glitter of his dark, dark eyes resting thoughtfully on her face. For a while she forgot all about the snow outside and the silent, slow progress of the car through the unlit side roads bordered with fields and open space.
‘Because?’
‘Because you grew up with everything.’ Kate breathed, held captive by his gaze and with her heart picking up pace until she began to feel faint. ‘You’ve lived a life wrapped up in luxury. I should warn you that you might not find the living standard out here quite the same.’
‘You are telling me that I am a snob?’
‘Of course you are, Dante. Why wouldn’t you be?’ She was genuinely perplexed that he might see himself as an ordinary human being. When she looked at him, he was so obviously offended that she blushed madly and smiled.
‘If you knew half the people I knew growing up, then you would probably redefine your description of a snob,’ Dante said wryly.
‘What do you mean?’
‘To be a snob is to consider yourself superior to other people, to put yourself on a pedestal above other people. You’re very much mistaken if you think that this is the man that I am.’
Dante paused, considering yet another plunge into confidences he was not accustomed to sharing. ‘I—I was raised to be the very person you describe,’ he continued slowly. ‘And maybe Antonio was my saviour. He escaped the constraints of birth by denouncing everything and he brought that taste of freedom into my life when I was growing up. Yes, I grew up surrounded by everything money could buy, but would I describe my life as a happy one? Possibly not.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It was a cold upbringing, you might say...’ He looked at her in brooding silence for a few seconds and was suddenly disoriented—by the snow and the darkness, or by her? By those calm, intelligent eyes resting on him, not pressing him for confidences and yet luring him into giving them. ‘And then there was my marriage.’
A first for everything, Dante thought. A first for him. He had never spoken to anyone about Luciana. He had never been tempted to. But now, here, it felt pretty good just to utter those words, a prelude to a confidence he might regret. Who knew?
He was staring down from a great height, not sure why he was so willing to break with the script, and that uncertainty was also a first for him.
‘I’m so very sorry,’ Kate murmured quietly, reaching out on impulse to cover his hand with hers and barely conscious of the gesture. ‘Sorry for you and sorry for Angelina. She was a very beautiful woman and you must have loved her very much. You have that wonderful painting hanging where you can see her, be reminded of her, all the time. If you’d rather not talk about it, then I’ll fully understand. I know we’re here and doing this—thing—but that doesn’t mean we have to breach whatever boundaries we have.’
‘Thisthing...’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘You have a very special talent when it comes to denting my ego.’
‘Maybe that’s healthy for you,’ Kate returned without pause for thought and then she laughed at herself. ‘Now I sound like the teacher I am.’ She expected the conversation to swerve away from the intensely personal road it had travelled down, and was already waving goodbye to a million and one unanswered questions buzzing in her head, but he looked at her seriously after a short while and raked his fingers through his dark hair.
‘It was an arranged marriage,’ Dante said thoughtfully. ‘Two dynasties uniting—expected and welcomed.’
‘You agreed to that?’
‘It may seem alien to you but—’ Dante shrugged ‘—in my world, it’s the done thing. It was an arrangement that worked well enough with my own parents. Unfortunately...’ his lips thinned ‘...Luciana was not the sort of woman willing to do anything whatsoever for the greater good.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean my ex-wife was a sensationally beautiful woman who knew not just the power of her own looks but the immense control that came when money was aligned to that beauty. She inhabited a world in which the only person worthy of consideration was herself.’
Kate remained silent. Many things suddenly fell into place, starting with Angelina’s lack of interest in talking about the mother she had lost, and ending with her absolute devotion to her father, even though he could be so remote and so engrossed with his work. Angelina had never bonded with a woman who had probably never bonded with her. On the rare occasion when Kate had asked her about her mother in passing, she had not been so much angry, upset or tearful as indifferent.
