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  What could she say?

  What could Dante say?

  Anything that he had just suggested would be cruel to Rafael’s loved ones, but she knew she sounded a cold bitch when she shook her head. ‘No. As I’ve said, I said all I had to to your father.’

  The look of contempt he flashed her was so direct as to be almost physical, so much so that she felt she could have put up her hands and caught it.

  There was no question they even attempt dessert.

  ‘Excuse me, please,’ Mia said, and put her serviette down.

  ‘You don’t need my permission to leave the table, Mia,’ he said, ‘but please, go ahead and get the hell out.’

  She headed up the stairs to her suite where she wished, how she wished, that she had insisted on taking her meal up there.

  Damn you, Dante.

  Mia was very used to spending her evenings alone in the Suite al Limone. The drapes had been drawn by Sylvia and, having showered and pulled on a slip nightdress, she climbed into bed, dreading tomorrow and the funeral a hundred times more so now.

  Of course it brought back memories of her parents’ funeral and though she tried to push that aside, the mere thought of being alone in a car behind the hearse made her feel sweaty and more than a little nauseous.

  Mia wanted some tea, something hot and soothing, but until Dante left there was no way she would go downstairs and make some.

  And though she wanted Dante gone, conversely she was not looking forward to him leaving for that would mean she would be here on her own.

  Since Rafael’s death, Mia had found it creepy to be alone in this house at night.

  In fact, she found it to be terrifying.

  Sylvia and her husband had a cottage close by, and she could call them, of course—not that she ever would for something as trivial as tea. Yes, this really was to be her last night here because the very stiff upper lipped Mia was, in fact, petrified of ghosts. There was no way she could stay here, knowing Rafael was buried in the grounds. Her cases were all packed and tomorrow, once the reading of the last will and testament had taken place, she was leaving.

  The Romanos wanted her gone anyway, that much she knew.

  Well, she’d make it easy on them.

  Mia lay there trying to read, but when she heard Stefano arrive to collect Dante for the vigil she put her book down. There was the sound of the main doors closing followed by wheels on the gravel and only then did she pull on a robe and come out of the suite. Turning on the lights as she went, jumping at every creak, gingerly Mia made her way down the stairs. She pushed open the doors to the kitchen and realised then that she wasn’t alone, for there, sitting silent and nursing a brandy, was Dante.

  ‘Oh!’ Mia exclaimed when she saw him, and clutched the top of her robe, more than a little embarrassed to face him in her night attire. ‘I thought you had gone.’

  ‘No. I decided not to go to the vigil.’ He rarely explained himself, and found himself questioning why he was doing it now. ‘As I just said to Stefano, I saw him the day he died; I don’t need to again.’

  Mia nodded. Privately, she could think of nothing worse than spending a night in a church with an open coffin. ‘I was just getting a drink. Do you want one?’

  He gave a slight shake of his head, and then, perhaps remembering they still had tomorrow to get through, he answered her more politely. ‘No, thank you. I am just about to head to the hotel. Oh, and there is a slight change of plans to tomorrow. Stefano insists that Eloa comes to the burial.’

  ‘Of course she should be there,’ Mia said, but then frowned because his disapproval was evident as he stared into his glass. ‘What, don’t you like her?’

  ‘What the hell does that have to do with anything? The fact is he wanted his children there, not some ship that passes in the night.’

  ‘Hardly a ship,’ Mia said. ‘They’re engaged to be married.’

  ‘Let’s hope then that Roberto draws up a watertight pre-nup for him.’

  ‘Do you never consider they might be in love?’

  ‘God help them if they are; love causes nothing but problems.’

  ‘You’re so cynical.’

  ‘Said the young widow on the eve of her rich husband’s funeral.’

  Bastard, she wanted to hiss, but turned her back on him instead.

  Dante tried not to notice the slight shake of her hand as she prepared a tray and made tea.

  It surprised him. Not so much the shake of her hand, more that she made tea and served it herself, instead of summoning the staff.

  He rather imagined her sitting up in bed, ringing down for tea to be served, and then he hauled his mind from that for he did not want to think, even for a second, of Mia in bed.

  And certainly he did his best not to notice her feminine shape beneath the silk robe.

  Something had shifted between them since his father’s death. The self-imposed rules of avoidance, to which Dante had strictly adhered, were starting to crumble and he fought hard to rebuild them.

  He looked over towards the vast windows, but so dark was the night that he might as well have been looking at a mirror. Suddenly she turned and met his gaze in the window, then spoke to his reflection. ‘Dante, I don’t want to travel at the front of the procession.’

  ‘Tough,’ Dante said, remembering his rules. ‘You are his wife!’

  ‘But I don’t want to be in the car on my own.’

  ‘Then where are your family and friends?’ Dante asked, but halted immediately because, from the little he had been told by his father, he knew both her parents were dead. Yet he would not be guilted out of pointing out the facts. ‘You insist this is a real marriage, so why isn’t anyone here to support you in your loss? Or are they tired of the games you play? You have a brother,’ Dante pointed out, ‘yet he wasn’t at the wedding, neither is he here today, though I seem to remember that last year you went home for his wedding. Are you worried, if he were here, that he might let slip some of your lies?’

  Mia didn’t answer him.

  Dante stood to go, but he could not leave it there. ‘It is not a punishment that you travel alone; it is a courtesy that the Hamilton family have their own car at the front of the procession. It is not my fault you have no one to fill it.’

  She turned from speaking to his reflection and faced him. ‘Are you hoping that the villagers pelt me with rotten fruit?’ Mia asked.

  Dante saw a flash of tears in her sapphire-blue eyes. It was her first real display of emotion since he had arrived; in fact, it was her first display of emotion since the day they’d met, and he detested that it moved him. He detested that he wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, and that the sight of her in her pale coral robe would remain with him all night.

  Worse, he would be fighting the memory of her all night.

  Dante’s want for her was perpetual, a lit fuse he was constantly stamping out, but it was getting harder and harder to keep it up. His breathing was ragged; there was a shift in the air and his resistance was fast fading. ‘What did you think, Mia, that we were going to walk into the church together? A family united? Don’t make me laugh...’

  No one was laughing.

  ‘Take your tea and go to bed.’ Dante dismissed her with an angry wave of his hand, but even as he did so he halted, for it was not his place to send her to bed. ‘I didn’t mean that. Do what you will. I will leave.’

  ‘It’s fine. I’m going up.’ She retrieved the tray.

  ‘We leave tomorrow at eleven,’ he said again as they headed through to the entrance.

  ‘Yes.’

  She turned then and gave him a tight smile, and saw his black eyes meet hers, and there was that look again between them, the one they had shared at the dining table. It was a look that she dared not decipher.

  His lips, which were usually plump and red, the only sp
lash of colour in his black-and-white features, were for once pale. There was a muscle leaping in his cheek, and she was almost sure it was pure contempt, except her body was misreading it as something else.

  She had always been aware of his potent sexuality, but now Mia was suddenly aware of her own.

  Conscious that she was naked beneath the gown, her breasts felt full and heavy, aware of the lust that danced inappropriately in the air between them. The prison gates were parting further and she was terrified to step out. ‘Goodnight,’ she croaked, and climbed the stairs, almost tipping the tray and only able to breathe when she heard the door slam.

  Tea forgotten, she lay on the bed, frantic and unsettled. So much for the Ice Queen! She was burning for him in a way she had never known until she’d met Dante.

  Mia had thought for a long time that there was something wrong with her, something missing in her make-up, for she’d had little to no interest in sex. Even back at school she would listen in on her peers, quietly bemused by their obsessive talking about boys and the things they did that to Mia sounded filthy. Her mother’s awkward talk about the facts of life had left Mia revolted. The fact of Mia’s life: it was something she didn’t want! There was no reason she could find. There had been no trauma, nothing she could pin it to. Just for her, those feelings simply did not exist. Mia had tried to ignite the absent fire and had been on a couple of dates, but had found she couldn’t even tolerate kisses, and tongues positively revolted her. She couldn’t bear to consider anything else.

  And while this marriage had given her a unique chance to heal from the appalling disaster that had befallen her family, the deeper truth was that it had given her a chance to hide from something she perhaps ought to address.

  A no-sex marriage had felt like a blessing when she and Rafael had agreed to it.

  Yet the ink had barely dried on the contract when she had found out that though those feelings might be buried deep, they were there after all.

  Mia had been just a few days into the pretend position of Rafael’s PA, and the carefully engineered rumours had just started to fly, when Dante Romano had walked in. A mere moment with him had helped her understand all she had been missing, for with just a look she found herself reacting in a way she never had before.

  His dark eyes had transfixed her, the deep growl of his voice had elicited a shiver low in her stomach, and even his scent, as it reached her, went straight to form a perfect memory. When Dante had asked who she was, his voice and his presence had alerted, startled and awoken her. So much so that she had half expected him to snap his fingers like a genie right before her scalding face.

  Three wishes?

  You.

  You.

  You.

  Except she had been there to execute a business arrangement—one to which even Angela had agreed. She was to marry Rafael.

  Yet so violent had been her reaction to Dante that Mia had considered backing out. Of course, that was impossible, for the first instalment had long since been spent.

  And so she had cut that moment down to size and decided—a decade too late perhaps—that it was no more than the equivalent of a teenage crush.

  Except, despite her constant quashing, it grew and it developed and it hit her in waves of rolling fire that she did not know how to put out.

  For right now, as she thought of Dante and the looks they had shared this night, she wanted to close her eyes and imagine his mouth on hers. Right now, she wished Dante were there in his suite on the second floor or, even better, in Suite al Limone with her... She moaned in frustration, actually fighting not to touch herself and think of him, for on so many levels it would be...

  Wrong.

  Wrong.

  Wrong.

  He loathes you, she reminded herself.

  There was just tomorrow to get through and she could go back to being Mia Hamilton, instead of a For Display Purposes Only wife, and do everything she could to pick up the threads of her life.

  And she would never have to lay eyes on Dante Romano again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE SKY WAS tinged pink and threatening snow for the day of the funeral as Mia rode Massimo back to the house, carefully avoiding the lake.

  Massimo was Rafael’s horse, and she had taken over riding him when Rafael had grown too weak to do so. He was a beautiful black Murgese stallion, an Italian breed that Rafael had adored. Despite his size, Massimo was a polite and obedient horse.

  And today he was sad.

  ‘They know when something is up,’ the stable manager told Mia when she returned him.

  ‘I believe so,’ Mia agreed.

  The stable manager had the same look of sadness, concern and worry that all the staff had worn in recent months as it had become clear that Rafael’s time was nearing.

  Later today their fate would be made known.

  Mia wasn’t privy to the decisions Rafael had made.

  She assumed the Luctano residence would go to his children, but could not imagine any of them living here. Mia guessed that it would be somewhere they dropped in on from time to time, like the rest of the Romano residences that were dotted across Europe. It was sad, Mia thought as she walked back to the house, holding a long single orchid she had collected on her ride, because it really was a home that deserved owners who loved it.

  Mia headed up to Suite al Limone, to which the pinkish sky outside had given a warm coral hue.

  Family members were starting to arrive and she was certain it was for the best that she stay upstairs until the last minute.

  Having showered, Mia received updates from Sylvia, who had brought her breakfast.

  ‘The Castellos are flying into Florence then taking a helicopter. They asked to use the helipad here; Dante refused and said it was being kept just for family, but Gian De Luca just landed his helicopter!’ Sylvia raised her eyebrows at a slightly bemused Mia. ‘He’s a duke, you know.’

  ‘I didn’t know.’

  ‘He doesn’t use his title. The point is, though, that Gian is not family.’

  No, that much Mia knew. Gian, though a friend of Dante’s, had been one of the few at their wedding and was the owner of La Fiordelise, a hotel in Rome where their wedding had been held. Gian had a reputation with women that was worse than Dante’s.

  ‘It’s a clear snub to the Castellos,’ Sylvia further explained. ‘Gian’s helicopter has the gold insignia of his hotel on the tail and is very recognisable.’ She gave a little, much-needed laugh on this very solemn day. ‘There is always offence waiting to be taken at an Italian funeral. Still, it’s all taking shape; Dante has it all under control.’

  Mia, though, despite appearances, was not under control.

  She felt shaky and nauseous and rather terrified about what lay ahead.

  For the procession around the grounds and through the winding road to the church, Mia took some motion sickness medication and then made herself eat breakfast, recalling how dizzy she had become at her parents’ service from both emotion and lack of food. She was grimly determined that no such thing would be happening today.

  Of course, today’s events were very different from when her parents had died, but with her black clothes all laid out, and sadness permeating the air, she could not help but reflect on that awful time.

  It had been March and she had been due to start a new job, but before she did so there had been a family holiday to New York City with her parents and brother. It had been wonderful, taking in a show on Broadway and enjoying the delicious sights. On their final day, her father had hired a car to go a little farther afield, even though Mia had advised against it, reminding her father of the dreadful time they’d once had in France when he’d attempted to drive on the opposite side of the road.

  Paul Hamilton hadn’t listened, though, and her mother, Corinne, had laughed off Mia’s concerns.

  They’d ha
d a wonderful day, but it had been early spring; the clocks hadn’t yet gone forward and dusk had descended as they’d headed back to the hotel. Her father had become confused by some headlights, had drifted across the road and a crash had ensued.

  Her parents had been killed instantly, her brother seriously injured, and Mia had felt as if she’d been trapped for hours when really it had been only thirty minutes until she’d been freed.

  Mia knew that it had been thirty minutes because she had read the reports, many times.

  As well as poring over and over the horrendous medical bills.

  She’d had travel insurance, thank God. Meticulous and organised Mia had bought it at the same time as her flight.

  Her parents had had annual coverage and so they had been taken care of and their bodies repatriated.

  But it had soon transpired that Michael, her brother, had not taken out insurance.

  It had been more than horrendous. As well as losing her parents, the family home had had to be sold. But even that hadn’t covered the massive bills, starting with a trauma team callout, followed by three months on a spinal unit—where he had been billed right down to the last dressing—and then there had been the cost of a care flight home for her brother, who had been left paralysed from the waist down.

  They had been in debt up to their eyeballs and of course Michael had become severely depressed. The job she had been due to start had been lost long ago, and so Mia had applied for and taken a job at Romano’s in London. Though it had paid well and had been a fast-paced, busy role. As well as that, she had been working on improving her Italian in the hope of a promotion, while visiting her brother and dealing with the issue of housing for him.

  It had all got too much.

  Mia had been grieving, scared and angry.

  Angry at her father for not listening to her concerns about him driving on the other side of the road, and angry with her mother too for not supporting her when she had voiced them.

  And then there was her brother, who had been foolish and selfish enough to travel without insurance—though, of course, he had paid a terrible price, and it would be futile and mean to get angry with him.