Isabella plopped down onto one of the sofas with a loud groan. “Well, I think that was a success,” she said. She released the clips at the back of her hair and shook it out.
Dante appeared a moment later, having stopped in the kitchen. He carried a tray with two bottles of wine and four glasses. “Of course it was a success, tesoro mio. It did not dare be anything else,” Dante replied.
He poured the wine and passed the long-stem glasses around. “This is a special vintage from my grandfather’s vineyard. I offer a toast to a long and happy marriage for our friends, Luca and Sophia.”
“With lots of babies,” Isabella added, holding her glass in the air.
“Grazie,” Luca replied, his eyes focused on Sophia’s face. He took a sip of the wine, then placed the glass on the coffee table. Sitting back, he put his arm along the back of the sofa, behind her head.
“It was a lovely party, thank you,” Sophia said. Luca’s arm slid off the sofa and onto her shoulders. His fingers toyed with a loose strand of hair against her nape. Whether it was the wine, or his gentle, hypnotic caress, within five minutes she was snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder.
Opposite her, Isabella had taken off her shoes, and Dante reached down and began to massage her feet. They were an amazing couple. Throughout the day, whenever Isabella had spoken of her husband, her eyes had gone dreamy and a soft smile lifted her lips.
When Sophia had met Dante earlier in the afternoon, she’d been intimidated by the man’s size. Isabella had said her husband played rugby for the Italian national team, but he was even larger than she’d imagined. Within ten minutes, however, his gentle manner and ready laugh had put her at ease and all she saw now was a man desperately in love with his wife. Sophia had never seen such blatant affection—was it a rare thing or did she just not know the right kind of people?
The general discussion was about the party. Who looked older or younger, who had broken up or gotten back together. At some point Dante opened the second bottle of wine and refilled her glass. By then Sophia let the conversation flow over her as she cuddled into Luca’s warmth.
She’d just closed her eyes when a loud snore echoed through the room. Sophia sat up, worried the noise had come from her. Looking across at the other sofa, Isabella sat with her head thrown back, her mouth wide open. Dante chuckled before gently pulling his wife into his arms.
“Are you sure you do not want to stay the night? The guest room is all set up,” Dante offered.
“No, we had better get home,” Luca replied. Sophia had noticed that he’d stopped drinking a couple of hours ago, and his glass of wine that Dante had poured for the toast remained full on the coffee table.
Sophia clambered to her feet, only to find the floor had moved on her. She lurched against Luca. “Oh dear,” she murmured.
Luca laughed, then scooped her up in his arms. “Do not worry, I have got you.” He carried her to the front of the house, while Dante had Isabella in his arms.
“I wish we had a picture of this. Having to carry our wives after a party,” Dante said. “It would get us both out of the doghouse for months to come.”
“I wish,” Luca joked. “Buonanotte, Dante. Grazie.”
The cool night air refreshed Sophia for a moment. But as soon as Luca put her down to open the car door, she swayed against him.
“I think I’m drunk.” She tried to whisper but it came out very loud.
“Yes, I think you are,” Luca said from a distance.
She waited while he climbed into the driver’s seat and fastened her seatbelt. “I’ve never been drunk before. I kinda like it.” Everything tingled and all the tension of the past weeks had melted away.
“You may not like it so much tomorrow. I do not suggest you make a habit of it.” Luca started the car and soon the reflection of the street lights whizzing over the bonnet of the car made her dizzy, so she closed her eyes.
“Have I disappointed you? I don’t want to disappoint you. I disappoint everyone.” He’d placed his jacket around her shoulders, and she snuggled into the warmth, inhaling deeply of his citrus-sandalwood aftershave.
“No, you have not disappointed me. The opposite, in fact. You were amazing tonight. And besides, you are a cute drunk.”
“Have you ever been drunk?”
“Not since I was eighteen. I do not like to lose control.”
“Me neither. It’s not safe. But I feel safe with you.”
“Glad to hear it. I will always care for you, Sophia.”
“Still, I wonder what it would take to make you lose control.”
“At the moment, just one of your smiles.” At least that’s what she thought he said. It could have been her imagination, because the next thing she knew she woke up near enough naked in her bed.
Chapter 7
Luca sensed rather than heard Sophia descend the stairs. Through the open dining room door, he saw her cling to the banister. Each step was tentative, and she stopped twice before managing to make her way to the table. He folded his newspaper and placed it beside his plate.
“Tea,” she whispered. “Must have tea. Too much Prosecco. Very bad head.”
He poured a cup of tea and placed it in front of her. She sipped it slowly with her eyes closed, allowing him to drink in the sight of her. She’d obviously just dragged herself out of bed and thrown on a pair of jeans and a knit top. Her hair was tousled and hung in loose waves down her back—disheveled and delectable. The now familiar rush of heat flooded his body at her just-woken look.
Last night at the party, she’d held his hand or tucked her body against his, whispered into his ear, and smiled at him like a woman in love. He doubted a single person had left the party not believing theirs was a love match. He’d even been fooled once or twice himself. Sophia was a damn good actress. He needed to learn to tell when she wasn’t faking, because he wanted to know the real woman, not the one she put on display for everyone else.
She’d fallen asleep on the drive home, and he’d been unable to wake her when they’d arrived. So he’d carried her to her room and managed to get her into bed. He’d pulled the pins out of her hair so they didn’t poke her in the night. The beautiful dress she’d worn didn’t look comfortable to sleep in, so he’d eased down the zipper, to discover she was wearing only the tiniest scrap of underpants and no bra. Grazie a Dio, he hadn’t known that earlier in the evening or it would have driven him insane. As it was, it took every ounce of self-control he had to pull the blankets up over her and go sleep in his cold, lonely bed.