Olivia Gates - One Night In…

Alessandro came into the room, showered, dressed, and bearing a tray with coffee and rolls.

‘I thought you might be hungry.’

‘Starving.’

His smile was knowing, seductive, and Meghan found herself grinning. She bit lustily into a roll as Alessandro took a cup of coffee and stretched out beside her.

‘I thought today we could look for a place to live.’

‘What about your flat?’

‘It is a small place, sterile—a bachelor’s pad, as they say. You would hate it.’

‘I wouldn’t,’ Meghan protested. ‘We could buy some flowers, some pictures—’

‘No, no.’ He was firm in his dismissal. ‘It needs much more than that. It is simply not suitable. We can look for a place together—a home to start our new lives in?’

‘If that’s what you want,’ Meghan said, a bit unsteadily. It sounded idyllic. Perfect. And far too good to be true. Like a dream they were weaving, something set apart. Unreal.

‘That’s what I want,’ Alessandro replied. ‘I need to make a few phone calls. I’ll leave you to get dressed.’

He left the bedroom and Meghan leaned back against the pillows, her mind buzzing happily with new thoughts, new dreams.

Half an hour later they were in Alessandro’s car, cruising the streets of Milan.

Meghan gazed in wonder at the ancient buildings coupled with the modern glamour. This was Alessandro’s city, she thought, as he navigated the traffic with expert and uncomplicated ease.

He belonged here, among the rich and powerful. And now she was part of that too. Yet somehow the prospect of power had lost its allure.

Wealth, security—even safety—they all seemed useless without love.

Meghan’s mouth twisted grimly. Too bad, she thought. That was how it was. For now.

‘Do you have a destination in mind?’ she asked, and Alessandro gave her a fleeting smile.

‘Wait and see…’

He turned the car into a narrow street which opened onto a square, not as impressive as at his mother’s residence, but filled with sunlight.

Children played on the green, and the town houses that fronted it looked well cared for. Loved.

‘This looks nice,’ Meghan offered cautiously, for it wasn’t the sort of place she’d imagined Alessandro in. It looked like a place for families—a place where happiness and joy were shared, simple pleasures enjoyed.

No glamour.

No power.

‘Yes, it does,’ he agreed. ‘The agent gave me the key this morning.’

He led her up to one of the houses—a narrow stone building, with bright shutters and begonias spilling from the wrought-iron balconies.

Alessandro unlocked the door and ushered her inside.

Meghan walked slowly through the rooms. They were generously proportioned without being ostentatious, the wide windows thrown open to the spring sunshine.

She stood in the middle of the gleaming kitchen, the large pine table in its centre testifying to the fact that this was a family’s house.

‘It’s semi-furnished,’ Alessandro told her, reading the details from a brochure. ‘We can pick up more bits and pieces as you like. Four bedrooms upstairs, another on the third floor if we want live-in help. The kitchen, lounge, and dining room on this floor. There is a small garden at the back, and of course the square out in front.’ He looked up at her, eyes glinting. ‘Do you like it?’

‘It’s perfect,’ Meghan said simply. ‘Perfect.’

He strode towards her, snatched her up and kissed her soundly. Meghan laughed in surprise.

‘We’ll have our children here. I’ll teach our sons to play football in the square. It will be so good for us.’

His voice rang with certainty, and yet Meghan heard the desperation underneath, the ragged edges.

They were both trying so hard to believe. To make it real.

Yet it still smacked of a fairytale, a story that had to end— and perhaps not with a happily-ever-after.

They moved in the very next day. Alessandro had linens and towels brought from one of Milan’s exclusive stores, and Meghan had fun shopping for food at the local negozio.

Alessandro came in from work as she made dinner, his gaze sweeping over the simple scene—from the food on the table to Meghan at the stove, a dishtowel tied around her waist.

‘We forgot to buy an apron,’ she said with a little smile, and he pulled her into a long, breathless kiss.

‘I’d just want to take it off you anyway.’ His hands roamed over her, leaving flames of need in their wake.

‘Alessandro, the dinner …’ Her protestation was so weak as to be laughable.

‘We haven’t christened this house,’ Alessandro murmured against her mouth. ‘I’d like to try every room—but we’ll start with the bedroom. I like a soft bed …’

He pulled her upstairs, closing the bedroom door with a soft click, and laid her gently on the bed. Meghan lay there, happy, gazing up at him.

The look in his eyes—as if he were examining a priceless treasure—made her mouth dry. She held out her arms.

‘Come to me.’

Pain slashed across his features so briefly she almost didn’t notice it, but he shrugged off his clothes and fell upon her, and the moment of uncertainty was lost in passion, lost to the exquisite feeling of being touched, treasured.

‘We’ve been invited to a party tomorrow,’ Alessandro told her later, as they ate the reheated pasta, his voice suddenly turning alarmingly neutral. ‘It’s bound to happen as people hear about our wedding. They want to meet you.’

‘A party could be fun,’ Meghan said. She glanced at him uncertainly. ‘You sound like you don’t want me to meet them.’

‘But of course not. I want to keep you all to myself. Any man would.’

‘We can’t hide for ever,’ Meghan said teasingly, and knew immediately it had been the wrong thing to say.

A muscle bunched in his jaw and he set his wine glass down carefully. ‘No,’ he agreed flatly. ‘We can’t.’

What are you hiding? Meghan wanted to ask. Demand. What secrets are you keeping?

But of course she would demand nothing. Because Alessandro didn’t want a wife who made demands.

A wife who loved him.

Too bad that was exactly what he had.

The next evening Meghan got dressed for the cocktail party with a mixture of anticipation and foreboding.

No matter what she’d said, she wanted to hide here with Alessandro for ever. Playing house and forgetting the world outside, the people who waited to meet them, to judge them.

Judge him.

‘I have something for you.’ Alessandro came in the bedroom, his black tuxedo setting off his ebony hair and navy eyes with stunning simplicity. He held a black velvet box in his hand.

Meghan turned, and he took in her evening gown—the amber silk she’d worn the other night, its tear discreetly mended—with an appreciative breath.

‘My sunbeam,’ he said softly. He handed her the box. ‘This will match your gown and make your eyes sparkle.’

Intrigued, Meghan opened it. Nestled on the velvet was a necklace made up of pure topaz, the elegantly cut gems rimmed in gold, each piece daringly designed as if to fit a puzzle, sharp and brilliant.

‘Alessandro, it’s … amazing. Truly beautiful. Is it a Di Agnio piece?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes. When I saw it I thought of you. May I?’ She nodded, and he lifted the necklace from the box, slipping it around her throat.

It lay heavily against her collar-bone, each piece flat, shining. She touched it reverently. She’d never worn something so exquisite, so expensive.

Alessandro’s appreciative smile hardened briefly. ‘Now we must go. The party—and people—await.’

The cocktail party was in one of Milan’s high-rises—a glittering needle of light that pierced the evening sky.