Olivia Gates - One Night In…

It did mean nothing to him—except for the one person in the room who didn’t understand.

The one person he couldn’t bear to see him fail.

And yet he would fail. Not with business, because he was good at that. He’d surprised everyone, especially himself, when he’d taken the reins of his father’s company and found that he held them with natural ease.

He would fail her. He already had, in so many ways, and he saw it in the stark confusion in her eyes—the way she turned towards and away from him at the same time, because she didn’t know what he would do, who he was.

What he was.

‘I just spoke to your bride.’ Stefano stood by Alessandro’s chair, smiling faintly. ‘She seems quite fond of you, my friend.’

‘She’ll learn better.’

‘Do you love her?’

Alessandro laughed shortly. ‘No. Of course not.’

Stefano nodded musingly, although his voice sounded regretful. ‘It’s easier that way, I suppose.’

Alessandro turned to him, raised one eyebrow in mocking incredulity. ‘You’re not going to tell me you believe in true love?’

‘Of course not.’ Stefano smiled tightly. ‘You know as well as I do that such a thing is a fairytale. We’re wise men, Alessandro.’

‘Yes,’ he replied flatly, his eyes fastened on Meghan’s slight form. ‘We are.’

It was time to end this torture. He could not take any more speculation, whispered gossip. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to be with Meghan.

It was time to claim his bride.

She felt someone’s gaze on her, and before she turned, before she saw who it was, she knew.

The heat and the desire turned her limbs weak, her mind blank and yet flooded with feeling.

Alessandro.

Meghan turned, saw him watching her, a possessive smile quirking his lips.

He moved towards her, lithe and loose-limbed, an elegant stalking that she surrendered to completely.

‘It is time to go.’

‘Already?’

‘The bride and groom must leave first. It is tradition.’ His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her to his side. ‘And I can wait no longer. You look beautiful in that dress, cara.’

‘It’s your mother’s. She was very generous to offer it.’

‘Yes, I can see how she wants to make amends.’ He brushed her hair with his lips. ‘But I do not want to talk of her. There is a suite upstairs, waiting for us.’

Meghan’s stomach plunged with nerves. She wanted this, she reminded herself. She wanted this so very much.

It didn’t stop her from being scared.

‘All right. Do we say goodbye?’

‘Not unless you want lots of bawdy jokes and knowing looks.’

Meghan shuddered. ‘I couldn’t stand that.’

‘Then we slip out now, quietly, when no one is looking.’

‘What will people think?’

‘That we can’t wait to be alone with each other. And it’s true … isn’t it?’

She nodded shakily. ‘Yes, it’s true.’

Even if I’m terrified.

They were silent as they slipped from the reception, silent as they rode in the elevator to the top floor. Silent as Alessandro swiped the electronic key card and ushered her into a sumptuous suite of rooms.

Silent—yet the tension, the expectation, the desire, thrummed to life between them, more potent than any words or looks. It was a physical presence, a separate entity, and it filled the space with silent, urgent demand.

Meghan glanced around at the elegant chairs and sofas, the double doors that led into the bedroom. Her mind was blank and buzzing. ‘This is very nice.’

‘Do you want a bath? I’ve had your clothes brought from the town house.’

Meghan nodded numbly. ‘Yes, fine.’

He walked over to her, skimmed his hands lightly over her bare shoulders. ‘Don’t be afraid, Meghan. There are no shadows here.’

But there were, she realised. There always would be. Because he didn’t know. Didn’t understand.

She couldn’t make him tell her his secrets, but she could at least tell him her own. Banish her own shadows.

‘I think,’ she said jerkily, ‘I’ll have that bath.’

‘Buon. I’ll be waiting.’

Meghan sifted through her suitcase, found her toiletry bag, full of the new cosmetics, tubes and sprays and gels Gabriella had picked out for her, and the nightgown also selected by her mother-in-law—a sheath of ivory silk, held up with two tiny straps and scalloped with lace. She bunched the garment in her fist and, avoiding Alessandro’s gaze, retreated into the bathroom.

The room was larger than her bedroom back at the hostel, a lifetime ago. Meghan turned the taps, added luxurious scented bath foam, carefully stripped off her wedding gown and slipped it on a hanger.

She stayed in the bath for half an hour, searching for her courage, clinging to what little she found.

Finally, reluctantly, her pulse thrumming—not just from the heat of the bath water—she rose from the tub and dried herself off, slipping on the bridal nightgown.

There was a thick terrycloth robe hanging on the door, provided by the hotel. Meghan slipped that on too.

Alessandro was stretched out on the bed, relaxed, his jacket and tie off, the top two buttons of his shirt undone. Just the sight of that little bit of clean, tanned skin caused Meghan’s pulse to skitter higher.

He sat up when he saw her, taking in her bulky bathrobe with an ironic knowing look.

‘You won’t be needing that, will you?’

‘No, but I want to talk to you first.’

A guarded expression came into his eyes, but he shrugged and patted the bed next to him. ‘Of course. What about?’

‘Me.’ Meghan swallowed nervously and sat down. Her fingers fiddled with the sash of the robe. She couldn’t look at him. ‘Alessandro, I haven’t told you everything about my past. About Stephen. I was too ashamed.’

‘You want to tell me now?’ His voice was carefully neutral.

‘Yes. Because I don’t want there to be secrets between us. My secrets.’ Meghan forced herself to look up, meet his eyes. ‘My shadows. And I want you to understand why I am … the way I am.’

He was quiet for a moment, his face blank. A mask. ‘All right.’

Meghan took a deep, shuddering breath. This was so hard. Yet she knew she needed to do this.

Confession. Absolution.

‘There was more to it than him just being married.’

Alessandro waited, silent. Meghan forced herself to continue. ‘Stephen had always been handsome, charming. I knew he was a little racy, a little wild. I accepted it as part of him, and I loved him anyway. Or so I told myself. It’s amazing the things you can convince yourself of when you’re blind. In love.’

‘Or naïve,’ Alessandro added quietly.

Meghan nodded. ‘I was all three. I accepted the sneaking around. I thought it was because he was a prominent businessman—a lawyer—and he didn’t want to publicise his romantic relationships. I never thought that he thought … that he would …’ She trailed off, staring down at her fingers still fiddling with the sash, her vision blurring.

‘What did he think?’ Alessandro asked, his voice soft, and yet with an underlying hardness that Meghan knew was not directed at her. ‘What did he do?’

‘The thing is,’ she continued, her voice falsely bright, determined, ‘I should have known. I’m a modern, educated woman. Women like me don’t get into situations where …’

Alessandro covered her hand with his own, stilling her nervous fidgeting. ‘Where what?’

She squeezed his fingers, clutched them like a lifeline. ‘Where you’re controlled,’ she explained quietly. ‘First it was just how I was with him. I wanted to please him, to make him happy. He liked … certain things. Then it was what I wore, who I saw, what I said. He was jealous—horribly jealous, coldly jealous—and I thought it was love.’