loved your mother since childhood. Can't you imagine how lost he must have felt when she died so unexpectedly?'
Rafaele frowned and changed his phone to his other hand, flexing his fingers to ease the tension, but it crawled up from his hand to stiffen his neck instead. 'He did not talk about my mother,' he said. 'Not once in all the years after her death. He was the same with Giovanni. The day of my brother's funeral was the last time I heard Giovanni's name mentioned by him.'
'And yet he kept Giovanni's room as he had left it for all these years,' she said softly. 'And your mother's wedding dress was as perfect as the day she had worn it and the room she had decorated all by herself untouched. Can't you see how deeply he must have still been grieving? Perhaps he was just unable to express it the way you expected him to.'
Rafaele felt a growing ache in the region of his heart, like a very large hand reaching inside his chest and slowly squeezing. He couldn't speak for a moment as his throat was so tight. How would he ever know now what his father had thought and felt? Emma was right about him being as stubborn as his father. Over the past decade he could easily have made an effort to make contact, but he had been too pigheaded to do so. He had told himself he didn't want to see that look of loathing on his father's face ever again. The months and years had rolled by and now it was too late.
'Rafaele?'
He gave himself a mental shake as Emma's soft voice pierced his painful thoughts. 'This is not a good time for me, Emma,' he said. 'I have hours of work ahead of me. I will call you in a day or two.'
There was a stiff little silence.
'Are you seeing her?'
He frowned. 'Seeing who?'
'Your mistress.'
Rafaele waited for a two-beat pause. 'I no longer have a mistress. I told you I ended that relationship before we got married.'
'But we're not really married, are we, Rafaele?' she said. 'You don't want it to be real because you would rather have the freedom to see other women whenever you want.'
'I am not seeing anyone at present,' he said. 'Now, please stop this nonsense before I lose all patience with you.'
She couldn't stop. She was so frustrated she had to keep going. 'If you're going to have a lover on the side I think I should be allowed to do the same.'
Jealousy rose like a red-hot lava flow inside Rafaele at her defiant statement. He had never felt anything quite like the force of it before. The thought of her young and tender, un-tutored body being taken by someone else made him sick to his stomach. What if they were too rough with her as - God forgive him - he had been? She needed to be gently and patiently initiated into the rhythm of lovemaking, not rushed or pressured.
Rafaele suddenly realised he wanted to be the one to show her the pleasure her body could give and receive. His body was still humming with the sensations her touch had evoked that morning. He could still taste her sweetness in his mouth, he could still feel the softness of her lips and he could still feel the satin and silk of her naked breasts against his hands.
'No,' he stated implacably. 'I will not allow you to take a lover.'
'I'm not asking for your permission, Rafaele,' she said in an arch tone.
Rafaele ground his teeth as he pulled his anger back into line. 'The only lover you will be taking during our marriage will be me, do you understand, Emma? No one else. Just me.'
'But you said - '
'I know what I said but I have changed my mind,' he interrupted her curtly. 'When I return to Como our marriage will be a real one in every sense of the word. Get the housekeeper to help you move your things into my room. I want you in my bed when I get home.'
Emma felt a frisson run up her spine at his toe-curling command. Her body came alive, every place he had touched or caressed that morning started to quake with longing, the nerves beneath her skin leaping and bouncing in anticipation. Her breasts felt tight and full and her inner muscles gave a couple of tiny contraction-like pulses as if already preparing for the invasion of his aroused