Page 38 of Italian Weddings

H OW MANY TIMES COULD she think to herself, ‘that shouldn’t have happened’, then fall back into bed with this guy?

On how many levels could she keep wanting what she knew she shouldn’t?

And worse than wanting, actually reaching out and taking?

It was like some kind of illicit drug addiction, a craving she couldn’t control, and for Emilia, who had—as Salvatore so aptly pointed out—always been everyone’s perfect ‘good girl’, it was hard to reconcile her actions now.

Why couldn’t she just walk away from him? Why couldn’t she resist?

She turned to look at him in the bed beside her, and told herself this absolutely had to be the last time.

No matter what she wanted, this was a course of action lined with potential fall out that neither wanted.

If her parents and brothers knew that she was literally in bed with the enemy, they’d be furious.

No, they’d be disappointed, and that was so much worse.

As if her gaze had a physical pull on him, Salvatore turned then, to look at her, and something shifted in her gut the moment their eyes connected, bringing with it a rolling of awareness.

And appreciation, too, because he truly was the most incredibly beautiful man she’d ever seen in the real world.

It wasn’t even that his face was perfect, because there was a bump halfway down his nose, as though it had been broken at one point.

But somehow that little defect only added to his overall appeal, making him different and special.

She swallowed quickly, as if that could erase the direction of her thoughts.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, and she almost laughed, because it was such a frivolous thing to ask after the sin of betrayal they’d just committed. Like he didn’t care at all that they’d had sex—again.

“No,” she said, though in fact, maybe she was? She’d had a crab puff at the party, but other than that, had been too busy to eat all day.

“But you’ll eat something?”

Despite herself, she laughed a little. “Will I?”

“I’m going to. Keep me company.”

“I—should go,” she said, pushing the sheets back and moving to stand up. She ignored the sense of disappointment when he made no move to stop her.

“Or, you could stay, have some food, and then we can keep making the most of this room we have access to.”

Temptation zipped through her, like lightning forking across the sky. “This is so wrong.”

His grin showed that Salvatore didn’t have quite the same level of emotional conflict about this that Emilia did. “But what’s the harm?”

She rolled her eyes, reaching for her underpants and pulling them on. He made a small tsking sound of disappointment, that didn’t help her whole temptation situation. “The harm has the potential to be huge,” she pointed out. “Our families hate each other.”

“Yes,” he shrugged his agreement.

“They’d hate this.”

“Yes.”

“How does that not bother you?”

“I’m not planning on telling my family. Are you?”

She pursed her lips. “Of course not.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“I’ve already said, they’d hate this.’

“And I’ve already said, they don’t need to know.”

“The only way to make sure they never find out is to never do this again,” she muttered. “We’ve already taken way too many stupid risks.”

He propped himself up on his elbows, eyes latched to hers in a way that stole her breath and made her momentarily forget she had been in the process of reaching for her dress. If anything, her body was silently encouraging her to move forward, to go back to bed, and reach for him, not her clothing.

“I thought we agreed that the risks are part of what we like.”

“No, you agreed that.”

“Are you saying it’s not fun?”

She shook her head. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I just…can’t even imagine how hurtful this would be to my parents if they found out.”

“You are a grown woman, aren’t you? Free to make your own choices in life.”

“Of course.”

“So if you do disappoint them with your decision, is it the end of the world?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. With regards to this, yes. One hundred per cent.”

“A simple ‘yes’ would suffice.”

“Sorry, but this is quite literally the worst thing I could do to them.”

“They hate us that much, huh?”

“Don’t act like it’s not mutual.”

He grinned. “Oh, it’s very, very mutual, especially after the last couple of years.”

She tilted her head to the side, waiting for him to continue.

“First Acto, then Moricosia? Whatever bad blood there was between us in the past, I think you could say it’s a hell of a lot worse now.”

She ignored the zing of triumph at her family’s recent victories. “Exactly!” she said, clicking her fingers. “And you can’t tell me it wouldn’t bother you if your family found out about us? You know they’d be pissed.”

“Yeah, they’d be pissed.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“My preference is for no one to find out.” He sat up straighter and pushed back so he was leaning against the plush bed head, his body half covered by a loosely draped sheet. “Stay and eat with me, and we can make a plan to ensure we keep this secret.”

Before she could answer, he was reaching for the phone and saying, ‘Room Service’.

She stood there, frozen to the spot, as he began to reel off a large number of foods.

She could still get dressed and go; the choice was hers.

Yet, the decision seemed to have been made at some point, without her conscious decision, and then she was pushing towards the wardrobe and removing a fluffy white robe.

She wrapped herself in it, ignoring the look of triumph on his features as she moved to sit in bed and reach for the champagne he’d poured much, much earlier.

She couldn’t take a sip though without remembering the way he’d trickled the stuff all over her body, driving her quite wild with the different sensations, and her cheeks bloomed with heat as she quickly swallowed the bubbles.

“Good choice,” he said, and she tried not to let the praise, or the tone of his voice, get into her blood stream. Too late, though. Warmth flooded her and she blinked away quickly, to prevent him from seeing her smile.

“Okay.” And suddenly, despite the fact he was butt naked, Salvatore seemed to slip completely into a different persona.

Now, he was all business like and authoritative, and it was easy to imagine him in a boardroom, commanding all and sundry.

While she knew his family worked closely together—as did hers—she was also aware that Salvatore had differentiated himself by launching his own venture capital firm when he was in his early twenties, and become something of a titan of industry.

Even Emilia, who’d grown up with two brothers who loved to dictate terms to everyone they met, was impressed by his confident aura. “We both know this is a bad idea.”

“I thought you didn’t feel that way?”

His eyes were no longer sparking and flirtatious, but rather, completely serious. “Of course I feel it. You’re a Valentino and I’m a Santoro. We might as well be Romeo and Juliet for how much sense this makes.”

“Except without the love. And suicide.”

“Definitely.” He nodded his agreement. “At the same time, I’m a realist. As stupid as this is, correct me if I’m wrong, but neither of us seems able—or willing—to put an end to it.”

“We have to,” she groaned. “Seriously, Salvatore. The risk to both of us, to our families, and for what? This is never going to go anywhere. There’s no future here. Why would we risk possibly harming everyone we love, just because the sex is?—,”

“Yes?” he prompted, teasing once more, before sobering.

“Fantastic,” she offered, aware the word was totally insufficient.

“Absolutely,” he agreed, and the warmth that was buzzing inside of her spread right to her fingertips. “Mind-blowing.”

She flushed. “I’m glad I’m not alone there.”

“Definitely not.”

But the sense of warmth and relief were short-lived. “This is a disaster.”

“It’s less than ideal,” he agreed. “But it doesn’t have to be.”

“I can’t see any way we can keep doing this…”

“We just need some firm rules,” he said, and once again, she could see that they’d moved firmly into his territory. He was confident and steely, results-oriented and determined. “As long as we’re on the same page, and do this carefully, I think it’s viable.”

“Viable?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll indulge you,” she said, slowly. “Talk to me about the rules.”

“First of all, we need to be realistic. This can only ever be a physical thing. I don’t want to like you, and I don’t want you to like me. Any problems with that?”

A smile tickled her lips. “Not only do I not have a problem with that, I think it would be physically impossible for either of us not to hate each other.”

“I don’t hate you,” he said, after a beat, frowning a little. “Your family, yes, but not you.”

“I’m a part of my family.”

He shrugged. “I probably wouldn’t hate either of your brothers, either, if I met them face to face. It’s more…the abstract concept of your family. The myth of the Valentinos…”

“For me, it’s actually your family,” she quipped, then nudged him with her shoulder.

“So not liking each other shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, with a confident nod.

“Definitely not. What else?”

“We only do this in a hotel. I don’t want to see your house, I don’t want you in mine. The less we know about each other the better.”

She considered that, lips pulling to the side, and nodded.

She liked the idea of making it as impersonal as possible.

Apart from anything, it made it conceivable to have sex without letting herself like him.

She didn’t want to know those little details, like what he had on his bedside table and what brand of cereal he preferred.

It was too…humanising, and humanising him would lead to complexity.

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Anything else?” he prompted.

She sipped her champagne. “I think it’s a good idea to put a time limit on this,” she murmured, thinking aloud.