she had slept with another man, she ruminated guiltily. It didn’t matter that the chemistry between her and Jude was as tepid as cold tea. What mattered was loyalty and she, a woman who valued loyalty, had been disloyal. She would end their relationship the following evening. In the circumstances, honesty was the best policy.
Exhaustion was beginning to creep over her, exacerbated, she suspected, by the champagne she had imbibed and the mad rush of conflicting thoughts and reactions assailing her. She would go to bed, sleep, she told herself heavily, there was nothing more to be said or done or decided right at that very moment.
Raffaele took in the vision of Vivi lying in his bed, her mane of hair fanned out across the white pillows, her luscious mouth pink and ripe from his kisses, her delicate features smooth in relaxation and involuntarily, he was spellbound. Maledizione...she was beautiful. Why was he allowing that truth to mess with his brain? At the start of the evening he had had a clear objective, which was to persuade Vivi, by any means within his power, to marry him. What had happened to that goal? Why had he even brought her to his bedroom instead of to one of the guest rooms? When too had he ever lost control like that with a woman? When had he ever run such a risk?
Self-loathing and a rare sense of failure attacked Raffaele in the aftermath of those unfamiliar thoughts. He had had sex instead of concentrating on protecting his sister. Even worse, his already thorny dealings with Vivi would only become more fraught and complex because they had become intimate.
His phone rang at dawn when he was already lying awake in a guest bed, watching the light rise beyond the windows to pierce the edges of the blinds. Reasoning that it had to be some kind of emergency because very few people had access to his private number, he answered it immediately. ‘Mancini.’
‘It’s Stam Fotakis,’ the older man grated. ‘I’m calling you to inform you that the wedding will take place in three weeks, on the twenty-fifth.’
Raffaele was frowning. ‘But—’ he began.
‘No buts, no arguments!’ Stam ranted angrily down the phone. ‘My granddaughter spent the night with you and the date of the wedding is now fixed. I warned you. That dossier on your sister goes to the press this weekend unless you can confirm that date!’
Within minutes, in the bedroom next door, Vivi was enjoying a similar rude awakening. ‘Grandad?’ she said sleepily, barely half awake. ‘It’s very early to be phoning.’
‘You spent the night with Mancini. You’re getting married to him on the twenty-fifth of this month and there won’t be any more arguments on that score! Is that understood?’
Her face scarlet, Vivi was now sitting bolt upright in the bed. ‘How do you know where I spent the night?’ she gasped.
‘Your security team,’ Stam delivered curtly. ‘There will be no further discussion about this matter.’
Vivi had never got dressed in such haste and never before with such distaste for the garments she was forced to put back on. The outfit, which had seemed such a good idea the night before, now filled her with embarrassment. Had Raffaele read the short skirt and the rest of it as some sort of a come-on? It didn’t really matter now though, did it? She had lost control, she had failed to call a halt, she had defied her own intelligence to continue that monumental mistake. She couldn’t blame alcohol, she couldn’t blame Raffaele, who was probably as programmed to take advantage of a willing woman as any other man; no, she could only blame herself. It seemed a fitting punishment that she now had to slip out of the house and take the walk of shame in those hateful Perspex heels! But the worst punishment of all for Vivi was the utterly mortifying knowledge that her grandfather was also aware that she had spent the night with Raffaele.
Vivi was halfway down the stairs, picking her way as quietly as she could, when Raffaele emerged without warning from a doorway. Her expressive face flamed, her eyes cloaking, soft mouth compressing into a tense line. Even in that single flaring glance she noticed that he looked amazing, all sleek and dark and spectacular in a dark grey suit, cut to enhance his lean, powerful build and accentuate his superb carriage. He emanated rock-solid assurance and it set her teeth on edge because she was feeling ratty and hunted and insecure.
‘Did you get a wake-up call too?’ Raffaele enquired softly.
‘I’m in a bit of a hurry, actually, so I won’t keep you.’
‘It’s a Saturday morning, so I can’t imagine why you should be in a rush. Join me for breakfast,’ he told her, striding back into the dining room.
Vivi paused in the doorway. ‘Er...thanks, but that doesn’t suit. If I could just get my coat...’
‘I’ll drop you home after breakfast.’
And there it was again, that habit of Raffaele’s that made Vivi want to tear her hair out and scream. He didn’t listen to what he didn’t want to hear, he just moved on past it to repeat his own wishes.
‘I said no, thanks,’ Vivi reminded him thinly.
In emphasis, Raffaele yanked out a dining chair for her and studied her expectantly. ‘Be reasonable, cara.’
And without warning, Vivi was made to feel like a child caught in the act of trying to run away to escape a punishment, and that analogy was too humiliating to be endured. Tensing even more, she moved forward on wooden legs and settled stiffly into the seat. ‘I have nothing more to say to you.’
‘Non importa.... I have plenty to say to you,’ Raffaele countered, smooth as silk, as his butler appeared at her elbow to offer her a choice of tea, coffee or hot chocolate.
In need of something sweet to bolster her, Vivi chose hot chocolate and reached for toast.
‘According to your grandfather, our wedding will be taking place on the twenty-fifth,’ Raffaele informed her.
‘But I don’t listen to his commands when they conflict with what I want,’ she parried stubbornly as she buttered her toast, struggling not to think about what her refusal to comply might cost her foster parents.
Winnie had bitten the bullet and married Eros even though it was the last thing she had wanted at the time. Why should she rate her pride higher than Winnie had? Why couldn’t she play her part and fall into line for the sake of peace, as Winnie had? Perhaps it was because when she was young she had too often found herself bereft of choice. And now when she was told to do something she didn’t agree with she wanted to fight against it every step of the way.
‘And if I threaten to make redundancies at Hacketts Tech? And I should be frank, redundancies are required there. The business is overstaffed,’ he informed her coolly.
‘You’re threatening me...’
‘I’m threatening you,’ Raffaele agreed with a harsh edge to his accented drawl, his brilliant dark eyes veiled by a thick screen of lashes.
Vivi thought frantically about John and Liz and their need for a secure home where they could continue looking after troubled adolescents and helping them into adulthood. Yes, she certainly owed them a debt for the healing regime they had given her because being constantly angry, distrustful and fearful, as she had once been, only made the world an even more scary place. And what about her work colleagues? People had mortgages and rent to pay, loans to keep up, holidays booked, children to raise. The sudden loss of stable employment could devastate lives and that stress could surely destroy relationships as well. Raffaele was putting enormous power into her hands, power she hated him for giving her because to her mind his power to threaten redundancies deprived her of the power to say no to the wedding he and her grandfather were determined to stage.
‘So, if I was to say yes...what would happen?’ she pressed in a driven surge. ‘No redundancies?’
‘I could put a stay on them for the immediate future.’
‘A permanent stay,’ Vivi bargained, barely believing that she was finally agreeing to the fake wedding she had long resisted.
‘I