The Bride's Awakening - By Kate Hewitt Page 0,62

like some farm hand and his dairymaid,’ Vittorio murmured against her skin—somehow, all her clothes had been removed, ‘but I’m not going to have you like that, with your skirts rucked up around your waist, over in a few pathetic seconds.’

‘No, indeed, since I’m not wearing any clothes.’

And, as he smiled against her skin, Ana found she had no thoughts or words left at all. Later, as they lay entangled in a sleepy haze of satisfaction, she murmured, ‘We’re going to have the most interesting sunburn.’

‘Not if I can help it.’ In one fluid movement, Vittorio rose from the dusty ground, Ana in his arms. She squealed; she never squealed, and yet somehow that ridiculously girlish sound came out of her mouth. Vittorio grinned. ‘Put your clothes on, wife,’ he said, depositing her on the ground. ‘We have a perfectly good bed at home, and I intend to use it…all day.’

‘All day?’ Ana repeated, still squealing, and then she hurried to yank her clothes back on.

The next few weeks passed in a haze of happiness Ana had never dreamed or even hoped to feel. Although they never spoke of love, her uncertainty melted away in the light of Vittorio’s presence and affection, and she hardly thought they needed to. Why speak of love when their bodies communicated far more eloquently and pleasurably? The days were still taken up with work; Ana found herself smiling at the most ridiculous moments, while signing a form or reading a purchasing order. Sometimes, spontaneously, she even laughed aloud.

Vittorio seemed just as happy. His happiness made her happy; his countenance was light, a smile ready on his lips, those onyx eyes lightened to a pewter grey, glinting with humour and love—surely love, for Ana had little doubt that he loved her.

How could he not, when they spent night after night together, not just in passion but in quiet moments afterwards, talking and touching in a way that melted both her body and heart?

He told her bits of his childhood, the hard memories which she’d guessed at, as well as some of the good times: playing stecca with his father, going to Rome on a school trip when he was fifteen and getting outrageously drunk.

‘It’s fortunate I was not expelled.’

‘Why weren’t you?’

‘I told you, I played the trombone,’ he replied with a wicked little smile. ‘They needed me in the orchestra.’

And Ana told him things she’d never told anyone else, confessed the dark days after her mother’s death.

‘My father was overwhelmed with grief. He refused to see me for days—locked himself in her bedroom.’

‘It’s so hard to believe.’ Vittorio let his fingers drift through her hair, along her cheek. ‘He is so close to you now.’

‘It took work,’ Ana replied frankly. ‘In fact, a week after she died, he sent me to boarding school—he thought it would be easier. For him, I suppose.’ It was good, if still hard, to speak of it; bringing light to the dark memories. ‘Those two years were the worst of my life.’

Vittorio pressed his lips against the curve of her shoulder. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘It doesn’t matter now.’ And it didn’t, because in Vittorio’s arms she didn’t feel big and mannish and awkward; she felt beautiful and sexy and loved.

Loved.

No, she had no doubt at all that Vittorio loved her, no sense that there was anything but happiness—that bit of heaven—ahead of them, shining and pure, stretching to a limitless horizon.

Chapter Ten

SIX weeks after their wedding, Vittorio came to see Ana at the Viale offices. She looked up from her desk, smiling in pleased surprise as he appeared in the doorway.

‘I didn’t expect to see you here,’ she said, rising to embrace him. Vittorio kissed her with a distracted air, his face troubled before relaxing into a smile that still didn’t reach his eyes.

‘I have to go to Brazil again. There has been trouble with some of the merchants there.’

‘What kind of trouble?’ Ana asked, her smile turning to a frown. Her heart had already sunk a bit at the thought: Brazil.

Vittorio gave a little shrug. ‘It’s not worrisome, but important enough that I should go soothe a few ruffled feathers, murmur encouragement in the right ears.’

‘You’re good at that,’ Ana teased, but Vittorio missed the joke entirely.

‘I came here because I am leaving this afternoon, before you return. If I take the private jet to Rio, I can return within a week.’

‘A week!’ Disappointment swamped her. It seemed like a horribly long time.

‘Yes, this is business,’ Vittorio said a bit sharply,