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‘It’s actually not my account,’ Ivy said, wincing as if that might change his mind.
‘Ivy, I don’t care,’ he said, almost truthfully. Because his curiosityhadbeen piqued, but he could satisfy that on his own time. ‘Now, can we go?’
Ivy threw some clothes into an old holdall of Jamie’s. She’d explained to Mrs Tenby that she would only need two weeks of holiday, but the watery-eyed woman had insisted that she take as long as was needed. The fact that Ivy would be using it to secure enough funding to fill the hole left by Michael Morrison was enough to soften even her icy demeanour.
Ivy looked around her bedroom, wondering what else to take, painfully conscious that Antonio and his car were outside, waiting impatiently. She refused to think about what would happen when she got to Italy. She refused to wonder how they would prove that they were giving their marriage ‘a go’. She knew from past experience she needed to take each day as it came, otherwise she would become overwhelmed to the point of stasis. And she couldn’t do that. Not again.
Two beeps from a car horn sounded from outside.
Keys, passport, clothes, phone charger and, most importantly, camera. If she had those, she’d be fine, she promised herself.
The number for her doctor was in her phone. He’d insisted that she could travel when she’d taken a moment to call him before letting Antonio know she would come to Italy. At her request, the doctor had explained, for the hundredth time, that she was at no more risk than anyone else of the retinal detachment happening either in her good eye or worsening her bad eye. He’d reminded her that she knew the warning signs. But preventatively? There was nothing she could do but live her life.
Yet, despite that reassurance, her heart still pounded in her chest.
‘Go to Italy. Make the most of it. Have fun,’the doctor had said.
Fun? Perhaps there were some people on the planet for whom having fun involved a private jet to a villa in Tuscany and spending time with a man like Antonio Gallo. But she knew first-hand how dangerous it was to build sandcastle dreams about the Italian billionaire. Because three years ago she’d learnedveryvividly that she was not important to him in the slightest.
Perhaps that was fair for a man who had never said otherwise. But at least she knew where she stood. It was a lesson she had learned first from her mother and then him. So no, she was under no illusions about Antonio. But hehadpaid her to do this and she would do it to the best of her ability.
She scribbled a note to the flatmate she barely saw and left her mobile number in case of emergencies. It felt almost surreal to lock her front door, leave the flat and, after giving her bag to the driver, get into a car that would take her to a private airfield.
A car that had brought her and an impatient Antonio to her flat from the library. She hadn’t missed the way that Antonio had peered up at the house her flat was part of. The way that he’d—albeit discreetly—raked his gaze over his surroundings, more wary than disdainful. But it had made her hyperaware of the fact that they came from very different worlds.
As she buckled herself back into the seat, the driver putting her very small bag in the boot of the town car, she felt the build-up of questions fill the car. So it wasn’t surprising when Antonio finally asked the question, but she still felt his censure.
‘Is there anything left of the money I originally gave you?’ he said, his voice steely. With judgement, she wondered, or was she just being sensitive?
Ivy turned to look out of the window to see what he saw. It clearly wasn’t anything like the luxury he was used to, but she refused to be ashamed of it. No, there wasn’t any money left from what he’d given her six years ago. It had been used: spent or lost for reasons beyond her control. She had worked hard for every penny she now had and she was proud of that, but she wouldn’t lie to him.
‘No.’
A cool silence descended between them, until Antonio passed her a small box before returning his attention to his phone. Frowning, she opened the white plastic box to find a first aid kit inside.
Her heel.
She’d been in such a hurry to pack her clothes, she hadn’t even changed out of what she was wearing, or her shoes. She could change on the plane, and she’d deal with the cut then. To do so now, with Antonio so close, it felt too…personal.Vulnerable.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered and only the slight nod of his head told her that he’d heard.
The driver took them straight onto the tarmac of the airfield, where his jet was fuelled and ready to leave. Air staff brought the few bags they had onto the plane and checked them in on their flight path plan.
Ivy was still holding the first aid kit as she buckled herself into the seat on the opposite side of the cabin from him, but honestly, she was old enough to look after herself and he couldn’t waste time worrying about a blister. Let alone whatever she’d spent the money he’d paid her to marry him on. Yes, he remembered that her brother had needed help, but a part of him was strangely disappointed. He’d expected that she’d have done more with it, and that he’d read her wrong was unsettling. But none of it was important and to distract himself with such curiosity was ridiculous.
He finally typed out a message to Maria.
I’m on my way.
What kept you?
A judge, a marriage and a librarian.
Is that a joke?
Sadly not.
He stole one last glance at the librarian in question before he opened his laptop. He wondered whether she was ready for what was about to come. Because, in truth, he wasn’t entirely surehewas. To prove that they had given their marriage ‘a go’ would presumably require them to ‘be married’. He didn’t think even the judge was crass enough to suggest that they share a bed, but he had a sneaking suspicion that there would be marital hoops they would have to jump through, and that neither he, Ivy, nor anyone else involved would emerge unscathed.