The Italian's Bought Bride
Шрифт:
Now she would never find out.
Isabel picked up the small bag that held nothing more than a few clothes, toiletries and keepsakes and thrust it at her daughter.
Allegra, now dressed in a pair of jeans and a jumper, clutched it to her chest.
‘My driver is waiting outside. Make sure no one sees you.’ Isabel gave her a little push, the closest she’d probably ever come to an embrace. ‘Go!’
Allegra stumbled back to the door, then inched her way down the hallway. Her heart thudded so loudly she was sure the whole villa could hear it.
What was she doing? She felt like a naughty child sneaking out of bed, but it was so much more than that. So much worse.
She slipped on the stairs and had to grab on to the banister.
Somewhere a floorboard creaked, and she could hear a distant sound of snoring.
She tiptoed down the rest of the stairs, across the slick terracotta tiles of the hall. Her hand was on the knob of the front door and she turned it, only to find it was locked.
Relief poured through her for a strange, split second; she couldn’t get out. She couldn’t go.
So she would go quietly back to bed and forget she’d ever had this mad, mad plan. She’d half-turned back when the door was unlocked from the outside. Alfonso, her mother’s driver, stood there, tall, dark, and expressionless.
‘This way, signorina,’ he whispered.
Allegra glanced back longingly at her home, her life. She didn’t want to leave it, yet she would have been leaving it all tomorrow anyway, and for a fate surely worse than this.
At least now she was in charge of her own destiny.
‘Signorina?’
Allegra nodded, turning back from the warm light of her home. She followed Alfonso into the velvety darkness, her trainers crunching on the gravel drive.
Wordlessly, Alfonso opened the back door and Allegra slipped inside.
As the car pulled away, she gazed at her home one last time, cloaked in darkness. Her eyes roved over the climbing bougainvillea, the painted shutters, everything so wonderfully dear. In the upstairs window Isabel stood, her pale face visible between the gauzy curtains, and Allegra watched as her mother’s mouth curved into a cold, cruel smile of triumph that made her own breath catch in her chest in frightened surprise.
Tears stinging her eyes, her heart bumping against her chest in fear, Allegra pressed back against the seat as the car moved slowly down the drive, away from the only home she’d ever known.
CHAPTER THREE
STEFANO WATCHED ALLEGRA stiffen, her fingers stilling on the buttons of her cheap coat. Her head was bent, her face in profile so he could see the smooth, perfect line of her cheek and jaw, a loose tendril of hair curling on to the vulnerable curve where her neck met her shoulder.
When he’d come here tonight—finagled an invitation all too easily from the ever striving Mason—he’d intended to speak to Allegra about business only. All he cared about was obtaining the best care for Lucio.
He didn’t—wouldn’t—care about the past, wouldn’t care about Allegra. She was simply a means to an end.
Yet now he realized their history could not be so smoothly swept away. The past had to be dealt with…and quickly. Easily. Or at least appear as if it was.
He moved forward so his breath stirred that stray tendril of hair—as darkly golden as he remembered—and said, ‘You’re not leaving so early, are you?’
Slowly, carefully, she turned around. He saw her eyes widen, her pupils flare in shock as if, even now, after he’d spoken, she was surprised—afraid?—to see him there.
Stefano smiled and slipped the coat from her shoulders. ‘It’s been a long time,’ he said. The memories, which pulsed between them with a thousand unnamed emotions, he firmly pushed to one side.
He saw Allegra gaze up at him, her eyes wide and luminous, reminding him so forcefully of the girl he’d known too many years ago. He felt a lightning streak of pain—or was it anger? flash through him at that memory and he forced himself to smile.
All he could think about, care about, was Lucio. Not Allegra. Never Allegra. He let his smile linger as he asked, ‘Won’t you come into the party with me?’
It was bound to be a shock. Allegra knew that. Yet she still hadn’t expected to be so affected, so aware. Of him.
Even now, she found herself taking in his appearance, her eyes roving almost hungrily over his form, the excellently cut Italian suit in navy silk, the lithe, lean strength of him, the utter ease and arrogance with which he stood, holding her coat between two fingers.
‘Stefano,’ she finally said, drawing herself up, bringing her scattered senses back into a coherent whole. ‘Yes, it has been a long time. But I was actually just leaving.’
She’d envisiaged a scenario such as this many times—how could she not? Yet in each one she’d imagined Stefano furious, indifferent, or perhaps simply unrepentant. She’d never, in all of her imaginings, seen him smiling, looking like an old acquaintance who wanted nothing more than for them to catch up on each other’s lives.
Yet perhaps that was precisely what they were. Seven years was a long time. Who knew how either of them had grown, changed? And Stefano had never really loved her in the first place; his heart hadn’t been broken.
Not like hers had.
He hadn’t given her her coat, she realized. He hadn’t said a word, just smiled faintly in that aggravatingly arrogant way.
‘My coat, please,’ she said, trying not to sound annoyed, even though she was.
‘Why are you leaving the party so early?’ he asked. ‘I’ve just arrived.’