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  ‘I know you are.’

  ‘And I’m worried too,’ Sylvia admitted. ‘My husband and I...’ Her voice trailed off, but though she didn’t come out and say it directly, Mia knew the lovely couple had worked and lived on the grounds for many years and must be deeply concerned as to what the future held for them. ‘We will miss Rafael so very much.’ Sylvia’s eyes drifted to the cases Mia had packed in preparation for her leaving. ‘And we will miss you too.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Mia said, and, rarely for her, she gave the housekeeper a hug, for though Mia was not touchy-feely at all, she adored Sylvia. After a brief embrace Mia pulled back. ‘I’d better head down. I’ll greet them and have a drink to be polite, but then I’ll be taking my meal up here.’

  ‘Of course,’ Sylvia said, for, like all good staff, she knew better than most the true situation.

  When Sylvia had gone, Mia briefly checked her appearance in the full-length antique mirror. She wore a very simple black dress, stockings and low-heeled shoes and her blonde hair was tied back in a low bun. She took out a strand of cream pearls that had belonged to her mother and put them on, but then wondered if that was too much jewellery for a grieving widow to wear.

  She truly did not know how she was supposed to act, let alone how she actually felt.

  Numb was perhaps the best word, for even if it had been a marriage of convenience, Rafael had become a very dear friend and she would miss him dreadfully. She had decided she would deal with her feelings later, once she was well away from the Romanos.

  Mia made her way down the grand staircase. Thankfully they hadn’t quite arrived so she headed straight into the lounge where apericena—pre-dinner drinks and nibbles—was to be served before they moved through to the dining room.

  She stood by the fire, hugging her arms around herself and taking a couple of calming breaths as the main doors opened and the Romano family started to arrive.

  How to play this?

  She had no idea, Mia thought as she gazed into the fire. They all loathed and detested her and believed her to be the cause for the break-up of their Raphael and Angela’s marriage. Would they even want her to go out now and greet them?

  Mia very much doubted it.

  Over the last couple of years, whenever one of them had visited the Romano residence, Rafael had, of course, been here.

  It felt very different to have them all here without Rafael.

  Mia could hear the low murmur of voices as more cousins arrived and then, more loudly, Sylvia tried to steer them through to the lounge. ‘Apericena?’ she offered, inviting them for a pre-dinner aperitif, but no one came through.

  It would seem Mia’s absence had been noted for it was then that she heard Dante’s deep voice put to its poisonous best.

  ‘So where is our stepmother?’

  Mia’s skin crawled when he called her that, and he insisted on doing so at every available opportunity.

  The difference was that tonight it angered her.

  The sound of his confident footsteps on the marble told of his approach to the lounge.

  ‘Ah, there you are,’ he said from the doorway.

  There was no attempt at politeness for appearances’ sake.

  They had never so much as touched.

  No air kisses, no shaking of hands. There was nothing other than the cold touch of his contempt that reached her.

  It had always been difficult here at home but the tensions between them had escalated in recent weeks. When he had come to the hospital to visit and had arrived at Rafael’s room she would stand and Dante would step back as she walked out as if he could not bear for even as much as the hem of his coat to brush her. From the moment Rafael had told Dante that Mia was his mistress it was as if there had been prison-cell doors that had slammed closed between them.

  And those prison doors had never, in these two years, parted as much as an inch.

  They spoke as if from behind bars, and only when they had to, but Mia was grateful for those doors now and the boundaries they had long ago established. Dante was tall and forbidding at the best of times. At the worst of times—and this was exactly that—he was like the devil himself.

  She did not want to know that devil unleashed.

  He wore a black suit and his white shirt was a little rumpled, which was not up to his usual standards of perfection. His hair had been superbly cut, though he had not shaved, and his black eyes were a little red, but apart from that you would not know he was mourning. And, yes, he was absolutely beautiful, but she utterly refused to admit that now, even to herself.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Mia said, and knew how stilted and wooden she sounded.

  ‘But not sorry for your gain,’ Dante retorted.

  Rather than bite back, instead she was all steely politeness. ‘Your suites have been prepared.’

  ‘There was no need for that. My brother and sister are staying at my uncle’s and I am staying at the hotel.’

  ‘Well, should anyone change their mind—’

  ‘I very much doubt it.’

  Dante having cut her off, she stood, her arms still around herself as he walked through the lounge, ignoring the tray where drinks had been set up. Instead he went to a large buffet and opened a crystal decanter and poured himself a glass of amber fluid.

  ‘Aren’t they coming through?’ Mia asked.

  ‘You really expect us to have a drink and mingle?’ Dante checked, and gave a black mirthless laugh. ‘I don’t think so. I sent them straight to the dining room. We all just want this dinner over with, Mia. Let’s just get it done and then we will be out of your hair.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said, and went to head out. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’

  ‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ Dante said to her departing back, and watched her stiffen. ‘You shall join us for dinner.’

  ‘It’s a family dinner,’ Mia said, her cheeks a touch pink as she turned around. ‘You’ve all made it exceptionally clear that I’m not welcome in the fold.’

  ‘It was my father’s wish that we all dine together and it is also the only chance to go over tomorrow’s arrangements as I am heading to the vigil soon. I won’t have time to waste explaining things twice.’

  ‘What is there to explain? Everything’s been organised.’

  ‘The cars, the seating, the eulogy, the timing of the wake, the reading of the will...’ He ran a list by her, tapping the fingers of his hand as he did so. ‘Or do you just want to waft around tomorrow, dabbing at your crocodile tears, having had absolutely zero input as to the final arrangements for your own husband’s funeral?’

  The very last thing she wanted was dinner with the Romanos but, it would seem, she had no choice.

  He did not await her response. Dante turned and headed off to take his place at the table.

  ‘Is she joining us?’ Ariana asked, because, despite Rafael’s instructions, none of them thought she would have the gall to.

  ‘I believe so,’ Dante said.

  ‘She’s got a nerve—’

  ‘Cut it out, Ariana,’ Dante warned.

  He did not like the group attack mentality; heaven knows, he had dealt with it enough himself at work and in his family. Dante himself would face anyone one on one and let them know his mind, but he would not have them sit there and gang up on Mia.

  He was also aware he had gone too far with his animosity back in the lounge, but the sight of her had been like a kick in the guts. The house, when he had stepped in, had been so silent. In an Italian home, there would be crying and keening, such as would be taking place at his aunt’s now.

  Yet Mia had stood there so still and silent and dignified.

  Finally she walked into the dining room.

  Still silent, still dignified and still completely capable of turning him on.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE SEAT AT th
e head of the table was left empty out of respect for the recently departed and there were a lot of side looks as Mia took her seat at the opposite end of the gleaming table.

  Mia was, after all, the lady of the house.

  And they detested her for it.

  Wine from the private Romano vineyard, the one still owned by his father, was served and toasts were made.

  Dante kicked off. ‘Dei morti parla bene.’

  Mia knew that one: Speak well of the dead. And she took a sip of the dark liquid and forced it down, for to her it tasted like medicine.

  Then Stefano offered a toast, and though Mia couldn’t quite make out what he said, she politely raised her glass.

  But then Luigi offered his toast and he stared right at Mia as he did so. ‘Dove c’è’ un testamento, c’è’ un parente.’

  Where there’s a will, there’s a relative.

  It was a familiar saying following a death, but the implication that Mia was here for the money was made exceptionally clear.

  Dante looked over at Mia, who didn’t as much as blink as the less than veiled slur was hurled, but neither did she raise her glass, and despite himself he rather admired her resilience. And, despite his loathing for Mia, Dante found himself leaping to her defence. ‘That is true, Luigi. I have no doubt you will be in the study tomorrow for the reading of his will.’ He looked around the table. ‘All of you will be.’

  Mia had not expected even a sliver of support from Dante, and though grateful she dared not show it.

  It felt odd to be in the same room as him, odd to be sharing a meal.

  She felt odd whenever Dante was near in a way that was less than becoming, for he made her aware of herself, just by being himself.

  As the primo piatto was served, Dante got straight down to business. ‘It was Rafael’s request that he return to his home one last time. The hearse will be here at eleven and the funeral procession will leave shortly after that.’ Mia swallowed when he looked at her. ‘Naturally, you will be in the car behind the hearse,’ Dante informed her.

  ‘With?’ Mia asked, because her heart was hammering at the prospect of sitting alone.

  ‘That is up to you—whoever you’ve invited to support you on the loss of your husband.’ He did not wait for her to respond. ‘I shall be in the vehicle behind with Stefano, Eloa and Ariana. Luigi...’ he turned to his uncle ‘...your family shall be in the car behind that...’

  ‘Surely Mamma should be in the procession,’ Ariana said.

  ‘Ariana.’ Dante’s voice was a touch impatient. ‘She is so overwrought that she can barely stand. At least this way she can be seated in the church when the procession arrives.’

  ‘But it’s not fair that she won’t be in the procession when she was his—’

  ‘Enough!’ Dante warned.

  Ariana was the first to leave the sinking ship. With a loud clatter, she threw down her cutlery and stormed out, and it was just a matter of moments before a car was summoned to take her back to be with her mother.

  There was silence after she left.

  Dante gave up on the pasta and declined more wine, asking for brandy instead, before continuing. ‘The procession will move slowly through the grounds,’ he explained. ‘First to the stables, and then on to the private vines and residences and then it will do a loop around the poppy fields. This will give the staff a chance to come out and pay their respects before they make their way to the church.’

  It was going to be a long procession, Mia thought. Even though most of the land that surrounded them now belonged to the business, Rafael’s private property encompassed the staff residences, lake and poppy fields and was still huge. Mia took in a shaky breath at the thought of sitting alone in the vehicle behind the hearse and she tried, how she tried, not to recall her parents’ funeral.

  They ate in silence for a while, and for Mia it was excruciating, but as the plates were being cleared, she felt Sylvia’s hand come down on her shoulder, giving a little squeeze of support, and Mia briefly glanced up and gave the housekeeper a small grateful smile.

  Dante noticed the supportive gesture, for he always noticed what was happening around Mia.

  The staff adored Mia—that much was made evident whenever he visited here—and that confused him. They were always discreet, but little things, like that touch of support, made it clear to Dante that Mia was both respected and liked in the household.

  She looked stunning in candlelight. Her lips were a little swollen, but apart from that there were no signs of tears. Dante doubted she had shed even a single one for his father.

  Perhaps drawn by his scrutiny, she looked over and Dante realised she had caught him staring at her, and when he perhaps should flick disapproving eyes away he did not, for, despite his best intentions, his eyes were not disapproving...

  Mia felt trapped by his gaze.

  She could hear Eloa talking yet had little idea what was being said, and she was peripherally aware of her wineglass being topped up, yet it felt as if it were just her and Dante at the table.

  For two years Mia had forced herself to ignore him and be her aloof best, she found that she too could not look away. For two years she had trained herself to deny the slight prickly sensations his presence evoked, and to ignore the stir of unfamiliar arousal he triggered, but she was unable to stop it now. Mia felt the creep of warmth spread up her throat to her cheeks, and down to her breasts. Dante made her, without words, want to shift in her seat; he made her want to touch her own mouth to check on it for it felt too big for her face.

  And even as she willed him to look away, Mia found that she could not.

  The prison doors felt as if they were parting as, for the first time since the day they’d met, she allowed herself to meet his gaze and be held there.

  Oh, prim Mia, Dante thought as it was he who finally removed his gaze, you are so not.

  The second course—suckling pig—was served as the atmosphere at the table grew increasingly tense. Now it was Mia who wanted to fling down her cutlery and head upstairs, but instead she asked for a very small portion, though it was almost impossible to eat even that much.

  ‘Where is Angela to be seated in the church?’ Luigi’s wife asked Dante.

  ‘Wherever she chooses.’

  ‘But what pew?’ Luigi persisted on his wife’s behalf. ‘Surely the children of the deceased should be at the front and their mother with them.’

  ‘Mia shall be seated at the front,’ Dante said. ‘Etiquette dictates that the ex-wife should be discreet and stay back...’ Though Dante knew, of course, that there wasn’t a hope in hell of that happening tomorrow. His mother would be sitting behind Mia like a cat put out in the rain, Dante thought, and he felt a rare prickle of sympathy in Mia’s direction for the circus his mother created. Very deliberately he pushed that thought aside and got on with explaining the order of events tomorrow. ‘He shall be buried back here by the lake, in a very short ceremony...just his children, and...’ Dante swallowed ‘...his current wife, and then back here for drinks, and no doubt more damn antipasti...’ his bile was rising ‘...then the reading of the will...’ He took a belt of brandy and Mia gave up on her suckling pig and stared at her plate in silence.

  ‘I forgot to say—’ Dante’s voice was now eerily calm ‘—that I shall be giving the eulogy. Mia?’

  She looked up, somewhat startled by the sound of her own name and the question in Dante’s voice. ‘I have spoken with all my family to ask what they want included, and now I ask you. Is there anything you would specifically like me to add?’

  Mia had not been expecting to be offered any input into the eulogy and she did not know how to respond without offending those who had loved Rafael the most—after all, Mia was more than aware that their marriage had been a charade.

  ‘Mia?’ Dante invited a touch more tersely.

  She could not meet his d
ark eyes now, even as she spoke. ‘I’ve already said everything I wanted to to your father. I am sure whatever you have written will be wonderful.’

  ‘So there is nothing you would like me to add?’ Dante checked.

  Mia did not know what to say and the silence that seemed to stretch on for ever was broken only when Luigi’s chair scraped back and he stood. Luigi looked at her with so much disgust that for a second Mia thought he might fling the contents of his wineglass in her direction, but instead he walked away from the table. ‘I am going to the church,’ he said. ‘I rather think it might be warmer in there, even with the doors open.’

  ‘We shall come too,’ Stefano said, gesturing to Eloa to stand as he shot Mia a look and then addressed his brother. ‘Are you coming, Dante?’

  ‘I have a few more things to sort out first.’ Dante declined his brother’s invitation to leave.

  ‘Then I shall come back later and collect you for the vigil.’

  The rest of the family all agreed that they too would not wait for dessert and as they headed out she heard someone mutter a distasteful word under their breath. She also deciphered a comment in Italian, about her not even being able to squeeze out a tear, let alone declare her love for her late husband.

  Only Dante remained seated.

  ‘Well, that went well...’ Mia’s voice was high, her burst of mirthless laughter shrill.

  ‘It was never going to go well,’ Dante said, and turned those black eyes to her. ‘I have no idea what my father was thinking, requesting that we dine together.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ She did not look at him and instead wrung a serviette between her hands. ‘Dante, I have no issue with your family sitting at the front, either with me, or I can sit farther—’

  ‘No.’ Dante cut in. ‘You will not be seated farther back. I will speak with my mother. However—and I’m being frank now, Mia—I can usually give speeches and eulogies with my eyes closed, but I am struggling with what to say in this instance. Should I say how happy you two made each other in his final years? Or should I say that finally my father met the love of his life?’ He threw his hands in the air in an exasperated gesture. ‘Surely you have something you want me to add?’