The Bride's Awakening - By Kate Hewitt Page 0,46

box, wrapped with a ribbon of ivory silk.

‘Oh?’ Ana reached for it; the ribbon fell away with a slither and she opened the box. Inside was the most exquisite nightdress she’d ever seen; the silk was whisper-thin and delicately scalloped lace embroidered the edges. It was held up by two gauzy ribbons, to be tied at each shoulder.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ Paola breathed, and Ana could only nod. Then she caught sight of the tag, and her heart sank straight down to her feet.

‘It’s also three sizes too big.’

‘Men are terrible with things like that—’ Paola said quickly, too quickly.

Ana nodded, tossing the gorgeous gown back into its box. ‘Of course. It doesn’t matter.’ Yet it did. She felt hurt, ridiculously near tears, horribly vulnerable, and suddenly she wanted—needed—to be alone. ‘I’m fine, Paola. Vittorio will most likely arrive soon. You can leave me.’

‘Ana—’

‘I’m fine,’ she said again, more firmly, and then she gave her friend a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Thank you for all you’ve done, and for coming to be my bridesmaid. I know how sudden it all was—’

‘That doesn’t matter.’ Paola hugged her tightly for a moment before releasing her and stepping back. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right? I can wait—’

‘No, I’d like a few moments alone.’ Ana smiled, straightening her spine, throwing her shoulders back. When she spoke, her voice came out firm. ‘Don’t worry about me, Paola. I’ll be fine.’ If she kept saying it, perhaps she would believe it.

When she was alone, Ana spared that gown one more accusing glance and then she moved around the room, pacing, anxiety taking the place of her earlier resolve. She told herself it hardly mattered that the gown was three sizes too big, yet no matter how many times she repeated the words, a desperate litany, she couldn’t believe it.

She felt that it did matter. She felt that Vittorio must secretly think she was plain and overweight and he couldn’t possibly desire her at all, unless fortified with a great deal of very good whisky. Each thought, each realization, was like a direct hit to her self-confidence, a dagger wound to her heart.

An hour passed in agonizing slowness. She wanted him to come; she didn’t want him to come. She wanted to confront him; she wanted to hide. She was annoyed with herself and her own absurd indecision. For ten years she’d been in control of things—of the winery, of her life, of her own emotions. Admittedly, it hadn’t been a very exciting life, but she’d been purposeful and determined and happy.

Now she felt completely lost, adrift in the bewildering sea of her emotions. It was a sensation she did not enjoy at all.

When a light knock sounded on the door, Ana was almost relieved. Anything at that point was better than waiting. She’d found a thick terry cloth dressing gown in the wardrobe and she’d thrown it on, belting it tightly around her waist so she was covered nearly from her neck to her ankles.

‘Where have you been?’ she demanded before she’d even laid eyes on him properly; too late, she realized she sounded rather shrewish.

‘I thought you’d appreciate a bit of time alone,’ Vittorio replied mildly.

Ana swallowed all the hurt and disappointment and nodded stiffly. ‘Yes, well. Thank you.’

‘Apparently I thought wrong?’ he asked, moving past her into the bedroom.

‘I just wondered where you were.’

Standing in the middle of the sumptuous bedroom, Vittorio looked utterly in his element. He’d removed his tie and jacket and the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt were undone. His hair was a little rumpled, and Ana could see the shadow of stubble on his strong jaw. He looked unbearably sexy and suddenly, despite everything, she felt faint with longing. She sagged against the door.

Vittorio held up a bottle he was carrying. ‘I brought you a wedding present.’

‘Oh?’ Ana glanced at it. ‘Whisky,’ she said a bit flatly, and tried to smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘You did express a preference for it,’ Vittorio replied in that same mild voice that Ana wasn’t sure she liked. It was so damn unemotional, and here she was, feeling utterly fraught.

‘Actually,’ she told him, ‘I lied.’ She enjoyed the look of surprise on his face, his jaw slackening for a second. ‘I don’t really like whisky. That is, I haven’t tried it very much.’

‘Really.’

‘Really.’ Ana strode across the room and plucked the bottle from Vittorio’s hand. ‘I only said that because I could see how intent you were on manufacturing some kind of