Page 7 of Unveiled As The Italian's Bride
Dante raked his fingers through his hair and, in that instant, Kate saw something she had never seen before—she saw his humanity and a love for his uncle that had been called to account and held up to scrutiny.
Which brought her no closer to understanding what was going on. She eyed the bottle and wondered whether another glass was called for or whether a steady head was what was needed.
‘If marriage is what he wants, if it can help him navigate this temporary setback, then marriage is what I will give him.’
‘Butme?Signor D’Agostino...’
‘Dante.’
Kate skirted around that informality. ‘Why me?’
Her head had not stopped spinning. She realised that she was leaning forward, every muscle tense with strain, her whole body in a state of shock.
‘It’s simple.’
‘Simple?’She wondered whether they were on the same planet. She’d always known that this was a man who lived in a different realm from her and most other people. He breathed the rarefied air of someone who led a life of extreme wealth and privilege, accustomed to servitude and obedience, but surely their worlds were not so badly aligned that he could actually think that asking a perfect stranger for her hand in marriage wassimple?
‘Like I said, I’ve already been married.’ His face darkened and he glanced down before raising cool, midnight-dark eyes back to her face. ‘I will not be going there again in any way that is meaningful. I do not want a woman who thinks that there will be love involved, or anything else for that matter. All doors to any relationship along those lines were shut a long time ago.’
‘Anything else?’ Kate asked faintly, her brows knitted as she tried to keep pace with what he was telling her.
‘Think hard about that one,’ Dante drawled wryly, ‘and I’m sure you’ll get my drift.’
He sat back and sipped his wine while Kate absorbed exactly what that remark meant.
A marriage without love or sex for the sake of his uncle... The colour drained away from her face and her mouth fell open.
‘I want a woman I can communicate with,’ he said with deadly seriousness. ‘And one who is guaranteed to get along with my daughter. Angelina is as central to this as my uncle is. I also want someone who knows exactly how the ground lies and will not complicate matters by thinking that there will ever be anything more to the arrangement than what’s on the table.’
‘And you thinkIfit the bill?’ Kate queried incredulously. ‘What you’re proposing... Look, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to find someone else to fill the role...’
‘Because this doesn’t tally with your romantic vision of what a marriage should look like?’
‘That amongst a thousand other reasons!’
Dante allowed the silence to fill the space between them. This was the first time any conversation between them had strayed out of safe territory.
He had regular face-to-face meetings with her, was always pleased with what she had to say about Angelina and even more pleased with what Angelina had to say about her. She maintained an excellent balance between discipline and fun, probably because she was young and lively. She and Angelina did a great deal together and, whenever he took his daughter out to lunch or dinner, he was always treated to enthusiastic reports of picnics had, galleries visited, concerts attended or biscuits baked.
But, for the first time, she was no longer in her comfort zone and he was seeing aspects to her that had not previously been apparent. The convenient image was shifting and what was swimming into focus was something different. He was seeing a fiery independence that didn’t quite tally with the ‘eyes down’, reserved woman who sometimes answered his questions so quietly that he had to strain to hear her. The woman who never entered his office for their briefings without a uniform of neatly ironed skirts or trousers, and blouses that were invariably buttoned to the neck.
Shuttered eyes briefly took in what she was wearing now, old, worn clothes that did wonders for her slender, boyish figure and a face that was oddly appealing as she stared at him with flushed cheeks and defiant, glittering hazel eyes. He’d seen her before—of course he had—but he wasseeingher now and something stirred inside him, a dangerous sizzle that he stamped down with ruthless efficiency so that it barely registered on his consciousness.
‘Two years,’ he said abruptly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Marriage for two years—after which you will be free to go your own way.’
‘Absolutely not!’ Kate sprang to her feet and glared at him, furious that in the midst of this bizarre conversation he remained as cool as a cucumber.
But then the man was so cold—so chillingly contained. His interactions with his daughter were so formal compared to her own relationship with her parents. She knew that he loved Angelina as much as Angelina adored him and had seen flashes of it now and again when he had smiled at something or quizzed her about something she might have said. Who knew? Perhaps during those lunches and dinners, when the pair of them went out, he was a different man but Kate doubted it.
‘Sit back down. Please. This conversation is far from over.’
‘It is for me,’ Kate told him quietly but her legs were wobbly and she remained where she was, hovering.
‘I have not got to the crux of this.’
