Every time Dante mentioned her it was with a cynical twist. He didn’t like her. Jenny had the strong impression he wanted his Isabella creation to outshine Marco’s real grand-daughter. Which felt terribly wrong to her, but maybe there was some good reason behind his antipathy towards his cousin. It was not her role to make judgements on the Rossini family. She had to follow Dante’s edicts or…A convulsive shudder ran through her at the thought of imprisonment in a women’s jail.
She couldn’t face it. The rigid discipline of the orphanage still haunted her in nightmares. Being subjected to that kind of uncaring authority again—the unrelenting system of punishment for any infringement of the rules, fighting to survive with some sense of self intact—anything was better than suffering through another soul-destroying environment.
Somehow for the next two months she had to think herself into Bella’s skin, be as true as she could to what her friend had told her about her life. If her presence helped Marco Rossini to die peacefully, maybe the deception wasn’t such a bad thing. Whatever happened, this was Dante’s choice, Dante’s family, so he had to deal with the outcome. Though she was irrevocably tied to it.
No way out, she thought, hating the sense of being trapped, frightened of failing, frightened even more of never regaining her freedom. Two months…two months of a life she knew too little about. Would this incredible makeover Dante had orchestrated really help to blind the Rossini family to seeing she was not one of them?
The Sass and Bide outfit was startling, fascinating in its creative use of fabrics. The patchwork on the blue denim vest was quite wild with bits of lace, decorative buttons, braiding and embroidering. The short-sleeved white T-shirt underneath ended in jagged handkerchief points, just lapping over the matching blue denim hipster jeans which also had embroidery running down the legs, and buttons detailing the short side splits at her ankles.
She wore embroidered rope sandals on her feet, decorated with tiny lacy shells, and a matching rope handbag was slung over her shoulder. But that was where the trendy casual image ended. Dante apparently scorned costume jewellery. Sapphires went with blue denim; sapphire and diamond drop earrings and a gold chain watch with a sapphire face and diamonds marking the hours. In short, she was wearing a fortune, and the woman in the mirror could have stepped out of a magazine featuring incredibly wealthy celebrities.
‘Ready?’
Her heart jerked. He even had a string on that, Jenny thought as she swung around to face the all-powerful puppeteer. She’d left the bedroom door open for his manservant to collect her luggage which was all packed and ready to go. The man moved in behind Dante to do precisely that while his master—her master—strolled towards her, his gaze taking in her appearance from head to toe, making every nerve in her body twang with the need to be approved.
She took a deep breath, stiffened her spine and answered, ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’
He smiled, apparently satisfied with how she looked, his dark eyes glittering with a sexy appreciation of the woman he’d fashioned to suit what he wanted. ‘You look beautiful, Isabella,’ he purred at her, and her whole body seemed to vibrate with self-awareness.
She’d never bothered much about her appearance. Clean and tidy was all she’d cared about, buying most of her clothes in charity shops, shying away from spending money on non-essentials because she might need it for living. Being dressed like this, being looked at as Dante was looking at her, evoked feelings she’d never felt before and she wasn’t comfortable with them.
‘I guess fine feathers make fine birds,’ she muttered mockingly, thinking he always looked superb. He probably never glanced at a price-tag to see how much anything cost. He hadn’t while shopping with her. No doubt the blue jeans and white sports shirt he wore carried designer labels. They certainly showed off his top-of-the-line physique—mega-male, oozing classy sex appeal.
‘Don’t duck your head,’ he instructed, lifting a hand to her chin, tilting it up, forcing her gaze to meet his. ‘Hold it high. You’re proud to be Isabella Rossini. You’ve led an independent life and you won’t kowtow to anyone. You’re here because your grandfather invited you and that gives you every right to be treated as a respected member of the family, not Cinderella. Understand?’
It was difficult to find breath enough to speak when he was this suffocatingly close. ‘Yes,’ she choked out.
His thumb stroked her cheek. The hard ruthless gleam in his eyes softened to a wry appeal. ‘I may not be allowed to stay at your side. If Nonno wants you to himself…be kind to him, Isabella. Put him at ease with you. I want him to be happy that you’ve come.’
Panic undermined the seductively soothing intent of his caress. Being left alone with Marco Rossini was a terrifying prospect. If Dante wasn’t there to pull the strings…if she made a mistake…if she unwittingly revealed a different person to the one she had to portray…
Dante was frowning at her.
‘I’ll do my best,’ she promised in a rush.
‘There’s nothing to fear,’ he assured her, still frowning, his dark eyes stabbing his own indomitable confidence into hers. ‘I’ve paved the way for this meeting. Nonno will not be testing you about your identity. He’s an old man, facing a painful death, wanting the pleasure of making your acquaintance. All you have to do is respond to him as warmly as you can.’
He made it sound easy. Maybe it was, though the deception still weighed on her mind. She scooped in a deep breath, trying to calm her jangling nerves, and lifted her chin away from his touch, needing to feel some independence. He had taken over her life to such an extent, it was difficult to be confident of standing alone, without his all-pervasive support.
‘I’ll do my best,’ she repeated, and meant it, not wanting to be a source of distress to a dying man.
‘It’s in your best interests to do so,’ he reminded her.
‘Yours, too,’ she said with a flash of resentment at the ruthless power he had wielded.
He smiled, amused by her counter-thrust at him. ‘Yes. We’re in this together, aren’t we? You could say it forms an intimate bond.’
The hand he had dropped from her chin took possession of one of hers, fingers interlacing, gripping hard, enforcing a physical bond that burned like a branding iron, linking her inexorably to him. Jenny’s heart fluttered wildly as the heat from his hand spread through her entire body, igniting a mad desire for an intimate relationship with Dante Rossini that was not based on deception.