Carol Marinelli - His Sicilian Cinderella

He looked at the hotel suite with more than vague interest, given that Hotel Fiscella was a potential purchase that he and Luka were considering making. And so he noticed not just that the room was immaculate but that the turn-down service had been discreet. The curtains were drawn and there were chocolates and a flower by the bed that had presumably been on his pillow and there was a pleasing scent in the air.

He glanced at the note by the bed that informed him that the weather tomorrow would be stormy and hot and that if there was anything further required not to hesitate to call the desk, and it was signed...

Bella.

It could not be her, Matteo mused. Yes, while he had found out that she was a chambermaid at this very hotel Bella was still a very common name.

Was it her scent that lingered?

Was it her hands that had smoothed back the sheets and plumped the pillows? Matteo thought as he climbed into bed.

‘When?’ Shandy asked as he lay there. ‘Your friend just got engaged...’

Matteo said nothing.

‘I want a commitment, Matteo,’ she pushed.

Now he turned his head on the pillow and spoke to the face next to his.

‘Then you’re with the wrong man.’

Had she slapped him, had Shandy risen from the bed and got dressed and got out, he might have admired her.

But there she lay, clinging on with her gel nails to the image of them that the paparazzi had created and to the man she’d hoped he would one day be.

Matteo Santini, the bad boy made good.

No, he hadn’t made good, not yet.

Tonight, he was right not to ask Shandy to marry him for had he known where Bella lived, had he had Bella’s number then, Matteo knew he would have been paying a late-night visit to the whore he was hard for now.

He turned to flick off the bedside light and looked again at the signed card and he ached for Bella in a way he never had for anybody else.

Matteo fell asleep trying not to think about a woman from the past.

And then the dreams started.

On many occasions over the years Bella had attempted to frequent Matteo Santini’s dreams.

His subconscious kept perpetual guard, though.

So controlled was Matteo that even in sleep he did his level best to chase all thoughts of her away.

But even guards had to sleep at times and so, on occasion, Bella slipped through the net and would dance all night through his mind.

Some of his dreams were high-end fantasy—masquerade balls where the two of them would make love, familiar and yet unknown to each other, while others consisted of seamy situations where he watched from a distance as Bella struggled while he was held back and unable to intervene. But then there were the dreams that consisted only of memories and those were the ones that Matteo preferred.

Tonight he slept through all three.

Perhaps it was because her name had been brought up in conversation at dinner.

Or was it the knowledge that she was working in Rome as a chambermaid in the same hotel where he slept tonight?

Whatever the reason the dreams had started, they were different tonight.

The circus had come to Bordo Del Cielo. It was a strange dream, a new one, for there had been no circus that ever visited there.

And this was no circus like others for it was not animals and clowns that performed in his dreams; instead there were different beasts—the people he had grown up amongst.

There was his younger half-brother Dino, who had revealed Matteo’s plans to Malvolio the first time Matteo had tried to escape.

There was his cruel stepfather, who loathed his mother’s attention anywhere other than on him or Dino.

Matteo looked around and there was Luka dressed in an orange prison suit that he didn’t belong in. He saw Sophie being paraded around the ring and she was wearing only Luka’s shirt, just as she had been on the night of Malvolio, Paulo and Luka’s arrests.

Luka and Sophie had been in bed at the time Luka’s home had been raided and she had been hauled out in front of the townsfolk. It had been clear to all what had taken place between the young couple.

There was Talia, a woman Matteo had once helped, and she waved to him but he did not return it. No one must ever know the truth as to how he had saved her family so he ignored her.

He didn’t care for any of them.

Nothing and no one moved him—there was no mean streak to Matteo, he’d long ago learnt to simply not care.

So why did he stand, his expression impassive, as his eyes scanned the crowd for her?

For Bella.

He looked up and there she was, walking on a tightrope as the town cheered her on. Her glossy, raven hair trailed down her bare back. The small silver costume did not fully cover her and he could see, as could the crowd, that her small pert breasts had been oiled and glittered and were on show.

She looked terrified yet she pushed out a smile as Malvolio, the ringmaster, urged her on.

And then, to the glee of everyone, she lifted her leg and stretched it out and exposed her nakedness there as Malvolio pushed her to perform, to somersault for the braying audience.

There was no net.

She had no choice.

He watched as Bella gracefully somersaulted and then, steadying herself, she turned and dodged the swing of the trapeze and the people on it, reaching down to swoop and claim her. It was to no avail, though, for there, high up, out of Matteo’s reach, were others and she had no choice but to perform for them.

Then he saw Dino climbing a ladder.

‘Saltare!’ Matteo called, but his plea for Bella to jump was drowned out by the cheering crowd.

All night he dreamt in vivid detail, though his body barely moved in the bed.

Matteo was more than used to nightmares but these were of a very sexual kind.

‘ Saltere , Bella...’ he urged, but still she did not hear him. Her hair was shiny with sweat, her tiny costume was torn and her feet were bleeding despite the chalk. She was exhausted, Matteo knew, and yet still Malvolio pushed her and still the crowd demanded more.

Now, at the birth of dawn, just before Matteo’s alarm was due to go off, finally she heard him and looked down to where he held out his arms.

‘Ti prenderò quando cadi,’ Matteo shouted to her.

I will catch you when you fall.

There was just the briefest hesitation from Bella when she saw him there in the crowd, but then he ran to stand beneath her and she gave a smile of relief and recognition. Then she let herself go and fell into his waiting arms.

And catch her he did.

Her body was warm and familiar; finally she was back in his arms. Though breathless from exertion she had breath enough left for their kiss and as their mouths met they crashed through the filthy circus floor and landed, deep in kisses, on a bed that was soft and clean.

Now, just before morning invaded, he got to live his favourite dream—and it was one of pure memory.

Matteo lay there, recalling that night of no sleeping. Slow dancing around the hotel room as they’d re-created a night that had never taken place—the Natalia street party where, at sixteen, she had told him that she waited for him, while, unbeknown to her, Matteo had been running to escape Bordo Del Cielo and the hellish existence he had been forced further into.

Bella had been eighteen when their lips had first met, and despite the rough start it had been a night of romance and intense arousal, a night where he had given in to her pleas and had taken her innocence.

It had been a night like no other.

He did not want to think about the money that had changed hands in the morning, neither did he want to think of Bella when he had first seen her that night. She had been wearing thick make-up, her small bust jacked up, and she had been doused in cheap scent as she’d stood behind the bar, with men leering at her.