The High-Society Wife. Helen Bianchin

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      A tiny humourless laugh bubbled up in her throat. Circumspection didn’t form part of Famke’s modus operandi.

      Something which became glaringly apparent within minutes as Gianna, together with the attending guests, saw the glamorous actress appear from backstage in the glare of a spotlight.

      A brilliant smile, a light laugh, followed by a seemingly touching air-kiss to the crowd at the sound of more applause…and Famke stepped down onto the ballroom floor.

      Admittedly her passage was interrupted. Not so her direction. However long it took…two minutes or ten…the actress’s destination was never in doubt.

      Act, Gianna bade herself silently. You’re good at it.

      All her life she’d conformed, aware how much it meant to her father to be an exemplary daughter. To excel in school, gain honours, show the Giancarlo-Castelli corporation she possessed the skill to climb the corporate ladder…in a manner that proved nepotism didn’t enter the equation.

      A gap year spent in France had provided an opportunity to tilt at windmills…something she’d refrained from—unless riding a motorcycle behind a male student at speed or visiting a few questionable nightclubs in his company counted. Besides, there had always been a shadow bodyguard in the background, ensuring she came to no harm.

      ‘Franco.’

      The feline purr made much of his name, while the sultry heat evident in the actress’s gaze set Gianna’s teeth on edge.

      ‘I just wanted to thank you, darling, for joining me on stage.’

      Darling. Oh, my.

      Franco’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. ‘A public request made it difficult for me to refuse.’

      Was there the suggestion of a pout forming on Famke’s beautifully shaped mouth?

      ‘Fitting, don’t you think?’ The actress queried with a hint of teasing censure. ‘Considering your known generosity to the charity?’

      With a deliberate gesture Franco caught hold of Gianna’s hand and threaded his fingers through her own. ‘Allow me to introduce Gianna…my wife.’

      Impossible Famke was unaware of his marriage. It had received international media coverage at the time.

      Blue eyes chilled to resemble an arctic ice floe for a fleeting second before the actress masked their expression.

      ‘Such an…interesting alliance.’

      ‘Famke.’ She kept her tone light, and only those who knew her well would have detected the slight hint of steel beneath the surface.

      ‘We must get together.’

      ‘For old times’ sake?’ Gianna queried with pseudo-politeness, aware the invitation was aimed at Franco…solo.

      A faint laugh emerged from the actress’s lips. ‘We do have a history.’

      ‘The emphasis being history.’

      Famke arched one eyebrow. ‘I so dislike territorial women.’

      ‘Really? Surely it adds to the challenge?’

      ‘Afraid, sweetie?’

      Gianna didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Lines were being drawn, and the game was about to begin. She felt Franco’s fingers tighten on her own, and ignored the silent warning. ‘Perhaps Franco can answer that.’

      ‘Why? When you’re doing so well on your own.’ His drawled comment caused Famke’s gaze to narrow.

      Unity was everything. She could do polite. She’d had years of practice. ‘The evening is winding down, and we’re about to leave.’

      ‘Can’t stand the pace?’

      Gianna was sorely tempted to reveal she was taking her husband home for some hot sex. Instead, she merely smiled and rose to her feet as Franco stood and bade their immediate guests ‘goodnight’.

      ‘I’m sure we’ll run into each other again before long,’ Famke offered silkily.

      Not if she could help it, Gianna vowed silently, barely controlling the itch to slap the actress’s face.

      Talk about eating a man alive!

      There were friends and business associates who caught their attention as they began threading their way through the ballroom, reminders of invitations exchanged and news of upcoming social events.

      She was conscious of Franco’s arm along the back of her waist, the light stroke of his fingers…an attempt to soothe her ruffled composure?

      Was he aware how his touch affected her? In bed, without doubt. The thought of their shared intimacy caused her pulse to leap into an accelerated beat. His mouth, hands…dear heaven. Heat flowed through her veins as sensation unfurled deep inside.

      She needed the physicality of their loving, to lose herself in him and believe, for a while, that he cared. More than mere affection, and their marriage, although forging an alliance between two families, surpassed duty.

      He’d never said anything. Not once, even in the throes of their lovemaking, had he mentioned the L word. And he never lost control. Something which irked her unbearably.

      ‘We’ll look forward to seeing you Wednesday evening.’

      Get with it, a tiny voice prompted, providing a memory jog…dinner party at the home of Brad and Nikki Wilson-Smythe. ‘Of course,’ she managed with a smile.

      It was a relief to eventually gain the hotel lobby, even more so to slip into the car and lean back against the cushioned headrest as Franco eased into the flow of traffic departing the city.

      Any attempt at small-talk was out, and she didn’t offer so much as a word during the relatively short drive home.

      Instead, she idly noted the passing scene through the windscreen. The bright neon lights, various vehicles, the dark indigo night sky, the sturdy leafed trees lining the main thoroughfare, an electric tram…the light sprinkling shower of rain that wet the bitumen and set the windscreen wipers in action. The changing cityscape as they reached the established suburb of Toorak, with its stately homes partially hidden behind high walls and security gates.

      An almost inaudible sigh whispered from her lips as Franco eased the Mercedes into their driveway.

      Strategically placed lights outlined the gentle curve lined with topiary that led to the elegant two-storeyed home Franco had purchased on his return from the States.

      He’d employed contractors to preserve the main Georgian-style structure, whilst completely renewing the interior to resemble the original. Refurbishment, beautiful antique furniture, original art gracing the walls, had made it one of the most admired homes in the district, receiving media attention when he’d acquired the adjoining property, razed the existing home and added a swimming pool and tennis court.

      Franco brought the Mercedes to a halt СКАЧАТЬ