“Is it that beautiful, big house just outside the village that was renovated last year?”
“I guess so. I mean, I know it was renovated recently. I only came here yesterday, so I’m not familiar with all the houses in the area,” she replied.
“Jonathan Davis,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m fixing up a place not too far from that villa. If you want, I can give you a lift.”
“I am Sophia Stevens—I mean Sophia Castellioni,” she corrected herself. “Sorry, I was married yesterday. I’m still getting used to the name change.”
“Married yesterday and your husband has already let you wander off and get lost?”
“Luca had to go in to work.” Sophia defended her husband. She knew what she was getting into, kind of, when she married him. But she didn’t want others to think he’d abandoned her. If they had a real marriage … For that to ever happen, she had to get home first. Her feet throbbed, and she was so thirsty she didn’t think she could manage the walk back to the villa.
She stared at Jonathan’s face. Her instincts had never steered her wrong when she’d lived on the streets. The man in front of her displayed none of the signs of someone with malicious intent. And if he were a crazed, psychotic killer, at least she wouldn’t leave Luca heartbroken. He could probably pop back to London and pick up another woman. Aside from Olivia, she wouldn’t leave anyone behind. “I will take that lift, if you don’t mind.”
Jonathan led her to a dilapidated truck with a load of building supplies in the back. He negotiated the narrow, winding streets with ease, and soon they were pulling up to the gates of the house.
“Would you like to come in for a drink?” Sophia invited. It seemed rude to just leave after he’d rescued her.
“Sure. I’d love to see the renovation. I saw the villa in its original condition on the Internet when it was on the market. It sold before I moved to Italy.”
“Oh, how long have you lived here?”
“Almost seven months. The renovation on your place was almost complete by the time I arrived.”
“Well, the house itself is gorgeous. I’m not too sure about some of the furniture. It’s not really in keeping with the style of the property,” she commented. “In fact, when I was in the village I saw a beautiful sofa that would look brilliant in the front sitting room. It just needs to be reupholstered … ”
Luca stood on the front step, raking a hand through his hair. He stopped as Jonathan’s truck pulled up in front. His narrowed eyes searched the vehicle, and then her, as she jumped out of the passenger seat. He shoved both hands in his pockets, his face darkening as Jonathan got out, too.
As Sophia was about to introduce the two men, a tall, dark-haired woman came up behind Luca and put her arm through his. She was immaculately dressed in a gray, silk frock that hugged her luscious shape and ended mid-thigh, showing long, shapely legs.
“Hello, Luca,” Sophia struggled to keep her voice even. “I didn’t think you would be home yet. You said around dinner time.”
“I finished earlier than I expected and came home to see my wife, thinking she would be lonely. I did not know she would be wandering around with another man.” Luca’s voice was hard and there was no smile of greeting on his face.
“Oh, this is Jonathan Davis. He rescued me when I was lost in the village. He’s fixing up a place not too far from here, so he offered to drive me home.” She knew the words were coming out too fast, but she was fixated by the sight of the other woman’s arm through Luca’s. She’d never considered that perhaps her husband had a lover. “This is Isabella Carrero,” Luca introduced the woman standing next to him. Removing his hand from his pocket, he unlinked arms with Isabella.
“I offered Jonathan a drink for rescuing me,” Sophia explained as the Englishman climbed the stairs beside her.
“Yes, let us have drinks on the terrazza,” Isabella said, as if she were the lady of the house. Her voice was deep and sultry, her Italian accent more pronounced than Luca’s.
Luca led the way to the back of the house, taking Sophia’s hand in his as she passed. She wondered whether the display of possessiveness was a message to Jonathan, or a ploy to try to pretend the Italian woman meant nothing to him.
The terrace was in the shade; however the heat of the day still radiated off the stone floor, making it warm and comfortable. Baskets of flowers filled the air with a sweet scent. Dark wicker chairs, with terracotta colored cushions, were spread out in a U shape, allowing all to enjoy the view of the gardens. Isabella took the seat next to Luca’s, moving her chair closer to his. Sophia clenched her teeth, a slow burn starting in her stomach.
The peace and serenity of the gardens, which she’d enjoyed hours before, was shattered. How could she have been so stupid to believe Luca, a successful, not to mention gorgeous, man wouldn’t have a woman or two in the background? He’d said there weren’t any other women he would consider marrying, but that didn’t preclude other relationships.
“So, you are renovating a house near here?” Luca’s frosty tone hadn’t warmed at all.
“Yes, nothing as grand as this, though. Your home is beautiful,” Jonathan said.
“Grazie,” Luca answered.
Maria pushed a small drinks cart out onto the terrace and placed it near the chairs. Isabella jumped up and took over the role of hostess.
“What you like to drink, Sophia, Jonathan?” Isabella oozed confidence, sure of her place.
Luca frowned at Isabella. Was it because the other woman had paired Sophia’s name with Jonathan’s, or because his girlfriend was assuming a duty that should now be handled by his wife? Sophia was once again out of her depth, unsure of what to do.
“I’ll have a glass of white wine,” she answered, with as much composure as she could manage.
“A beer for me, if you have one,” Jonathan replied.
Isabella poured the drinks and handed them out. She then mixed a martini for Luca, without even asking what he preferred.
“Sophia, you must talk to your husband. He says he does not want to bring you to my party tomorrow so you can meet our friends.” A stabbing pain shot through Sophia’s body, paralyzing her. Isabella’s voice was silky, with no hint of jealousy, no concern for the agony her words caused. Isabella sat on the arm of Luca’s chair, having abandoned her own after preparing the drinks. “No one will believe you are married if you keep her hidden away in this little village.”