One Christmas Night in Venice. Jane Porter

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СКАЧАТЬ And you know it’s me. Ask me anything.”

      “What was the painting I was standing in front of that day we met at the university library?”

      The smallest of smiles played at her mouth. “Jacopo Tintoretto’s The Finding of the Body of St. Mark. It was on loan from Brera in Milan.” The smile disappeared. “We talked about your Venetian family, and how St. Mark was your favorite apostle.” She looked up at him, her head shaking in disbelief. “How, Dom? How is it possible? You’re supposed to be dead.”

      And I am, he thought, gazing down at her, even as it struck him that his wedding was exactly three weeks from tonight.

      Dio buono. Good God.

      Valeria.

      He glanced at the door, thinking Valeria should be here. Knowing that Valeria, his future wife, was not going to react well to hearing that his wife was still alive.

      Eyes narrowed, he stared at Diane’s oval face, with its bright pink spots of color, and remembered the way her hand had felt against his bare chest.

      Warm, so warm. It had cut right to the heart of him. It had been both pleasure and pain—maybe even more pain than pleasure. And it hit him like a thunderbolt—Diane, only his Diane, would make him hurt like that. Only his Diane could make him feel so much. Only Diane.

      As if on cue, the future Countess Coducci entered the sitting room, her tall, statuesque body nearly naked and gleaming in gold. She lifted off her mask as she moved toward him, freeing her long blond hair and sending it tumbling down her back.

      Valeria was one of Italy’s greatest beauties. Educated, elegant, refined. She understood him, too, accepting Domenico as he was instead of insisting on more. So many women wanted more. They didn’t understand there wasn’t more. Could never be more.

      Valeria’s honey-hued eyes glanced quizzically at Diane before looking back to him. “I heard a guest was ill,” she said, coming to his side and laying a light hand on his arm. “And that you were seeing to her personally.”

      He heard the way she emphasized personally. Valeria was not happy, didn’t approve, but she wouldn’t criticize him in front of others. She didn’t just understand him, she understood the dynamics of their relationship.

      He glanced down now, at the long, tight gold glove encasing her forearm. The glove artfully left the back of her palm and her elegant fingers bare. The gold glove was erotic. She was erotic. But she, like every other woman, left him cold.

      “She looks fine,” Valeria added, examining Diane from beneath her gold-tipped false eyelashes. “What was the problem?”

      Dom didn’t even try to soften the blow. “The problem is this is Diane.”

      One of Valeria’s winged brows lifted higher. “Diane?”

      “My … late … wife.”

      Valeria regarded him calmly. “But doesn’t late imply she’s dead?”

      “It would, yes. But as you can see she’s not.”

      “I don’t understand.”

      “Neither do I.” And then he took Valeria by the arm and led her to the hall outside the sitting room, where they could have a modicum of privacy.

      Diane watched them walk out of the room together. They were perfectly matched. And she—she was the outsider.

      Hands balled in her lap, Diane tried to stay calm, but her mind felt unhinged. This was a dream within a dream. It was all too surreal. What was Domenico? Winged lion, golden symbol or archangel? And who was his Venus? His wife? His lover? His children’s mother?

      But the very idea of him fathering another woman’s children sent pain shrieking through her. He was the father of her child, the child she’d lost in the accident.

      She squeezed her eyes closed, trying to empty her mind and clear her vision. But when she opened her eyes again all she saw was Dom, and all she heard was his conversation with his golden Venus.

      It was easy to hear every word. They hadn’t bothered to close the doors. Maybe they didn’t think she could hear them, or maybe they didn’t care. And even though they were speaking Italian Diane had no problem following the rapid, emotional exchange.

      “So she was a guest at the party?” Venus asked.

      “Yes.”

      “It’s too incredible. Her showing up here. Now.” The gilded woman drew a short, sharp breath. “Are you sure it’s her?”

      “Yes.” Domenico’s answer was hard. Decisive. “There is only one Diane.”

      In her seat on the couch Diane doubled over, her chest constricting, air bottled in her lungs. Dreams didn’t usually hurt, did they? But she hurt now. There is only one Diane.

      That was something only her beloved Domenico would say.

      He the great romantic. He who had sacrificed everything for her … his family, his wealth, his history … to start fresh with her. They’d been so young, and brave. Had thought they could do anything if they were together.

      It had been a beautiful thought. And apparently very naïve.

      “What is she doing here?” Venus persisted.

      “I don’t know.”

      “The timing of her appearance seems a little too good to be true. A week before Christmas and three weeks before our—” She broke off, and turned to march into the sitting room to cast Diane a withering glance. “Why did you sneak into the party?”

      “I did not sneak!” Diane flashed, sitting tall, her back ramrod-straight. “I had a ticket just like everyone else.”

      “A ticket to see Domenico?” Valeria scoffed. “If you wanted to see him why not just come to the door?”

      “It was a ticket to a ball, a fundraiser, not a ticket to see Domenico. And I came because I wanted to see the palace. I was curious. And foolishly I thought perhaps coming here tonight I’d finally have closure—”

      “I don’t believe you,” Valeria interrupted.

      Color stormed Diane’s cheeks and she longed to be on her feet. She needed power and strength, and sitting on this damn sofa gave her neither, but she couldn’t get up without her cane. Couldn’t do anything but sit there and cling to what was left of her dignity. “Frankly, I don’t care what you believe. I don’t have to answer to you. This is between my husband and me.”

      “Your husband? He’s my fiancé. Soon to be my husband—”

      “Valeria!” Dom interrupted.

      Venus faced him, expression pleading. “Domenico, this can’t be. She’s dead. I know you were still in the hospital, in Intensive Care, but your mother went to the funeral. She brought you back the order of service. You keep her ashes in the chapel—”

      “But СКАЧАТЬ