Italian Mavericks: A Deal With The Italian. Дженнифер Хейворд

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       CHAPTER FIVE

      OLIVIA TRIED TO maintain an air of enforced Zen as she and Rocco winged their way toward Manhattan in the Mondelli jet the following Sunday night, but with each mile the speedy little plane ate up toward the past she’d vowed to leave behind, her self-imposed calm faded further.

      Her huge, square-cut, white-diamond engagement ring sat on her finger with an almost oppressive weight. It had already been pictured in tabloids and newspapers around the globe after she and Rocco had been spotted leaving an exclusive Via della Spiga boutique earlier that week. The taste of the media circus their engagement was about to become had already gone a long way toward ridding her of the ten pounds she needed to shed.

      Technically, she was ready to face it. Her new wardrobe, courtesy of Mario Masini, was expertly packed in her suitcase stowed at the back of the jet. Her hair had been trimmed of its split ends, a shine added, her thoughts equally whipped into line by the Mondelli PR people, who’d key messaged her to within an inch of her life.

      Outwardly she was perfect. Internally she was a mess.

      She glanced over at her complex, stunning fiancé for a smidge of reassurance, but he had his head down working. Had been since they’d taken off seven hours ago.

      She took advantage of the moment to study him. He may not be attracted to her, but she was to him, and he knew it. The way his tall, lithe body was too big for the streamlined airplane seat, the hard olive-skinned muscle visible where his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, the serious, intensely male lines of his face that always seemed to be furrowed in concentration, made her feel distinctly weak at the knees.

      Pathetic, really, when he hadn’t exercised any of those attributes on her since that kiss against her door, except for a few possessive touches during the dinner with Alessandra. She’d been sadly responsive to him, while he’d remained unaffected.

      He also hated her. Let’s not forget that. Reason number one to ignore him. He was an arrogant son of a bitch who thought she was a sycophant who’d bedded his seventy-year-old grandfather. She needed to get over him. Now.

      She sighed and tapped her fingers on the glossy pages of the magazine lying on her lap. At least the massive amount of media coverage had negated the need to inform her parents of her engagement. Her mother had called her within minutes of reading the first tabloid piece, salivating over Rocco’s money. Olivia had wanted to tell her she’d never see a penny of it, but Rocco had forbade her from revealing the truth to anyone. Which left her with exactly no one to confide in.

      And God forbid she confide her feelings to her fiancé. Alessandra Mondelli, who’d been clearly fascinated with her brother’s sudden engagement, clearly shocked to find Olivia hiding out in Milan and clearly determined to know all the details, had given her the lowdown on the man who seemed about as open as an ice cream shop on a bitterly cold February day.

      “He’s a driven perfectionist who’s been forced his whole life to take charge,” Alessandra had told her when Rocco had left their table in the busy Milanese restaurant to chat with a business acquaintance. “Of us when our father left, and of the company when Giovanni went running wild with his creative pursuits and left the business side of things in disarray.” Alessandra had shaken her head. “He’s hurting badly about Giovanni, but in typical Rocco fashion, he’s internalized it all.”

      Alessandra’s comments should have made Rocco seem more human, more approachable, but had instead only increased her insecurities. Yes, she was a world-famous beauty, but she was not her fiancé’s type. He’d told her so.

      That was supposed to help her heading into tonight’s dinner with the formidable Stefan Bianco, who apparently had had his heart broken by a woman after his money?

       Amazing.

      She squirmed in her seat. Rocco glanced over at her, a sigh escaping his lips. “Are you always this distracted? You’re like a six-year-old in need of toys...”

      She rolled her eyes at how badly he read her. How completely inaccurately he’d judged her. To Rocco she was Mata Hari reincarnate.

      “The paparazzi are going to be out in force looking for us,” she murmured. “I’m anxious.”

      “Aren’t you used to it by now?”

      “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She pushed her hair out of her face. “I would have preferred an evening to acclimatize before I have to face it. It’s intimidating enough having to convince one of your best friends we’re mad about each other. Having a camera shoved in my face, I could do without.”

      His smile flashed white in the muted confines of the jet. “Worried you won’t be able to control yourself?”

      “From clawing your eyes out?” she came back tartly. “Yes.”

      The grooves on either side of his mouth deepened. “You know, I actually think we might pull this off. We argue like an old married couple.”

      She made a face. “Luckily this madness will end before that happens.”

      A curious gleam entered his eyes. “Do you ever intend to marry?”

      “It isn’t high on my list. I think I’ll rely on my career as a designer instead.”

      His brow arched. “You don’t want a big poufy dress and a veil? A lifetime commitment?”

      “I’m not sure I’m capable of that kind of love.”

      Wow. She hadn’t even realized she’d thought that until she’d said it.

      He reclined back in his chair and fixed her with a speculative look. “That’s an honest statement. One I can identify with.”

      “You don’t think you are, either?”

      His lips curled. “I don’t think I’m not, I know I’m not. It’s what makes this engagement of convenience just so very easy for me.”

      She wondered what had brought him to that conclusion. What was behind the cynicism Giovanni had spoken of when it came to his grandson... Despite his transgressions, Giovanni and his son had been madly in love with their wives. The Mondelli men clearly fell hard. So what had happened to Rocco? Had a woman burned him badly?

      Their conversation was cut off as they made their final descent into Manhattan. The elegant little jet set down on the runway, they disembarked into the chill of a winter Manhattan night and were quickly ushered into a car operated by Rocco’s driver and spirited to the Mondelli apartment in the heart of СКАЧАТЬ