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The Italian's Price
Diana Hamilton
Cesare Saracino is bent on revenge!He doesn't realize that the woman he forces back to Italy is not the thief, but her identical twin, Milly Lee. With Cesare watching her every move, the usually mousy Milly struggles to masquerade as her sexy twin. And when desire unexpectedly flares between them, Milly is powerless to refuse Cesare's advances.Will the truth come out in the heat of passion?



The Italian’s Price
Diana Hamilton



CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER ONE
INSTRUCTING THE TAXI driver to wait, Cesare Saracino swung his long legs to the wet pavement and headed towards the small, old-fashioned butcher’s shop at the end of the largely deserted narrow high street, his dark eyes grim with determination.
His investigator had tracked down her widowed mother’s home address with no difficulty at all. Personally he couldn’t see Jilly Lee actually returning here, never mind living in a flat above a butcher’s in a small market town on the border of Wales where nothing much ever happened. She needed bright lights, the company of admiring free-spending males. Glitz and glamour.
She wouldn’t be here but her mother would know where she had gone since her sneaky disappearance from the villa. Jilly Lee—a soft and silly name for a first class bitch—would be made to pay. He’d find her and haul her back to Tuscany, demand reparation, force her to put her hunt for a wealthy husband and her thieving activities on hold and do the job she’d been hired to do.
His mouth tightened with pain. The way things were going, Jilly Lee wouldn’t be in harness for long. Nonna was visibly growing more frail, though it galled him to have to admit that since the arrival of the Lee woman she’d brightened considerably.
‘There are no signs of clinical disease,’ her specialist had informed him three months ago, early in the new year. ‘But your grandmother is well over eighty and has been a widow for how long?’
‘Thirty years.’
‘And one by one she will have seen most of her contemporaries pass away. The body gets increasingly frail and so the will to live dwindles, there is less and less to look forward to.’
Hating the thought that Nonna was simply letting go, he’d kicked against it and suggested hiring a congenial companion.
‘Someone to read to me while I do my embroidery? And drone on in a tedious, elderly way about the misdeeds of modern day youngsters and bore me with interminable tales of her own long-gone youth?’ She’d patted his hand, her smile, as ever, kind and fond. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Someone to keep you company.’
‘Rosa can do that.’
‘Rosa has her hands full of housekeeping duties. She can’t spare the time to go around the garden with you while you snip things off!’
A dry look. ‘There are plenty of gardeners to pick me up if I fall over while I’m deadheading—if that’s what worries you!’
He’d taken both her frail hands in his. ‘I spend as much time here at the villa as I can but I’m often away. Of course I worry about you. You took me in when I was a stroppy twelve-year-old. You cared for me. Let me now care for you. And there’s no law that says a paid companion has to be in her dotage.’
He’d drafted the advertisement himself, offered sky-high wages, sat in on the interviews and had noted the first spark of any real interest in the faded old eyes when Jilly Lee had been shown in.
On first sight she’d seemed vaguely familiar. A face glimpsed at a nightclub in Florence when he’d been entertaining an American client who’d expressed an interest in unwinding in a hot spot? But then these out-on-the-prowl bimbos all looked alike. Flowing long blonde hair, pouty scarlet lips, skimpy dresses designed to show pneumatic bosoms and endless legs. Ten a penny. He’d been hit on by enough of them during his thirty-four years to know the type. No wonder Nonna called him cynical.
He’d dismissed the impression. True, Ms Lee had long silky blonde hair but it had been neatly tied back with a black velvet band and the blue shift dress she’d been wearing, although doing nothing to detract from her blatant curves, was demure enough in the hemline stakes.
As in the three previous interviews he’d simply observed, leaving Nonna to run the show, only inputting when he’d felt the need for clarification.
On the face of it she had seemed ideal. Twenty-five years old, so definitely not the middle-aged bore Nonna had stated she wouldn’t countenance. English, but with very passable Italian. Excellent references from a famous London store. The time spent in the interim travelling in Italy, picking up the language, taking odd jobs to eke out her savings, moving on, never staying in one place for very long. Now she wanted to settle permanently in this beautiful country.
Rarely sparing him a glance, she’d chatted away with ease, charming and outgoing, and when Nonna—already captivated—had asked her to withdraw for a moment, told him with the first flash of excitement he’d seen coming from her in months, ‘I like her. She’s young, lively and lovely to look at. Just what I need since you point blank refuse to marry and bring a young bride here to brighten my days and keep me on my toes! Plus, we can practice my English together. I once spoke it as well as you do, but now I am rusty. What do you think? Shall we hire her?’
He hesitated, but only for a moment. She might seem ideal but something about this latest applicant struck a false note. An annoying niggle with nothing concrete to back it up.
With a small impatient shrug he dismissed it. Nonna liked her, which was the main thing. She was showing real enthusiasm for the first time in ages, which meant that she wouldn’t just let go, give up the will to live.
‘If that’s what you want.’
He would do anything for Nonna. He owed her so much. She had been the first person to give him any real affection. His parents hadn’t shown any, to him or each other. It had been a dynastic marriage gone wrong. His father, a workaholic, had rarely been home and his mother, to compensate, had spent money like water and taken a string of lovers.
He could only suppose they had stayed married for the sake of appearances. In the circles they moved in appearances were everything.
On their death in a light aircraft accident on one of the rare occasions when they’d been attending the same function together, he had become heir to the vast family-run business enterprise that ranged from the petrochemical industry through luxury hotels to dealing in fine art and precious gems.
Nonna had helped him come to terms with everything. The business was to be run by his late father’s hand-picked executive managers until he reached his majority, of course, but she had hired a private tutor to help him learn all he could about his future inheritance, a project he had eagerly embraced.
He could deny her nothing, but caution, and that niggle, had made him add, ‘I’ll do some rescheduling and stick around for the first few weeks to make sure you suit each other.’
A stab of anger shot through him now as he entered the dank passageway which obviously led to the door to the above-the-shop premises. Jilly Lee had charmed his grandmother into trusting her implicitly, into relying on her company, into actually enjoying what the scheming minx had called ‘Girl-talk’. And had done a runner when he’d made it plain that he didn’t want her in his bed and wasn’t in the market for marriage. Taking a whole load of the old lady’s cash with her.
He would make her pay. In spades. He stabbed a finger on the bell-push.

Milly Lee flicked on the overhead light and drew the skimpy curtains over the window to shut out the depressing sight of the wet April evening. It hadn’t stopped raining all day. The interior of the small living area was just as chilly and depressing and she wouldn’t have stayed here a moment longer than necessary after her mother’s death—would just have found herself an inexpensive bedsit with enough room for one—but Jilly wouldn’t know how to contact her if she did that and since she’d left her job in Florence Milly had no means of contacting her.
That her identical twin was thoughtless went without saying, but that didn’t mean Jilly wouldn’t get in touch at some stage, when she finally remembered her family back home. Sadly she reflected that Jilly didn’t even know that their mother had passed away. She would be gutted. So, until her twin remembered that she had a family who worried about her and made contact, she would have to stay put.
Pushing the floppy fringe of her short blonde hair out of her eyes, she opened the local evening paper she’d bought on her way home from work and optimistically turned to the Situations Vacant column.
She was going to need to find a new job.
Manda, her boss, had told her this morning that she was selling up. She and her husband wanted to start a family—at the age of thirty-six it was time. And conception might prove easier if she wasn’t rushing from pillar to post from the crack of dawn.
The likelihood of another florist taking over the business and keeping her on was slim—profits had been dropping for the last year. ‘You’d better start looking for something else,’ Manda had warned. ‘If you find something, don’t worry about working out your notice. I can wind the business down on my own. No probs.’ So that meant she had to find something double quick if she was to be able to pay the rent on this flat.
The sound of the doorbell made her spirits lift. Cleo, her best friend since schooldays, had said she’d pop by this evening, bring a bottle of wine, and they could discuss her wedding plans. Milly was to be chief bridesmaid.
Glad that her friend was a couple of hours early—she’d mentioned nine as the most likely time—she flew down the narrow, carpetless staircase to let her in. And found she was staring at a complete stranger.
A drop dead handsome stranger.
An unexplained sensation quivered its way down her spine, intensifying as a shard of triumph glimmered briefly in the stranger’s dark eyes and the sinfully sexy mouth curved in a smile that was definitely more predatory than friendly.
‘The disguise doesn’t fool me, Jilly, but it suits you—believe it or not.’
The deep voice was slightly accented; it made her toes curl. He obviously thought she was her glamorous twin, dressed in the sort of gear Jilly wouldn’t be seen dead in—faded old jeans and woolly sweater, the trademark long beautiful hair cut to a boyish bob, and she shook her head, about to tell him he’d made an understandable mistake. But he forestalled her, striding past her, drawling crushingly, ‘You should have known there was no place to hide. Lesson one—no one messes with me and mine. Lesson two—you pay for trying.’
Heavens! What had Jilly done now? The burning question went unspoken as he reached the foot of the dimly lit stairs and swung round to face her. Her breath caught, her heart hammered, speech was impossible for the moment because he looked so formidable.
Not an ounce of spare flesh on his impeccably suited six foot frame, broad shoulders, narrow waist and elegantly long legs. The dark hair, spangled with raindrops, was superbly cut, his features austerely sculpted but saved from coldness by a wickedly sensual mouth. And those eyes—rich dark chocolate with penetrating amber glints trained on her own green ones, which were wide with apprehension.
‘My grandmother is already missing you. I will not have her upset. I told her you had to leave the villa because of a family crisis. You will stick to that story.’ The long beautiful mouth tightened with distaste. ‘Personally, I wouldn’t let you within a mile of my home. But for Nonna’s sake you will return to Tuscany with me tomorrow. You will take up your duties, continue to amuse and charm her but with one stricture—’ he delivered chillingly‘—there will be no more shopping trips in Florence on the pretext of refreshing her wardrobe and somehow persuading her to fill yours with designer gear. Understood?’
Not waiting for a reply, he drawled icily, his eyes threateningly narrowed on her now ashen face, ‘The alternative is a spell in prison. I personally take care of my grandmother’s finances. Did you think the large cash withdrawals would remain unnoticed? That I wouldn’t make enquiries? The forged signatures on the cheques you presented are good enough for casual scrutiny by a clerk who recognised you as having accompanied the old lady who always used cash because she considered the use of plastic the devil’s work. But not good enough to fool me. Or an expert brought in by the courts.’
Milly gasped and turned whiter. Shock had her feet rooted to the spot. Her heart was thumping so heavily she could hardly breathe. Her stomach seemed to be turning inside out and her head was reeling.
All through his hostile diatribe she’d been struggling to make sense of what he was saying, putting her initial and instinctive need to butt in and correct him on hold as the conviction that her identical twin was in trouble deepened, until the mention of prison, of fraud and theft made it impossible to let on that she wasn’t the woman he was looking for.
Jilly was plainly in a horrible mess and until she could figure out what to do, how to protect her sister, she’d say nothing and hope she’d nodded off and this was a nightmare, not real.
But it was all too real.
He turned and headed for the door, his stride lithe and totally assured, his shoulders straight and elegant. He opened the door, admitting damp air. ‘I will collect you at six in the morning. Be ready. If you attempt to disappear again, be sure that I will find you. Be very sure of that.’
He turned then, his stunning eyes hard and cold. ‘In the event of your non-compliance to my demands, I shall have no hesitation in hauling you through the courts and seeing you behind bars. My desire to protect my grandmother from the pain of discovering that the hired companion she had grown to trust, rely on and love was nothing more than a devious thief is strong. But even that has its limits.’

CHAPTER TWO
‘HE CAN’T MAKE you do that!’ Cleo howled, her perky face scarlet with outrage.
Secretly, Milly desperately wished she could agree with her. But she loved her twin and her conscience wouldn’t let her wash her hands of her. When her friend had arrived, complete with samples of fabric, wedding magazines and a bottle of wine, she had still been sitting, stunned, on the draughty staircase.
And she’d let it all out, relaying every word the Italian had said and now, the wine poured, Cleo was glaring at her across the table. ‘You must be crazy. I won’t let you! Phone him and put him straight. Now. What’s his name and where’s he staying?’
Milly shrugged, fiddling abstractedly with the stem of her wineglass. ‘How should I know? It would have given the game away if I’d asked his name, wouldn’t it! He thinks I’m Jilly, his grandmother’s companion. So I shouldn’t need to ask his name! And, as for where he’s staying, I didn’t get the chance to ask since he didn’t let me get a word in edgewise, and I was too shocked to even think of asking, even if he had. He just kept on threatening—’
‘Which is exactly why you should tell him who you really are,’ Cleo stressed. ‘Have nothing more to do with him, let him go find the real Jilly. Let her pay for what she’s done.’
Milly could understand her friend’s strong misgivings, but, she said, ‘I’m really worried about her. The guy who was here has a short fuse, that was glaringly obvious. If I tell him the truth and he has to go searching for Jilly all over again he’ll quickly run out of patience and get the law involved. He looked and acted like the kind of guy who would get Interpol jumping and she’d be hunted down and dragged in front of a judge.’ Her stomach twisted painfully at the thought and her voice shook as she repeated, ‘I’m worried about her. She’s always been headstrong but never dishonest. I’m as sure as I can be that there’s been some ghastly mistake.’
Which earned her a sharp reply, ‘You don’t call it dishonest to persuade your mother to mortgage her home to the hilt, cash in that bond your father set up for a rainy day just before he died, get her to go in as an equal partner in that crackpot beauty salon business then do a runner when it went bust, leaving your mother with a mountain of debts, no home to call her own, just this grotty rented flat.’
Put like that it did sound, well, a bit selfish. Milly’s clear green eyes clouded. But, to be fair to her twin, their mother had been only too glad to fall in with Jilly’s plans if only to have her favourite daughter permanently home again. Jilly, the outgoing bubbly twin, able to charm the birds out of the trees, had always been everyone’s favourite. She, Milly, had always been the quiet one, the home-body happy to be in the background, lacking her identical twin’s glamour and drive, so she hadn’t resented occupying second place. Not at all.
They’d been eighteen when Dad had died of a massive and totally unexpected heart attack, leaving his wife shattered and helpless.
Dear Arthur had always made all the decisions, handled all the finances, ruled his small family with a rod of iron. After his death Jilly had persuaded mum to finance a crash course to enable her to get her Beauty Specialists Diploma. It had meant living away from home and had taken almost every penny of mum’s liquid savings. ‘I’ll pay every penny back when I’m earning loads, I promise. Will you do that for me, Ma? For my glittering future?’
Who could resist Jilly in cajoling mood? So it had fallen to her, Milly, to go to work for Manda, to take her father’s place when it came to handling the family’s dwindling finances, to orchestrate the necessary move from the spacious five-bedroom detached in the leafy countryside surrounding Ashton Lacey to a three bedroomed semi behind the cattle market.
When Jilly had briefly returned to the quiet market town with her diploma she had looked fantastic, lightly tanned courtesy of a sun-bed, her long blonde hair stylishly cut and glistening with subtle ash highlights, her make-up perfect, as was her figure encased in narrow white jeans and an emerald silk shirt that deepened the green of her eyes and made them look like glittering jewels.
She’d stayed two days, being waited on hand and foot by her captivated mother, until she’d left for London, imparting that she had a job interview lined up with a top flight beauty therapy clinic attached to a famous store and if Milly had felt envious she’d blanked out the unworthy emotion because her twin had what it took and she obviously didn’t.
Jilly had got the job. No one had doubted that she would, but Milly and her mother had both missed the fizz she brought to the staid household. Her mother had become in turn tetchy or morose and rarely smiled and Milly, although she’d done her best, hadn’t been able to take the place of the favourite missing daughter.
And then Jilly had returned and dropped her bombshell. ‘I’ve jacked it in. I want to open my own salon here in Ashton Lacey. Why should I be a wage slave when I could rake in all the profits!’
‘Where will the money come from?’ Milly had wanted to know. ‘It would cost a small fortune to set up.’
Jilly had turned her brittle smile on her. ‘Trust you to be a wet blanket, sis.’ Turning to her mother, her smile now honey-sweet, she said, ‘You know what they say, Ma, you’ve got to speculate to accumulate. So this is how I see it—you could mortgage this house and cash in that bond thing Dad set up and you and I could go into partnership, fifty-fifty, or sixty-forty in your favour if you prefer. You’d never regret it. I forecast great things! After two years working for someone else I know the business inside out. We’ll make money hand over fist—you’d never believe the profit margins! We could pay off the mortgage then sit back while the money rolls in. Say yes, Ma, and we’ll go hunting for suitable premises to rent tomorrow.’
Ma had agreed, of course she had, her happiness that darling Jilly would be around permanently blinding her to the very real risks, and Milly could remember feeling like a no-account misery when she’d pointed out all the possible pitfalls.
The business had gone bankrupt within a couple of years. As Milly had tried to point out, Ashton Lacey wasn’t ready for a glitzy state-of-the-art beauty salon. Drawing custom from a population mostly comprising the wives of small traders and scattered farmers had proved impossible and the few clients they’d had had rarely come a second time.
Everything had been sold to pay the creditors and Jilly hadn’t hung around long enough to help them find somewhere to live—the rented flat above the butcher’s—but had gone to Italy to seek her fortune.
To begin with there had been occasional postcards. She’d found work in Florence in an upmarket nightclub. Moved into a basement flat behind the Palazzo Vecchio, was meeting lots of interesting people, picking up the language and having loads of fun.
Sadly, she was not yet earning enough to be able to send money home to help pay off debts. She’d even given a phone number where she could be reached most late afternoons. Then, around eighteen months later, the final postcard,
‘Wow! I think I’ve made it! I’m moving on. If I play my cards right—and I’ll make sure I do—I’ll be able to pay back every penny, Ma darling. With interest! I’ll write again soon and give you a contact number.’
It had been the last they had heard of her.
‘Jilly always meant to make things right, pay back everything Ma had lost,’ Milly defended. ‘She’d get these wild ideas and truly believe in them at the time, though how she imagined she’d make a small fortune working as a paid companion beggars belief.’
‘Steal it, apparently,’ Cleo put in drily, making Milly want to smack her.
‘There’s been a mistake. I know it.’
Cleo shook her head. ‘It didn’t sound like it from what that guy told you. She’s obviously done another runner. I don’t know why you insist on defending her.’
For a moment Milly couldn’t speak. She was too angry. Her eyes flashed fire and the skin over her high cheekbones pinkened.
Then, reminding herself that Cleo was genuinely concerned for her, she took in a deep breath and offered, ‘You don’t understand the bond between twins. Why should you? But it goes deep, I promise. When we were growing up she always looked out for me. I got bullied at school, so she sorted them out. At home Dad could be…difficult. If I did something wrong like, oh, I don’t know—like breaking something or tramping mud all over the floor—she’d take the blame and just stand there while he came down on her like a ton of bricks, bawled her out and sent her to her room or stopped her pocket money for a month. I love her and I owe her.’
‘Sorry.’ Cleo reached over and patted Milly’s hand. ‘Me and my big mouth! I just don’t like the idea of you disappearing into the wilds of Tuscany with a man who obviously loathes you, or rather who he thinks you are. And what will he do when he finds out you’ve made a fool of him?’
‘He won’t,’ Milly assured her with more conviction than she actually felt. ‘We are identical. Jilly looks more glamorous because she knows how to dress for effect and how to use make-up. There’s stuff of hers here that she left behind. She won’t mind me borrowing it so, initially, he won’t be able to tell the difference.’ She took a healthy gulp of her forgotten wine. ‘While he thinks I’m Jilly and I’m doing what I’m supposed to, she’ll be safe from prosecution. And I guess even companions have time off. I’ll use it to try and find her. She probably just walked out of the job because she got bored with dancing attendance on an old lady and there must have been some misunderstanding about the money. She won’t have any idea that the old lady’s grandson is out for her blood. When I find her she can go back and explain everything and sort the mess out.’
‘And do you think you will? Find her.’
‘I must.’ Milly replied with intensity. ‘At least I know now that she hasn’t come to any harm. When we didn’t hear anything after she left Florence we were desperately worried, though I tried to make light of it to Ma, stressing that Jilly had never been very good at keeping in touch, just a handful of postcards while she’d been working in London and even fewer when she’d been in Florence. But I was out of my head with worry. She hadn’t said what her brilliant new money-making project was and you know how headstrong and reckless she can be—I thought anything could have happened to her.’
She relaxed back into her chair. ‘At least I don’t have to worry on that score. She was safely tucked up with some nice old lady!’
‘Now—’ she sprang to her feet, dredging up every ounce of courage she could find and holding on to it, ignoring the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘Help me go through Jilly’s things and tell me what I should take. We won’t bother with her lingerie; I’ll pack my own underwear and night things. He won’t see that!’
‘If I must.’ Cleo followed her through to the third bedroom that had been set aside for Jilly’s use. ‘Though I’m miffed with you! You were going to be my chief bridesmaid, remember?’
Turning, Milly gave her a swift hug, promising confidently, ‘The wedding’s not for another three months—I’ll be back long before then!’
But hours later, lying sleepless, she wondered. What if Jilly proved impossible to trace? She’d burned her bridges here. She’d phoned Manda at home and told her she’d found another job and wouldn’t be in tomorrow. Had posted a cheque for three months’ rent to her landlord, just about cleaning her account out but at least what few possessions she had would be safe.
And tomorrow she was leaving the country with an intimidating guy who thought she was the dregs of humanity and who would watch her like a hawk to make sure she didn’t run off with the family silver.
She felt, quailing, as if her future no longer belonged to her.

CHAPTER THREE
MILLY KEPT HER aching, sleep-deprived eyes anxiously on the main double doors of the exclusive country hotel where the Italian had obviously spent the night. At least she now knew his name, which was a relief of sorts. When the driver had arrived at the flat, promptly at six, he’d asked, ‘Miss Lee to meet Signor Saracino?’
And now the driver had entered the hotel and would emerge at any moment with Saracino and they would be driven to the airport. Her stomach rolled with dread and if it hadn’t been for her need to find her sister and protect her from the intimidating Italian’s misguided wrath she would have been out of this car like a shot and legging it down the long meandering shrub-bordered drive as if the devil himself was after her.
Which he would be, she sickeningly reminded herself. He hadn’t impressed her as being a man who would give up easily. Give up full stop.
And then she saw him. And turned her head away abruptly, her heart pounding with the fleeting impression of immaculate strength, hard purpose and no mercy whatsoever. Her palms, knotted together on her lap, grew slick and she tried to pull a calming breath into her lungs but it stuck in her throat and almost choked her.
Could she hope to carry this off?
She had to. For Jilly’s sake. She had no other option because if he saw through the deception he would be off after the real Jilly Lee faster than a hot knife through butter.
While the driver stowed Saracino’s small amount of luggage in the boot alongside her bulky and battered suitcase and holdall the Italian merely gave her a cursory glance through the side window before wordlessly settling himself in the front passenger seat.
Relief that she’d been spared the ordeal of having him sit beside her in the rear of the car was sweet and she allowed herself the fleeting luxury of savouring it as the car purred back along the drive towards the main road. He probably couldn’t bring himself to get close to her, or even look at her properly, for fear of contamination, which was a good omen for the future. Couldn’t be better!
The more he kept his distance the safer she would be from discovery and she’d handle being a companion to someone who would naturally expect her to be au fait with the routine of their days somehow. Getting through check in without anyone noticing the slight difference in the name on the ticket and the one on her passport seemed another good omen.
But once they were at the airport, through security, he did look at her. Properly.
Dark eyes took on a cynical glint as they swept her from head to toe and Milly’s stomach rolled over then tightened into a sickening knot. Forcing herself to lift her chin and meet those coldly disparaging eyes, she assured herself firmly that there was no way he could tell he was looking at the wrong twin.
Jilly’s cream-coloured linen suit with its lapel-less fitted jacket and narrow knee-length skirt was classily eye-catching enough to fool him, especially since last night when she’d been wearing her usual boring everyday clothes he’d taken her for her twin—the short no-nonsense hairstyle, lack of make-up—all the things that had always marked her as being different from her sister.
Nevertheless she quaked in Jilly’s bronze kitten heels when he delivered cuttingly, ‘I’m glad to see you’ve toned down your act. Contrition? Somehow I don’t think so. More likely to be sheer pig-headed annoyance at having been traced and hauled back to make reparation for your sins.’
She didn’t know what he meant by that ‘toning down’ bit and watched with sickening fascination as broad shoulders lifted in a slight shrug which denoted that he couldn’t care less either way. And then his strongly sculpted features hardened as he added, ‘You will stick to the fiction that you were called away because of a family crisis, apologise for not calling my grandmother during your absence and continue to please her with your company for as long as you are needed. The money you stole can be taken as future wages; you will receive no further payments from me. Is that understood?’
Dry mouthed, Milly nodded speechlessly, her flagging spirits taking a further nose-dive. She would work for him but would receive no pay!
She couldn’t use her debit card because, after forking out for that advance rent payment her account was as good as bare. And relying on her seldom used credit card was out of the question. She couldn’t afford to get into debt. Penniless apart from a couple of five pound notes and the loose change in her purse, her plan for travelling around on her days off—provided she was allowed such a luxury—to try and trace her twin bit the dust.
Trying not to let her agitation show, to sound as wryly confident as Jilly would have done in similar circumstances, she asked, ‘Will I still have time off? Or will I be locked in my room when your grandmother doesn’t need me, Signor Saracino?’
One strongly arched dark brow lifted in marked contempt as he countered, ‘So formal. I recall a much more intimate mode of address when you came to my bed.’
He swung away as their flight was called, leaving Milly to stagger in his wake, too shell shocked to notice that he hadn’t answered her question.
Cocooned in the luxury of first class, Milly’s mind was racing. A sideways glance showed her his impressive profile bent over a file he’d taken from his briefcase, the pen held in long finely made tanned fingers stabbing notes into the margins of the closely typed pages.
She looked quickly away, her heart fluttering as a strange sensation gathered in the pit of her stomach. Jilly and the Italian had been lovers.
So why had that announcement really shocked her? Her sister had had affairs before.
‘Things’ she’d called them. ‘I’m having this thing with—whoever.’ None of them had lasted longer than a month or two. Jilly had always been restless, easily bored.
Had it been different this time? Had Jilly fallen in love with the savagely handsome Italian? Milly, her cheeks growing greatly overheated, could easily understand that. He was drop-dead-gorgeous, magnetic. Even she, on the receiving end of his icy menace, could recognise that. In the role of sexy seducer he would be dynamite! Totally irresistible!
Had her sister believed Saracino loved her in return? Had she expected marriage? Been sublimely confident of it? That would explain the wild promise that if she played her cards right she would be able to pay Ma back with interest. Everything about him spoke of wealth and standing and it would explain why the lively, flamboyant Jilly had uncharacteristically taken the post of humble companion to an old lady. Just to be near the man she loved and hoped to marry, to be available.
And had she left secretly, nursing a broken heart, when she’d discovered that marrying her was the last thing on his mind?
She wouldn’t know for sure until she found her twin. But the scenario seemed likely given the information on that final postcard from Florence and what she knew of the callous yet handsome man at her side.
Hating to think of her sister in trouble—hounded by this cold-hearted devil because of some mistake—and hurting because he’d broken her heart she gritted her teeth and vowed to find Jilly and clear her name. Her twin had always looked out for her, had taken her part when they’d been growing up.
She was more determined than ever to repay that debt.

Milly woke when he prodded her. ‘Fasten your seat belt; we’re about to land.’
Hating his tone, contempt tinged with searing impatience, she groggily complied. She hadn’t thought she’d ever sleep again, at least not in his spiky company, but last night’s deprivation had caught up with her. Smothering yawns, she felt at a total disadvantage while she followed where he led and it wasn’t until they were well away from Pisa airport and driving along the labyrinthine white Tuscan lanes that he spoke to her, although she had much to her discomfit, been on the receiving end of quite a few penetrating sideways glances she’d felt rather than actually met.
‘For some reason Nonna thinks the sun shines out of you,’ he imparted drily. ‘Since your disappearance she has been fretting. You will do and say nothing to upset her. Is that clear?’
‘Perfectly.’
Again that swift censorious sideways glance. ‘Don’t slouch! You look as though you’re being driven to the gallows! You should be thanking the patron saint of sinners that you’ve got off so lightly.’ His voice tightened. ‘If it weren’t for Nonna’s fondness for you then, believe me, you’d be in handcuffs right now!’
Milly dragged in a deep, shuddering breath. How she stopped herself from reaching over and strangling the hateful man she would never know! A scarlet flush of rage flooded her delicate features. If Jilly were in her place, the object of his withering contempt, she would fall out of love with him faster than she could draw breath.
She couldn’t trust herself to answer his scathing comments without giving the game away but, mindful of his scornful criticism, she sat up straighter.
In any other circumstances she would be enjoying riding in this open-topped racy sports car through the sun-soaked Tuscan scenery, through the patchwork landscape of vineyards and stately avenues of cypresses, orchards of lemon trees and distant craggy outcrops of rock.
As it was she was getting more wound up and edgy with every mile that passed and when a bend in the narrow road revealed a paved driveway flanked by elegant wrought iron gates and the imposing stone villa beyond she felt as if she were about to splinter with tension.
Would she make it through the acid test, her meeting with Saracino’s grandmother, without giving herself away? Back in England she had told herself that her identical physical appearance, the wearing of her twin’s clothes, was all she needed to stop the Italian searching for the real Jilly and having her charged with fraud and goodness only knew what else. But here the possible pitfalls loomed very large indeed.
Telling herself to watch her step at all times, she exited the car as the grim faced Italian pulled to a halt in front of the massive iron-studded open double doors and watched as he handed the car keys to a wiry little man who had appeared out of nowhere then turned to her.
‘Stefano will take your cases to your room. Wait in the hall while I go to prepare Nonna for your return.’
No way!
Outwardly compliant, Milly preceded him into the coolness of the marble paved reception hall, then watched as Saracino, handsome as all-get-out in the superbly styled light grey suit that drew attention to his broad back, narrow hips and long, elegantly strong legs, walked purposefully towards one of the gleaming, intricately carved doors that led off this huge space.
Then she dragged in a deep breath and scampered after Stefano as he mounted the sweeping staircase, congratulating herself on disregarding the boss’s orders and discovering where Jilly’s room was and avoiding the ignominy of pretending a short-term memory loss and having to confess to forgetting which room was hers!
Concentrating hard, she followed Stefano as he turned left where the magnificent staircase branched, down a panelled corridor hung with portraits and landscapes in heavy gilded frames, counting doors to left and right.
First hurdle over! It was the only positive thought she’d had since leaving England when Stefano opened the third door on the right. Smartly suppressing the instinctive cry of delight, she entered the room that had been supposedly hers for the last few months, the most beautiful room she had ever seen with its soft ivory-coloured carpet, panelled walls colour-washed in the same shade, gleaming antique furniture and the most opulent tester bed she had ever laid eyes on, layers of white lace topped by a satin quilt in a lovely shade of dusky rose, the whole enclosed with gauzy drapes. Not to mention the magnificent vaulted wooden ceiling, painted with swags of flowers, cherubs and exotic birds.
Placing her luggage on the low chest at the foot of the bed, Stefano said in passable English, ‘Not to use the smart valigia the Signora buy for you?’
As his glance rested on the old hold-all and shamefully battered suitcase into which she had stuffed Jilly’s lovely clothes she understood his meaning, found a smile and invented rapidly, ‘I didn’t want it to get scuffed; I wanted it to stay smart.’
Which earned her a beam of approval and the self-congratulatory thought that so far she was doing just fine. Which lasted precisely five seconds, the time it took for Stefano to exit and for her to realise that she was facing her reflection in a full length pier glass.
Staring at herself, she simply couldn’t believe Saracino hadn’t seen through the deception! True, feature for feature, she and Jilly were identical, but where her twin walked and held herself with sublime confidence, she drooped!
Hastily hauling her shoulders back, she pushed her fringe out of her eyes. Eyes innocent of any artifice. Unfortunately Jilly hadn’t left any of her cosmetics behind, just the clothes she’d worn a couple of times and grown tired of. So Milly had had to do the best she could with her usual moisturiser and rarely used rose-pink lipstick. Totally different from the trade mark scarlet pout, heavily darkened lashes and expertly applied foundation, eye shadow and blusher.
No wonder Saracino had made that scathing remark about toning down her act!
She was going to have to try harder! Make herself act, walk and talk like her sister, because if she didn’t then sooner or later—probably sooner—she would be rumbled. The thought terrified her so much that she felt nauseous as she made her way back to the huge hall.
Where Saracino was waiting, pacing, and clearly not pleased.
His nostrils flared, dark eyes shooting a dire warning at her, he bit out, ‘I told you to wait here.’
Inwardly quailing, Milly straightened her spine. Never mind how Jilly would have reacted to this ogre in the guise of an Adonis, she, Milly, wasn’t going to be spoken to as if she were a dim-witted form of low-life. ‘So you did.’ Proud of her dulcet tone, achieved with great self-control, she added serenely, ‘But I needed the bathroom. Now I will make my apologies to Nonna.’
‘She is not your grandmother. I won’t have a creature like you presuming family connections!’ The sensual mouth compressed with distaste as he took her arm in ungentle fingers. ‘You will address her as Filomena, as you always have done, and as Signora Saracino when speaking to the staff on her behalf.’
Little did he know it but because of her slip of the tongue he was being a great help. This thought buoyed her a little as he practically frog-marched her through an intricately carved door that led into a sitting room of beautiful proportions.
Tall windows lay open to an arcaded stone veranda admitting the soft spring light that gleamed back from gilded looking glasses and exquisite inlaid furniture. But Milly’s attention wasn’t for the obvious grandeur of the surroundings, it was all for the beaming elderly mauve-clad lady seated in a throne-like chair that dwarfed her frail body, both hands held out in welcome.
‘Jilly—naughty girl! Running away without a word!’ The warmth of the tone and the smile that went with it robbed her words of any sting. ‘Come, let me look at you.’
Unnervingly conscious of a pair of hard black eyes boring into the back of her head, Milly went forward on legs that felt like wet cotton wool, uncomfortably aware that if she put a foot wrong Filomena Saracino would see right through her and out her as the imposter she was.
Frail fingers clasped her own and the warmth of affection flooded through Milly and made her want to weep because the warmth wasn’t for her but for her charismatic sister. Jilly, the golden girl, only had to turn on that effortless charm of hers to have the recipient eating out of her beautifully manicured hands.
‘You’ve cut off all your hair; why did you do that, child?’
Disconcertingly—her sister was a total stranger to blushes—Milly felt her face flood with colour. She hated having to lie to this patently nice old lady. She pulled a breath into her suddenly oxygen-starved lungs and managed, ‘With the hot weather coming I thought it would be cooler,’ and heard behind her a cynical huff of breath. Saracino. He believed she’d done it to try to alter her appearance; he’d said as much at their first meeting.
‘Very practical.’ The silvery head was tipped assessingly, the faded eyes lively, ‘It suits you. You look younger; don’t you think so, Cesare?’
Which elicited no response, but Milly knew his first name now and that was one more brick in the edifice of deception she was building up—a necessary deception, she hastily reassured herself, as distaste for the part she was playing flooded her conscience.
The old lady released her hands and prompted gently, ‘Now pull up a chair and tell me about the family crisis that took you away from me.’
Silently Cesare placed a delicate upright chair a little to the side and a little in front of where his grandmother was sitting, then took himself across the room to lean against the huge marble fire surround, one arm draped over the top, feet crossed at the ankles.
He might appear relaxed but he wasn’t. Those dark hostile eyes didn’t leave her for a single moment, Milly noted sinkingly as she sat on the chair he had provided and tugged the hem of her narrow skirt more demurely over her knees. He was watching her like a hawk to make sure she didn’t do or say anything to upset his grandmother or leap up and snatch the rope of pearls from around the old lady’s throat and make a run for it, she thought with rising hysteria.
‘It must have been important,’ Filomena probed. ‘For you to leave without saying goodbye, or phone me later to tell me what was happening.’ Her voice trembled slightly. ‘I really missed you. The days seemed so long and dull without you to brighten them for me.’ The eyes that had seemed so lively on her arrival now dulled. ‘Would you have come back if Cesare hadn’t gone to England to find you?’
A lump the size of a small planet formed at the base of her throat and from the opposite side of the room Cesare put in, as smooth and deadly as black ice, ‘Don’t upset yourself, Nonna. I know Jilly can put your mind at rest.’ Dark eyes narrowed on her troubled face and she heard the threat behind his seemingly bland tone.
‘Can’t you, Jilly?

CHAPTER FOUR
SUDDENLY MILLY COULD hear herself breathing. Shallow and too rapid. The soft calling of the doves in the flower-decked courtyard she could glimpse beyond the stone arcade seemed preternaturally loud in the ear-tingling silence that awaited her response.
She swallowed heavily and stared at her short no-nonsense fingernails, then clenched her fists to hide them out of sight of querying eyes because Jilly wouldn’t be seen dead without long, perfectly manicured nails.
Inventing an important crisis was completely impossible. Piling lie on unnecessary lie was utterly distasteful. Besides, of late hadn’t there been many all too real crises in her life—the bruising advent of Cesare Saracino, mislaying her sister, losing her mother?
The death of her mother just over a month ago had been the absolute worst. The reminder of that dreadful day was rawly, painfully devastating and her voice shook with the emotion she couldn’t hide as she whispered, ‘My mother died. It was very sudden.’ And at times it seemed as if it had happened only yesterday.
Her eyes flooded. The loss still hurt dreadfully, compounded by the fact that she had had no means of contacting Jilly and having her come home for the funeral to give her support and to pay her respects to the mother who had doted on her.
A beat of silence followed the statement, then, ‘Oh my dear! How sad for you. What a terrible shock.’ Filomena leant forward and took both her hands again, her eyes full of sympathy. ‘You make me so very ashamed of my grumbles. Of course you would have been too distraught—and harried with all the arrangements to even think about me, let alone phoning or writing to let me know what was happening. I understand perfectly. Forgive me for doubting your intention to return.’
Choking back a sob, it was all Milly could do to manage a husky, ‘Of course.’
The pressure of the frail fingers increased as Filomena angled a sharp look in her grandson’s direction. ‘I trust Cesare didn’t pressure you into returning before you were ready?’
There was no honest disclaimer Milly could give to that and, thankfully, the need to reply was obviated by the elderly lady saying, ‘I know you said your little sister is very practical and dull, without a sensitive or imaginative thought in her head, but will she be all right on her own? She must be feeling lonely without you, especially during this time of family mourning.’
‘She’s fine,’ Milly said hollowly and felt her cheeks flame with discomfiture. That Jilly should describe her as being her little sister she could just about understand. To Jilly it must have felt that way. Her twin had always been the leader, she the follower. But practical and dull with no imagination or sensitivity—was that how Jilly really saw her? It hurt.
Cesare had moved to stand behind his grandmother’s chair and the look he glued on her was definitely speculative. Which somehow made everything ten times worse.
The old lady turned her head briefly towards him then turned back again to smile at Milly. ‘We will invite your sister for a holiday. Next month? Before the weather gets too hot—May here is such a lovely month. A holiday will be good for you both and I shall enjoy having two young things to keep me company.’
Mistaking the unwitting look of horror on Milly’s face for something else entirely her mouth curved impishly. ‘I won’t expect you both to dance attendance on me all the time, of course. You will have the use of one of the cars to take her sightseeing and shopping. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I shall take my usual rest before dinner so why don’t you phone home and let your sister know you have arrived safely, and mention the offer of a holiday—do your best to persuade her? Then you must also rest after your journey and we’ll see each other again at dinner.’
Filomena got stiffly to her feet and Cesare handed her a walking cane. Then Milly noted sinkingly that his strong lean face was turned to her, those dark penetrating eyes burning into her apprehensive green ones as he addressed her in a torrent of Italian.
Feeling sick with nerves, Milly bit into the soft underside of her bottom lip, her brain turning dizzily as it scrambled to recall what Jilly had written on one of those postcards.
That she was picking up the language!
Was the deception to be uncovered so soon, so easily? There was a thumping silence as she failed to respond to what it was he’d been saying to her.
‘Now, Cesare.’ Unwittingly Filomena came to her rescue. ‘You know the rules. English only!’
‘Of course, Nonna. I apologise.’ Cesare dipped his dark head and Milly was sure a hard smile tugged at the corners of his handsome mouth. ‘I shall reframe my question in perfect English,’ he delivered silkily, eyes as cold as the Arctic winter holding hers. ‘Would Jilly like to give me her home number? I can dial it for her as I know the correct international code.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Milly returned thinly, and smiled for Filomena. ‘I’ll see you to your room before I phone home.’ She shot Cesare a challenging glance. ‘Milly won’t have left work yet. And I expect she’ll need to do some grocery shopping before she heads home.’
She had no intention of making that pointless call and with the feeling that she had survived somehow, had avoided quite a few pitfalls—even if the survival had relied more on luck than judgement—she accompanied the elderly lady to her ground floor suite, saw her settled and finally left with the promise that, yes, she would herself rest before dinner.
Thanks to her earlier foresight she found the room that had been Jilly’s with no trouble at all and sat on the edge of the huge, opulent bed and lowered her bright head to her hands.
Back in England, anxious to save her twin from being treated like a criminal, hauled before a judge to answer to charges she was surely innocent of, she had blithely believed that this deception was necessary if only to give her the time to try and trace her missing sister, put her in the picture and get her to clear everything up.
She hadn’t wanted the cold-hearted Cesare to find her first, refuse to listen to anything she said in her own defence and have her clapped in irons before she could draw breath.
She still didn’t. Of course she didn’t! But the deception was making her feel ill and desperately ashamed of herself. Not on Cesare’s account, that was for sure! He was the brute who had broken her sister’s heart, bedded her, led her to believe he would marry her. Then dumped her. At least everything pointed that way. Why else would Jilly have disappeared?
But deceiving a lovely, kindly old lady was despicable. It was pricking her conscience like a red-hot poker! She couldn’t do it.
She was going to have to come clean.

Cesare ended the second call and swivelled his chair away from the leather-topped desk so that he could face the bank of tall windows that overlooked the expanse of emerald-green lawns that swept uninterrupted to the stone perimeter wall.
Shadows were lengthening as the sun sank towards the horizon and beyond the wall he could see the misty amethyst of distant hills, the nearest terraced and surrounded by clusters of ochre-walled houses and farmsteads.
His strongly angled brows drew down darkly as he dragged in a huff of breath and swooped back from the view that always calmed him and faced his desk again, one lean tanned hand reaching for an address book.
The enigma he was tussling with was his grandmother’s wretched thieving companion. Lots of things about Jilly Lee didn’t sit right.
Her demeanour was quiet, almost subdued. Instead of in-your-face bright and bubbly. Short, unvarnished fingernails, the lack of beauty-salon-glossy make-up.
All of which could be put down to the fact that the bounce had been knocked out of her when he’d caught up with her and forced her to come back and work without remuneration until the amount she had stolen had been repaid. Plus, she would be on a low following the death of her mother. No puzzle there. Her grief had been genuine, the emotion real and raw.
Yet he had always been an astute judge of character and early on he had decided that Jilly Lee was completely shallow, incapable of an emotion that wasn’t entirely self-centred.
And then again—he had instant recall of her look of mystification when he’d addressed her in Italian. Jilly Lee was pretty near fluent.
True, English only was Nonna’s strict rule and it had paid off because she was now conversing with ease and the challenge to brush up on the language had been good for her, had given her a real interest.
But her companion had always used Italian when speaking with the staff and when she was alone with him—a situation she had contrived with tedious regularity.
So why the seeming lack of comprehension when he’d simply asked for a phone number?
Something didn’t sit right.
His mouth compressed, he leafed through the address book until he found the number he wanted. There were ways to get to the bottom of the enigma. Already he had put two investigators on the case. The one in England who had initially found Jilly Lee’s family’s home address, the other here to follow a possible Italian trail.
There was something he could do himself to get to the bottom of what was needling him. But he couldn’t do it here.
He drew the phone towards him, lifted the receiver and punched in numbers.
‘Contessa—’

The dining room was magnificent but Milly couldn’t exclaim over the wonders of the painted ceiling, decorated with garlands of flowers, fruits and impish putti, or the two fantastic Venetian chandeliers above the long, highly polished table because as Jilly she would know the interior of the villa inside out.
And she was in no real state to properly appreciate any of it, the room, the food served on delicate porcelain plates, the heavy silver flatware, the wine—a different one for each course—in exquisite crystal glasses.
Because.
She was riven with guilt over the deception. Had made up her mind to confess all to Filomena. But not while that handsome, cynical devil was around. His wrath at having been fooled would be shattering and his willingness to listen to her defence of her twin nonexistent.
But she was sure Filomena would listen. The old lady, trigged out in violet silk with diamonds at her throat was chattering nineteen to the dozen. Cesare remarked laconically, ‘You’re in good form this evening, Nonna.’ The old lady lifted her glass and replied, ‘That is because my dear Jilly is with me again, to keep me entertained and stop me from expiring from tedium.’
‘Which role I am obviously unable to fill,’ Cesare returned with wry fondness.
‘Of course!’ The faded eyes twinkled. ‘Girl-talk is a stranger to you! Besides—’ she dipped her spoon into her zabaglione with obvious relish ‘—you are so often away. Although I have noticed—’ again the twinkle this time accompanied by a tiny knowing smile ‘—that since Jilly joined us you have rarely left the villa.’
The interchange made Milly wonder if Filomena had guessed that the two had become lovers and had silently condoned it, hoping perhaps—as Jilly must have done—that marriage was on the cards.
Which reinforced her opinion that Filomena would listen to her, side with her in defence of her missing twin; she was genuinely very fond of her. Jilly had obviously done what she did best, had used her charm until the recipient was eating out of her pretty hands. A knack, Milly ruefully reminded herself, that she singularly lacked.
Yes, Filomena would roundly deny that Jilly had forged those cheques, would explain that she had signed them herself when she hadn’t been feeling on top form, which would be why the signatures had raised suspicions.
Emboldened by that possible explanation, she raised her eyes and found Cesare’s eyes on her, focused with an intensity that made her blood run cold and then hot. Very hot. The smile that played around the edges of his mouth was wilfully sinful and it did awful things to her.
Her stomach tightened then flipped, just as it had done earlier when he’d come to her room.
He’d entered after a perfunctory knock and she’d been standing there in her plain un-Jilly-like undies. Her face flaming, she’d grabbed her sister’s black silk sheath from where she’d laid it ready on the bed and held it in front of her. Feeling sick with embarrassment, she spilled out, ‘What do you want?’
Leaning with casual grace against the door frame he looked magnificent. All dark and brooding and unnervingly sexy in his cream dinner jacket and narrow black trousers. No wonder Jilly had fallen hook line and sinker for the heartless brute, was her near hysterical thought as she clasped the black dress infront of her as if it were body armour.
‘To remind you that we dine early, at seven-thirty, for my grandmother’s sake—in case you’d forgotten. You are already late.’ Delivered with extreme dryness.
‘Of course I hadn’t forgotten,’ she denied. How could she forget something she hadn’t known? ‘I fell asleep,’ she excused untruthfully, unable to tell him that she’d spent ages going over the room here and in the luxurious en suite bathroom, opening cupboards and drawers to see if Jilly had left anything behind that would tell her that her sister had meant to return when she’d recovered from the worst effects of a broken heart and shattered dreams.
She had found nothing, not even a hairpin. Disconsolately she’d run a bath and had soaked for an hour, then selected the black dress from amongst the things one of the staff must have unpacked, and had been getting ready to dress and go down to Filomena’s room and tell her everything.
‘I’ll be even later if you don’t leave so I can get dressed,’ Milly said tightly, willing him to take his desperately unnerving presence away.
‘I’ll wait.’ Posting his intention, Cesare sauntered further into the room and Milly, her chin set at a stubborn angle, her eyes glittering with loathing, backed out and slammed the bathroom door behind her.
Who the hell did he think he was? she raged internally. Bang went her intention to explain everything to his unsuspecting grandmother before they all had to sit through dinner together.
Struggling into the dress, she did her best to calm down. In her role as Filomena’s companion she would get loads of time alone with her tomorrow. She had wanted to get everything off her chest right now, but it would just have to wait.
And at least he hadn’t figured out that she wasn’t the real Jilly. If he had she would have been thrown out of the villa at the speed of light, the doors locked and barred behind her and her intentions to confess to Filomena and get her on side vanishing like a puff of smoke in a hurricane.
Facing one of the mirrored walls Milly noted that her face had gone scarlet from the combined effects of temper, frustration and her inability to pull the back zip all the way up.
And then, to her huge annoyance, Cesare’s reflection appeared behind her. ‘Allow me.’ In one concise movement he had the zip in place, the backs of his fingers brushing against skin that suddenly felt unbearably sensitised. ‘I thought you might have died in here.’ His mouth curved in sardonic humour and, Milly translated huffily, he thought she might have jumped out of the window with the family silver concealed in her underwear!
His reflected eyes, partially veiled by his thick dark lashes, swept slowly down her body and Milly’s insides squirmed, her face reddening again. The dress fitted like a second skin. Jilly had always worn her clothes on the tight side. ‘If you’ve got it, flaunt it!’ Whereas she had always preferred not to draw attention to her curvy hips, tiny waist and the generous breasts that were even now humiliating her by peaking, thrusting unashamedly against the fine silk barrier of the dress.
She didn’t know what had come over her to make her body respond this way. The stress of the situation, she guessed, frustrated because she seemed to have no control over her own body.
Moving briskly to one side, she turned and marched back into the bedroom, pushed her feet into a pair of Jilly’s heels and followed him out into the corridor and now here they were, the ongoing stress of having to pretend to eat and respond to Filomena’s chatter thankfully coming to an end and he was leaning back in his chair, cradling his wineglass in one lean, tanned hand, the picture of smooth sophistication.
Cesare had made little contribution to the conversation, just watched her from the depths of those clever eyes, making her wish the floor would open like a trapdoor and swallow her up, but when a stout black-clad woman entered with a dark-haired slip of a girl in close attendance, Filomena stood. ‘No coffee for me, Rosa. I think I will retire early after today’s excitement.’ Cesare stood too and settled his grandmother back in her chair.

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