‘A word before I leave?’ he added expectantly.
Unimpressed, Topsy stalked towards him, outraged by his infuriating self-assurance. ‘When you say, “Jump,” I will never say, “How high?”’ she swore in a sizzling undertone.
Instead of answering back, Dante swept her off her feet and up into his arms with the easy strength that always shook her. Linking her arms round his neck, he backed into the study and sealed her mouth to his in a passionately hungry kiss that jolted every skin cell in her treacherous body. ‘You’ll miss me,’ he husked against the swollen contours of her lush mouth. ‘I’ll miss you.’
‘But we’ll live,’ Topsy pointed out prosaically.
‘For a woman who wants a romantic male that was a very unromantic comment,’ Dante mocked, eyes dancing with amusement. ‘You’ve brought fun back into my life, cara mia.’
He lowered her slowly and reluctantly to the floor again. Her fingers curled into fists by her side because for the first time in her life she wanted to hurl herself back into a man’s arms but she wouldn’t let herself behave like an adoring schoolgirl. Fun, his word and very revealing it was, she acknowledged grimly. Fun was never serious and never permanent. Fun was a fleeting thing of the moment and appreciated as such.
* * *
The next morning, Topsy had breakfast with Sofia in her private sitting room. With Vittore in Florence, the two women ran over last-minute changes to the seating arrangements for the many celebrities attending the dinner being held before the ball. Topsy noted the name of the woman seated beside Dante.
‘Cosima Ruffini?’ she repeated the name. ‘Why does that name seem familiar?’
The older woman tensed. ‘Perhaps you’ve seen it in a magazine. Cosima is a famous fashion model.’
Topsy nodded, wondering if Cosima was being placed beside Dante to entertain him. Was his mother playing cupid? And if that was the case, it was none of her business. Fun, she reminded herself doggedly, she and Dante were only having fun and temporary fun at that.
‘Topsy...? May I be frank with you?’ Sofia asked rather abruptly.
Topsy glanced up from the list, her mouth still crammed full of delicious melting croissant, and she nodded agreement, wondering what on earth her employer wanted to say.
‘It’s about Dante,’ his mother volunteered. ‘He’s my son and I love him very much but I don’t want you to get hurt.’
Topsy’s croissant suddenly turned to sawdust in her mouth while colour rose hotly to her cheeks. She had thought that she and Dante were being so discreet that nobody would realise there was anything going on and, self-evidently, she had been fooling herself on that score.
‘Dante doesn’t seem to get involved in serious relationships. I worry that he may be what is nowadays called a commitment-phobe,’ Sofia admitted uncomfortably. ‘But he wasn’t always like that.’
Topsy finally managed to swallow and clear her throat. ‘Neither of us is looking for anything serious,’ she hastened to declare.
Her companion lifted her chin and gave Topsy a measured look. ‘I’ve seen the way you look at my son and it worries me.’
Topsy paled, not knowing how to answer that for she knew she was always looking at Dante, always mesmerically drawn to him when he was around, but wasn’t that a physical pull rather than a mental one? She reddened, knowing the distinction was not one she could raise in present company. I only want him for his body would be a conversational killer, she reflected a little hysterically, because Sofia had taken her very much by surprise in opening the subject.
‘Dante’s wife used to look at him the same way,’ the older woman told her softly.
Topsy frowned in disbelief. ‘Wife? His wife?’ she repeated.
‘I see he hasn’t mentioned his marriage.’ Sofia seemed unsurprised by Dante’s oversight in that regard. ‘Dante got married when he was twenty-one. Emilia and he virtually grew up together. She died within a year of their wedding—she walked in front of a car in Florence and she was killed instantly. Dante was inconsolable.’
A tragic experience of first love, Dante ‘inconsolable’. That was a challenging image, which disconcerted Topsy for it had never occurred to her that he might be concealing such a past. ‘He was very young when he married,’ Topsy remarked abstractedly, thinking it typical that Mikhail had chosen to tell her about the three mistresses but not the tragedy that had preceded that change in Dante’s private life. ‘And no, you’re right, he didn’t discuss it with me.’
‘Why would he have? It’s a long time ago. I’m telling you now only because I don’t want you to think too badly of my son. I doubt that he’s ready for an exclusive relationship,’ Sofia opined, ‘but sometimes people do know instantly when they’ve met their perfect match...’
Topsy glanced up again. ‘Do they?’
‘It may have taken Vittore and I thirty years to finally get together but we first met and fell in love when we were sixteen years old,’ Sofia divulged quietly.
Topsy was stunned by that information. ‘Why did you break up?’
Sofia looked sad. ‘Vittore was the son of the town drunk and I was the daughter of the most successful local businessman. My family would never have allowed us to be together. My father owed Dante’s father a great deal of money and when I agreed to marry Aldo, the debt was written off.’
‘That must’ve been horrible for you!’ Topsy breathed in horror.
‘It was but in those days you did as your parents told you.’
‘So, how on earth did you meet Vittore again?’
Sofia grinned. ‘I found him on the Internet and do you know? The minute I saw him it was like the thirty years hadn’t happened and we didn’t want to waste any more time,’ she confided.
‘What does Dante think of that story?’ Topsy frowned. ‘You haven’t told him, have you? But it’s so romantic, Sofia.’
‘Dante is not a romantic man,’ Sofia declared ruefully. ‘He would think us both even more foolish if he knew the truth.’
Touched by that story, Topsy took a while to get back to checking the seating arrangements. Her brain was teeming with busy thoughts. It was a shock to learn that Dante had once been married and that he had gone from losing the wife he loved to taking on three mistresses. Had he tried to bury his pain in rampant sex?
Whatever, Sofia’s warning earlier was kindly meant even though Topsy had not needed it for she’d seen from the start that Dante was not interested in anything more than a fleeting affair. And she was content with that, wasn’t she? She would return to London a lot less ignorant of men and look back on Dante as her first lover with fondness rather than regret. She had no other expectations, absolutely none, she assured herself doggedly, silencing and squashing the cry of pain deep down inside her. If she had accidentally managed to become a little too attached to him she would soon overcome that foolishness.
* * *
In Milan, Dante was frowning and tossing his phone on the desk. He had been candid with Cosima and, to be fair, she had matched his candour. Choice didn’t come into the situation when the PR power of the ball would have a direct effect on the funds being raised. What was he supposed to say to Topsy? But then why was he worrying about saying anything? He reminded himself that Topsy had refused to accompany him to Milan. He didn’t owe her any explanations, nor did he want to take their affair in a direction that implied that he wanted more. Accidenti! He didn’t like complications and hated hassle, particularly with women. Keep it simple, he told himself impatiently. Saying nothing was wiser.
* * *
The night before the ball, Topsy agreed to join Gaetano for a drink in the village café when he rang. She was grateful