The Bride's Awakening - By Kate Hewitt Page 0,35

heady scent of flowers mixing with the faint whiff of stagnant water from one of the canals, an aroma that belonged purely to Venice. ‘Shall we walk?’ Vittorio asked, taking her arm; it fitted snugly into his and her side collided not unpleasantly with his hip. She could feel the hard contours of his leg against hers.

The piazza outside San Marco had emptied of tourists and now only a few people lingered over half-drunk glasses of wine at the pavement cafés; Ana saw a couple entwined in the shadows by one of the pillars of the ancient church. She found herself hurrying, needing to move, to get somewhere. Her thoughts—her hopes, her fears—were too much to deal with.

They didn’t speak as they made their way back to the ferry and, even once aboard the boat, they both stood at the rail, silently watching the lights of Venice disappear into the darkness and fog.

Ana knew she should have a thousand questions to ask, a dozen different points to clarify. Her mind buzzed with thoughts, concerns flitting in and out of her scattered brain.

‘I don’t want my children to be raised by some nanny,’ she blurted and Vittorio glanced sideways at her, his hands still curved around the railing of the ferry.

‘Of course not.’

‘And I refuse to send them to boarding school.’ Her two years at a girls’ school near Florence had been some of the darkest days she’d ever known. Even now, she suppressed a shudder at the memory. Vittorio’s expression didn’t even flicker, although she sensed a tension rippling from him, like a current in the air.

‘On that point we are of one accord. I did not enjoy boarding school particularly, and I am presuming you didn’t either.’

‘No.’ She licked her lips; her mouth was suddenly impossibly dry. ‘You can’t expect to change me.’ Vittorio simply arched an eyebrow and waited. ‘With make-up and clothes and such. If you wanted that kind of woman, Vittorio, you should have asked someone else.’ She met his bland gaze defiantly, daring him to tell her—what? That she needed a little polish? That her shapeless trouser suits—expensive as they were—would have to go? That she wasn’t beautiful or glamorous enough for him? Or was that simply what she thought?

‘There would be little point in attempting to change you,’ he finally said, ‘when I have asked you to marry me as you are.’ Ana nodded jerkily, and then he continued. ‘However, you will be the Countess of Cazlevara. I expect you to act—and dress—according to your station.’

‘What does that mean exactly?’

Vittorio shrugged. ‘You are an intelligent adult woman, Ana. I’ll leave such decisions to you.’

Ana nodded, accepting, and they didn’t speak until they were off the boat and back in Vittorio’s Porsche, speeding through the darkness. A heavy fog rested over the hills above Treviso, lending an eerie glow to the road, the car’s headlights barely penetrating the swirling mist. The air was chilly and damp and Ana’s mind flitted immediately to the vineyards, the grapes still young and fragile. She didn’t think it was cold enough to be concerned and she leaned her head back against the seat, suddenly overwhelmingly exhausted.

Vittorio turned into Villa Rosso’s sweeping drive, parking the car in front of the villa’s front doors and killing the engine. The world seemed impossibly silent, and Ana felt as if she could nearly fall asleep right there in the car.

‘Go to bed, rondinella,’ Vittorio said softly. His thumb skimmed her cheek, pressed lightly on her chin. ‘Sleep on it awhile.’

Ana’s eyes fluttered open, his words penetrating her fogged mind slowly. ‘What did you say?’ she asked in a whisper.

Vittorio’s mouth curved in a small smile, yet Ana saw a shadow of sorrow in his eyes, lit only by the lights of the villa and the moon, which had escaped from the clouds that longed to hide it from view. ‘I told you to sleep. And preferably in a bed, I think.’

‘Yes, but—’ Ana swallowed and struggled to a more upright position. ‘What did you call me?’

‘Rondinella.’ His smile deepened, as did the sorrow in his eyes. ‘You think I don’t remember?’

Ana stared at him, her eyes wide, thoughts and realizations tumbling through her now-clear mind. He remembered. Suddenly she was back at her mother’s graveside, her hand still caked with mud, tears drying on her cheeks. Suddenly she was looking at the only person who had shown her true compassion; even her own father had been too dazed by grief to deal with