CAROL MARINELLI - Hired - Mistress - Wanted - Mistress and Mother / His Private Mistress / The Millionaire's Secret Mistress

‘I would imagine that it’s incredibly difficult to be amazing in bed when you’ve been ignored all evening!’ Her closed eyes snapped open, her mouth gaping as Dante, as direct as ever, got straight to the point. ‘I would think it would be impossible, in fact, to give completely of yourself when you’re wondering who he’s really holding—whether it’s the woman in his arms or the one you caught him chatting to at the bar earlier.’

And she hadn’t anticipated crying, but as his words tore through her only then did she truly acknowledge the pain, the pain that had been there for so long now, the bitter aftermath that had lingered long after she’d moved out and moved on with her life. But they were quiet tears, no sobs, no real outward display of emotion other than the salty rivers that ran down her smeared cheeks, stinging her reddened face as Dante gently spoke on, almost hitting the mark but not quite. She’d revealed so much to him, but her ultimate shame was still locked inside.

‘It was him with the problem, not you.’ His accent was thick.

‘He said the same thing—the other way around, of course.’ Matilda sniffed. ‘I guess it’s a matter of opinion who’s right! I spent the last few months trying to get back what we’d once had, trying to make it work, but in the end…’ She shook her head, unwilling now to go on, the last painful rows still too raw for shared introspection. Thankfully Dante sensed it, offering her another drink from the bottle they’d practically finished, but Matilda declined. ‘What about you?’

‘Me?’ Dante frowned.

‘What about your relationship?’ Matilda ventured.

‘What about it?’

‘You said that it wasn’t perfect…’

‘No.’ Dante shook his head.

‘You did,’ Matilda insisted.

‘I said that I knew that they were not all perfect—it doesn’t mean I was referring to mine.’

Matilda knew he was lying and she also knew that he was closing the subject, yet she refused to leave it there. She’d revealed so much of herself, had felt close to a man for the first time in ages and didn’t want it to end like this, didn’t want Dante to shut her out all over again.

‘You said that you wanted to fix your problems, Dante,’ Matilda quoted softly. ‘What were they?’

‘Does it matter now?’ Dante asked, swilling the wine around his glass and refusing to look at her. ‘As you said, there are always two sides—is it fair to give mine when Jasmine isn’t here to give hers?’

‘I think so,’ Matilda breathed, chewing on her bottom lip. And even if her voice was tentative, she reeled at her boldness, laid her heart on the line a little bit more, bracing herself for pain as she did so. ‘If you want to get close to someone then you have to give a bit of yourself—even the bad bits.’

‘And you want to get close?’

He did look at her this time, and she stared back transfixed, a tiny nervous nod affirming her want. ‘Tell me about you, how you’re feeling…’

‘Which part of hell do you want to visit?’

She didn’t flinch, didn’t say anything, just stared back, watching as slowly he placed his glass on the table. His elbows on his knees, he raked a hand through his hair and so palpable was his pain Matilda was sure if she lifted her hand she’d be able to reach out and touch it. She held her breath as finally he looked up and stared at her for the longest time before speaking.

‘Always there is…’ He didn’t get to start, let alone finish. A piercing scream from the intercom made them both jump. He picked up the intercom, which had been placed on the coffee table, and stood up. ‘I have to go to her and then I think I’ll head to bed, I’ve got a pile of paperwork to read. ’Night, Matilda.’

‘Let me help with her…’

‘She doesn’t like strangers.’ The shutters were up, his black eyes dismissing her, the fragile closeness they had so nearly created evaporating in that instant.

‘Dante…’ Matilda called, but he wasn’t listening, her words falling on his departing back as he closed the door behind him. ‘Don’t make me one.’

PREDICTABLY, Katrina had a plumber screeching up the driveway within seconds of Dante’s chopper lifting off the smooth lawn, and Matilda could almost envisage her bags being moved yet again, but quietly hoped for a miracle. And it wasn’t all about Dante. Waking up to the most glorious sunrise, stretching like a lazy cat in the scrummy bed, as superficial as it might be, Matilda was terribly reluctant to leave her very nice surroundings.

‘White ants!’ Katrina almost choked on her Earl Grey as the plumber she had summoned popped his head around the kitchen door and Matilda smothered a smile as she loaded a tray with coffee to take out to the workers for their break. ‘Well, surely you can replace the water system and then we’ll get the place treated once…’ She managed to stop herself from saying it, but the unspoken words hung in the air and Matilda took great interest in filling up the sugar bowl as Katrina paused and then, rather more carefully, spoke on. ‘Just sort out the water, please. It doesn’t all have to be done today.’

‘Can’t do, I’m afraid,’ he said cheerfully. ‘The wall’s not stable enough to hold a new system. The place needs to be treated and then some of the walls will have to be replaced—it’s going to be a big job.’

It wasn’t the only big job the next couple of days unearthed.

Katrina practically moved into Dante’s, appearing long before he went to work and staying well into the night when Dante finally got home—not that Matilda really noticed. All her energies were taken up with the garden—her efficient start to the job but a distant memory as problems compounded problems. The glorious willow tree had roots that weren’t quite as wondrous, thwarting Matilda’s carefully lain plans at each and every turn. And a rather unproductive day followed by a floodlit late night were spent with the plumber and electrician, trying to find a suitable spot to lay the pipes for the water features. Then, just when that was taken care of, Matilda awoke to the news that, despite her inspection, the white ants had migrated from the summerhouse to the rear wall of the fence, which would set things back yet another day while it was ripped out and replaced. More skips delivered, more delays ensuing, and by the time she dragged herself back to the house, all Matilda could manage was a warmed-up meal and a very weary goodnight as, drooping with exhaustion, she headed off for bed.

Still as the week drew to a close, if not order then at least a semblance of control had been restored. Finally the pipes were laid, the electricity was on and the garden that had till now merely lived in her mind could actually start to emerge.

‘I think we must have a mole on steroids,’ Dante quipped, eyeing the mounds of earth that littered the area, and his easy humour bought the first smile in a long time to Matilda’s tense face as he wandered in with Alex late one evening to check on the progress. ‘I hear things haven’t gone exactly to plan.’

‘On the contrary,’ Matilda replied. ‘Things have gone exactly to plan—there’s always a disaster waiting to happen with this kind of work. But I think we’re finally under control.’

‘Will you be joining us for dinner?’

‘Us?’ Matilda checked, because Alex was clearly ready for bed.

‘Katrina and Hugh have come over—I should give Janet the numbers.’

‘No, thanks.’ Matilda shook her head but didn’t elaborate, didn’t make up an excuse or reason.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been over.’ Dante switched Alex to his other hip. ‘My trial preparation has taken up a lot of time, things have been busy—’