Second Marriage. HELEN BROOKS

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      CHAPTER THREE

      THIS was stupid. This was really, really stupid. Claire frowned ferociously at the girl in the mirror as she leant back against the small upholstered dressing table chair. The very last thing in the world she wanted was to have dinner alone with Romano Bellini, so why on earth was she preparing to do just that? She should have pleaded a headache, flu, mental collapse—anything!

      She twisted restlessly on the chair, hating the glimmer of panic in her eyes but unable to do anything about it. She hadn’t seen him since that first night she had arrived but had been on tenterhooks every time the phone had rung or the doorbell had sounded—until Donato had mentioned casually at dinner on her third night with them that Romano was abroad for a few days on business. ‘He returns Friday night,’ Donato had added, as though to reassure her that the dinner date was still on. ‘OK?’

      No, no it was not OK, but she couldn’t very well say so. Romano had tied her up tighter than a bale of hay, he knew it and she knew it, and the rest of them, to her intense irritation, thought he was merely being friendly and supportive to a stranger in his country.

      She sighed, loudly and crossly, before leaning forward again and continuing to put the finishing touches to her make-up. She assumed, considering it would be just the two of them, that smart but casual would be the order of the day, and the long-sleeved waist-length jumper in soft white bobbly wool teamed with an ankle-length skirt in dense black denim seemed to fit the bill.

      She had decided to wear her hair up, securing the silky chestnut strands in a high knot on top of her head and allowing just a few strands about her face and neck to combine with her thick fringe and soften the severe style.

      A touch of grey eyeshadow on her eyelids and large gold hoops in her ears and she was ready. She fastened the second earring and gazed at her reflection critically. Not bad, quite passable, but nothing on the lines of the sort of women he was used to, she thought quietly. She and Grace had spent one afternoon browsing through old photo albums, and she had been interested to see Bianca had been as beautiful as a baby and child as she was as an adult—interested and dismayed, if she was honest, she amended weakly.

      Not that she was interested in Romano. She wasn’t, not at all, but it was slightly disconcerting to be having dinner with a man who favoured tall, voluptuous modeltypes, as the old photographs of the girlfriends he had had before Bianca had borne evidence to, and who had been married for some years to one of the most gorgeous women she had ever seen.

      ‘Donato and Romano were the original playboys, I think.’ Grace had been smiling as she spoke, clearly totally undisturbed by her husband’s riotous past before he had met her, as her next words had qualified. ‘Before they settled down, that is.’

      ‘Umm.’ Claire couldn’t drag her eyes away from the dashingly handsome man in the photos, who looked almost boyish compared to now. Still, he had lost his wife, she thought soberly, that would be enough to make any man grow up fast.

      ‘Was he very affected by Bianca’s death?’ she asked Grace carefully, not really wanting to know the answer but having to enquire just the same. ‘It must have been an awful shock to you all.’

      ‘It was.’ Claire had noticed before that Grace didn’t like to talk about Donato’s sister, and reproached herself for not keeping quiet as her friend’s face changed. She, of all people, knew how traumatic the results of a bad car crash could be for relatives and friends even if the victim lived, and Bianca hadn’t. ‘But he coped,’ Grace continued quietly. ‘We all did. You just have to, don’t you?’

      ‘I guess.’ Claire nodded soberly, her face sympathetic as she reached across and squeezed Grace’s hand for a moment. ‘I’m sorry, Grace, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I know you and Bianca weren’t close, but being the same age and everything it must have been terribly difficult for you.’

      ‘Claire—’ Grace stopped abruptly, her face working as she stared into her eyes for a long moment. ‘I... There’s something...’

      ‘What’s the matter?’

      But she had never found out what the matter was because a second later Lorenzo had bounded in, closely followed by Donato, and the moment had been lost.

      A discreet knock at her bedroom door brought her out of her reverie, and as she called for her to enter Gina’s dark head peered in. ‘Scusi, signorina, but the signore, he has arrived.’ The little maid beamed at her as though she was imparting wonderful news, and Claire dredged up a suitable response as her heart kicked and then raced like an express train.

      He was here. As Gina closed the door, leaving her alone again, Claire shut her eyes tightly for a moment, her hand pressed against her chest. Calm down, calm down—he’s just a man, for goodness’ sake. There’s nothing special about him. Even as the thought took shape she acknowledged its absurdity, the tall, commanding figure that had been there at the forefront of her mind for days suddenly as real as if he were in the room with her.

      Wouldn’t he just love to know he had affected her like this? She opened her eyes wide, straightening her back and setting her mouth determinedly. But he wouldn’t. She’d die first. She didn’t understand this physical attraction that had hit her like a ton of bricks, not when it was for a man she didn’t really know, didn’t want to know and actively disliked. It was humiliating, embarrassing, and without any rhyme or reason, but... her thoughts were her own and he didn’t have access to them, thank goodness.

      She was going to have dinner with him tonight, act cool and uninterested, and hopefully he wouldn’t feel obliged to repeat the exercise, having discharged his duties as friend and member of the family. No problem...

      The words mocked her a few minutes later as she walked into the drawing room where Romano was waiting. He was sitting in front of the flickering log fire, his long legs stretched out in idle relaxation and his eyes on one of Donato’s car magazines which he was idly glancing through, but at her entrance he slowly lifted his head, his expression unreadable as he saw her in the doorway.

      ‘Ciao, Claire.’

      He was every bit as devastating as she remembered, the black waist-length leather jacket and black jeans emphasising the dark, magnetic power of the man to such an extent that she had СКАЧАТЬ