Catherine Spencer - New Year Fireworks - The Duke's New Year's Resolution / The Faithful Wife / Constantino's Pregnant Bride

“Plan on a long night. Dinner at seven, with thirty or so close family and friends. The ball begins at ten.”

“How many attend that?”

“The guest list usually runs to about four hundred. At midnight, we’ll watch the fireworks displays from the terrace, with more music and dancing to follow. Those with enough staying power usually try to greet the dawn. But don’t feel you have to stay up all night. Your ankle gives us a built-in excuse to go upstairs any time we wish.”

“Upstairs?”

“I usually remain in town over Fiesta di San Silvestro and Il Capodanno. It’s easier than fighting the crowds jamming the streets. I was going to tell you this morning to pack a few overnight things.”

Sabrina wasn’t so sure about this sleepover. She could handle a dinner for thirty or so and easily get lost in the crowd of four hundred at the ball, but the prospect of facing the duchess across a breakfast table didn’t exactly light her jets.

“Are you sure I won’t be intruding on your mother’s hospitality?”

“Not at all. I have my own apartments in a separate wing of the palazzo.”

That issue resolved, Sabrina addressed a more pressing one.

“We’ll have to drive into Naples early enough for me to hit the shops. I need a gown for tonight.”

“And some red underwear,” he reminded her with a grin that sent little shivers down her back.

Oh, boy! Less than a half hour out of Marco’s bed and she wanted back in it. She had it bad, Sabrina realized. Reeeally bad.

“And some red underwear,” she confirmed with a catch in her breath.

“You might find something to suit you in Positano. A friend of mine owns a boutique that caters to the guests at La Sirenuse.”

La Sirenuse, Sabrina recalled, was the five-star hotel with rooms booked a year in advance by movie stars and oil tycoons. If the boutique was good enough for them, it was certainly good enough for her.

“It’s worth a shot.”

“I’ll call Lucia and tell her we’ll stop by on our way to Naples. If you don’t find something there, I know several good shops in the city.”

Two minutes after walking through the front door of Lucia Salvatore’s elegant boutique Sabrina knew she’d struck gold. Forewarned by Marco’s call, the vivacious owner had three fabulous gowns ready for Sabrina to try on.

She swept out of the dressing area to model each gown for Marco. He heartily approved of the strapless black taffeta with a full skirt that rustled when she walked. He was even more enthusiastic over the shimmering emerald satin that hugged her breasts and waist before exploding into rainbow-colored layers of chiffon. But the gold lamé body sheath won his vote, hands down.

The slinky fabric clung to Sabrina’s every curve, shooting off pinpoints of light with each step. The diagonally cut bodice narrowed to a slender strap and was clasped with a jeweled leopard that draped over her left shoulder. The skirt was slit to the thigh on the right side.

“That one,” Marco pronounced. “It must be that one.”

Sabrina had to agree, especially when Lucia produced a pair of gold sandals with manageable heels.

“Don Marco said you have hurt your ankle and must take care how you walk. It’s good that you are so tall. These should work well for you.”

The thong sandals worked very well. Sabrina took a practice turn around the dressing area and didn’t wobble once.

“You will need long gloves,” Lucia announced. “And for your hair …” She tapped a finger against her lower lip and surveyed her customer with a connoisseur’s eye. “You will wear it up to show off our little pet, yes?”

Sabrina swept up her hair with both arms and angled around until the glittering leopard draped over her shoulder caught the light.

“Oh, yes,” she murmured to the jeweled beast. “We have to show you off.”

“I have just what you need.” The boutique owner unlocked a glass case and slid out a hair comb. “It is antique and perhaps a little expensive, but the golden topaz stones are perfect with this dress.”

A glimpse at the price tag indicated it was more than a little expensive. But Sabrina knew she had to have it the moment she twisted her heavy mane atop her head and anchored it with the comb.

“I’ll take it. Now please tell me you have some red briefs in stock.”

“Briefs?”

“Briefs, bikinis, hipsters … I’ll take whatever you have as long as they’re red.”

“But do you not wish for ecru with this dress? Or perhaps …” She stopped, laughing as the light dawned. “Ah, yes. You must wear red for luck.”

“That’s what I’ve been told.”

“Come with me.”

Moments later, the gown went into a zippered bag. Shoes, long gloves, comb and flame-red hipsters went into a tissue-lined tote. Pleased with her purchases, Sabrina dug out her American Express card.

“Oh, no, Ms. Russo.”

“You don’t take American Express? No problem. We can put it on Visa.”

“No, no.” The brunette flashed a quick look at the man waiting patiently in the front room of the boutique. “When Don Marco called, I assumed … That is, he told me …”

“Told you what?”

“He said you were his guest and instructed me to send the bill for whatever you purchased to his villa.”

Sabrina stiffened, but kept her smile firmly in place. “He’s a real sweetie pie, isn’t he? Just go ahead and charge the items to my card.”

The shop owner looked taken aback at hearing His Excellency referred to as a sweetie pie, but she ran the AmEx card without further discussion. Sabrina signed the ticket and sailed out with her purchases in hand.

“All set.”

“Good. Let me take those.”

She waited until they were in the Ferrari and on the narrow, winding road out of town to let loose with both barrels.

“Lucia said you told her to send the bills for my purchases to the villa. Do not embarrass me like that again.”

“Embarrass you?” He looked honestly bewildered. “How does that embarrass you?”

“Oh, come on! Why don’t you just take out a billboard ad saying we’re lovers?”

His brows snapped together. “I wasn’t aware you wanted to disguise the fact.”

“I don’t! But neither do I want you to pay for my underwear.”

With a muttered curse, he pulled the Ferrari into a turnout. Ironically, it was the same turnout where Sabrina had left her rental car to snap pictures of the picturesque town spilling down the cliffs to the sea.

The car halted with a jerk, its nose pointed toward the restless sea. Marco shoved the gearshift into park, set the emergency brake and twisted the key in the ignition before slewing around in his seat. Anger blazed from his eyes.

“I’m not allowed to buy you a gift?”

“A ceramic bowl is a gift. A bottle of perfume is a gift. Two thousand dollars worth of clothing and lingerie crosses the line.”

“Who set these rules?” he demanded, his accent thickening with his anger. “One hundred dollars for perfume, si. Two thousand dollars for clothing, no.”

Thoroughly irritated, Sabrina fell back on the only argument she could. “There are no set rules. Just logic and common sense.”

“This may sound logical to you,” he retorted. “It doesn’t to me.”

She scrubbed her forehead with the heel of her hand, hating this argument, hating the memories it brought back of all the times she’d locked horns with her father in an effort to assert her independence, financially and otherwise.

“It’s … It’s not so much the amount that matters as the way you handled it. You should have consulted me before making an arbitrary decision to foot the bill.”

“I ask again. I need to be clear on this, you understand. You want me to consult with you before I buy you any gift, large or small?”