The room was so large, the big bed did not swamp the space, but it did swamp Jenny’s mind with dark thoughts. It was so clearly a bed for two people, a bed for sex, a bed where Anya had lain with Dante, playing erotic games, using her lush femininity to keep him. What wiles would she try to make him reconsider his decision to end their relationship? Obviously she didn’t want to let him go.
Would Dante reconsider, using a resumed affair with Anya to defray any suspicion of sexual interest in his cousin? He was certainly capable of doing anything to achieve what he wanted, Jenny reminded herself, hating her own vulnerability to the power of the man. Somehow she had to remain emotionally cold with him, not let him see he could get to her, though how she was going to manage that after losing her head with such mad passion she didn’t know.
Sighing over the wretched mistake, she dragged her feet over to the door that led to the ensuite bathroom. Except it didn’t directly. It opened to a short corridor which bisected the bathroom on one side and a dressing-room on the other, and at the end of it was another door. Shock squeezed her heart as she remembered this suite adjoined Dante’s. He had private access to it. No one would see him if he chose to come to her at night.
She rushed over to try the door-knob. It didn’t turn. Locked. But was there a key? Could he unlock it on his side? She fought down a wave of panic. There was nothing she could do about this now. When the maid came with the tray of refreshments, she could ask her about it, insist she be assured of absolute privacy.
Her head was throbbing. She needed to wash off her makeup and lie down. Her legs were shaky. She shoved herself back to the bathroom doorway. All her toiletries were neatly set out on a marble vanity bench. A glance back to the dressing room showed the rest of her luggage unpacked as well, clothes hanging up or stowed on shelves. Even her shoes had been stacked in pairs on a rack.
This was how the rich lived, she thought derisively, having everything done for them, having their wishes carried out, acquiring whatever they wanted, including a grand-daughter. How was she going to fill in these two months with the Rossini family, having nothing to do apart from chatting with Marco whenever he was well enough to want her company? Hiding in this suite day after day would be too unnatural. She couldn’t see Dante allowing it. But at least he had left her to herself this afternoon.
She slept most of it away. When she woke it was almost five o’clock. Mercifully her headache was gone. A note had been slipped under her bedroom door. She picked it up with some trepidation, not knowing what to expect, but it was only a helpful list of instructions:
Call kitchen on telephone intercom for service when wanted.
Dinner is at eight.
Be ready by seven.
Wear Lisa Ho dress.
No signature but it had to be from Dante, doing his puppet-master thing again.
Having missed the two-o’clock lunch, and with dinner still three hours away, Jenny decided she needed some refuelling before her next performance. The platter of fruit did not appeal as much as a cup of coffee—a whole pot of coffee—so she called the kitchen and requested it, along with a serving of bruschetta. Her empty stomach was growling for something more substantial than grapes and peaches. It took a lot of energy and a sharp mind to keep on her toes with the Rossini family, and having to fight the perilous attraction to Dante took even more.
She tried not to fret over what might happen next with him. Nevertheless, it was impossible to suppress some anxiety as the meeting time approached. She had eaten, showered, dressed, made up her face in appropriate tones to complement the green and gold hues in the filmy, frilly, ultra-feminine Lisa Ho creation, put on the gold jewellery, fluffed up her hair, was satisfied that she was presentable, then had nothing to do in the last twenty minutes, except pace around the room and worry about things she couldn’t control.
Getting some fresh air seemed like a better activity. She opened the glass doors, crossed the colonnaded walkway and leaned against the stone wall, breathing in the salty scent of the sea and watching the shifting colour of sky and water as the sun set. The seeking of some peace of mind was short-lived. She’d barely started to relax when Dante’s voice snapped her back to full-on tension.
‘I hope you’re not thinking of jumping.’
The sardonic drawl seemed to crawl down her spine. Her heart leapt into a jitter-bug. She gritted her teeth and fiercely told herself not to get rattled, to adopt a cool aloofness that denied she was in any way affected by his presence.
‘I’m not yet defeated by life,’ she replied, turning to see him stepping out of her bedroom, which was an instant reminder of the set-up he’d orchestrated. ‘Did you just use the connecting door between our suites?’
He shrugged as though it was totally inconsequential. ‘I knocked first. When there was no response, I thought I’d better check on you.’
It sounded reasonable but Jenny glared her dislike of the too intimate situation. She’d decided not to fuss about having a key, realising he either had one or could acquire one, and making a fuss to anyone else might raise eyebrows over questions of trust where there should be none, not between cousins.
‘Don’t assume you can invade my privacy any time you like, Dante,’ she said tersely.
His mouth twitched into a smile as he crossed the walkway to the stone wall, his gaze flicking down and up, assessing her overall appearance. ‘I see you’re in fine form again. Headache gone?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
She whipped her gaze back to the view when he joined her at the wall, standing too close for comfort. He was wearing a white suit and an open-necked black shirt—a striking combination that oozed sex appeal on him. She was so acutely conscious of his nearness she could barely breathe, and her mind’s eye was so occupied with his image the sunset was a blur. It was an act of will to keep her voice working in a fairly natural tone.
‘Who will be at dinner tonight?’ she asked, more fixated on Anya’s presence than anyone else’s, torn between wanting her gone and needing to have Dante’s sexual drive diverted away from herself.
‘Just Nonno and his three grandchildren. He’s been resting all afternoon, as well, looking forward to this evening. I trust we’ll have a pleasant dinner together.’
A touch of steel was added to his voice on those last words—a warning to behave as he wanted her to behave with Marco. Remembering his other warning, she couldn’t stop herself from mockingly asking, ‘Has Anya paid for not pleasing you?’