Page 46 of Italian Weddings

How strange, though, that his answer didn’t come as a surprise to her.

Even without his reassurance, she felt that she could trust him.

And him, a Santoro! “It’s falling apart.

” And suddenly, with that one admission, she felt the floodgates open, as she poured the entire debacle out to him, from the very beginning of the problems to the latest batch.

“It’s like it’s cursed,” she said, finally.

“I can’t get to my desk without there being a stack of messages for me about one problem or another, and it’s all so random.

I’ve never had so many things go wrong on anything. ”

The whole time she spoke, he sat there, face impassive but eyes intelligent and assessing, as though he was listening with every single part of himself. “None of that sounds insurmountable,” he said, finally.

“Easy for you to say.” She sighed heavily. “We’re hamstrung by having to hire at least eighty percent of the staff for the project from within Moricosia. It’s not a huge country, there aren’t that many companies with the skills and staff numbers to do what we need within the time frame.”

“Then talk to Ares. Explain.”

“I’ve been in meetings with his government all week.”

“Not his government. Him.”

She shook her head. “He’s taking a hands-off approach.”

Salvatore’s jaw tightened.

“I guess because of you guys,” she said, a little awkwardly, reminding him of something he no doubt had front and centre of his mind: that King Ares of Moricosia was a long-term family friend of the Santoros, and was in fact now married to Sofia—a Santoro in all but name.

“He’s a reasonable man. If you can get a meeting with him, explain your hold up, he’ll get approval for you to hire externally. The main thing is finishing on time and on budget.”

“I just wanted it to be perfect.”

“Nothing is ever perfect.”

She sighed again.

“I presume you’ve spoken to your family about this.”

She nodded once. “To Leandro.”

“What does he advise?”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t need him to clean up my mess.”

“It is not your mess,” Salvatore reminded her. “And you work in a family business. The whole point of that is to lean on each other. At least, that’s how it is for us.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a competition. We all love each other too.”

He flicked her a quick glance. “Drink?”

She eyed the bottle of expensive French champagne, and nodded slowly. “Sure. I mean, I really should get back to work…”

He shrugged his shoulders. “You can work here.”

That was true. She’d come straight from the airport and so had her laptop with her, and suddenly, the temptation to stay in their little bubble was strong.

“Yeah, I guess so. Okay, thanks.”

He let her feet go and she retracted them to give him more space, so he could lean forward and remove the bottle, opening it with a pop before pouring her a flute and handing it over, then doing the same for himself.

“Why are you helping me?”

“What do you mean?”

“With the Moricosia thing.”

“Did I help you?”

She felt heat bloom in her face.

“I mean, your suggestion to insist on a meeting with King Ares himself isn’t totally awful…”

He grinned. “I’m flattered.”

“And I’m serious. Why would you give me advice?”

“Because you’re stuck.”

She pulled her lips to the side. “But surely in this, we’re enemies? I mean, don’t tell me a part of you wouldn’t love me to fail.”

“I don’t want you to fail,” he contradicted, but so quickly she knew it was sincere. “Though I can’t say the same for anyone else in my family.”

There it was again. The sawdust. The reminder that what they were doing would make everyone in their respective families furious.

The certainty that this had to remain absolutely and utterly their secret.

That for all he might not hate her, his family did, and they were the most important people in his life. As her family was to Emilia.

“You don’t think…”

He sipped his drink, eyes locked to hers. “What?”

“That they could have anything to do with this?” She forced herself to finish the sentence, even when it was unpalatable.

“No, cara. They might dance on your grave if you fail, but they wouldn’t dig it.”

She nodded, feeling no sense of relief. Feeling nothing but confusion.

“What’s wrong?”

She smiled at that. “Am I that easy to read?”

“I’ve learned to read you.”

A shiver ran down her spine, because she didn’t doubt that to be true. She felt the same way about him.

“I don’t like what we’re doing.”

“Oh?” He placed his glass down and reached for her feet. “I haven’t heard you complaining.”

She shook her head. “I don’t mean that. That…I like very much.”

His grin showed that had never been in doubt.

“I mean to our families.”

“Are our families involved in this?”

“Peripherally, yes.”

“No, not even peripherally.”

“So you really think we can separate this from them?”

“Yes, thank Christ. I don’t make a habit of consulting my family when it comes to the women I sleep with.”

That left a strange taste in her mouth. “And you make a habit of sleeping with a lot of women.”

“We’ve already dealt with that.”

“It’s not something we have to deal with,” she said with a lift of her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter.”

“So why bring it up?”

“Forget I did.”

Silence stretched between them. “It bothers you.”

She finished her champagne, letting the liquid fizz and pop in her mouth before swallowing. “Why would it bother me?”

“It’s normal to be jealous when you’re in a relationship.”

“But we’re not in a relationship.”

“Two people regularly having sex is a relationship, even when there’s no expectation of it becoming more.”

She’d gone from feeling sublimely relaxed to something else—a tightening in her chest and tummy that she didn’t like at all. “We’re talking about women you’ve slept with in the past. You’re not still sleeping with anyone else, right?”

He shook his head once.

“So why would I be jealous?”

“I don’t know, but you sound it.”

“Well, I’m not.” Except, they both knew she was lying, and she hated that.

She hated that the thought of his past, littered with beautiful, sophisticated, stunning women, a procession of women who’d graced his bed before her, marveled at his beauty and skills, hated imagining him being driven as wild by anyone else as he was by her.

Hated the thought of him wanting in a way that lessened what they were doing.

“It’s just…I don’t have the same experience as you. For me, this is new.”

“How so?”

“I’ve never been with someone that’s made me feel…

” she clamped her lips together, aware of what she was confessing, and that it was somehow contrary to the rules they’d agreed to.

And yet, she’d come this far. Besides, it was the truth.

So she barrelled on, uncaring of the consequences of her admission.

“I’ve never been with someone who’s made me feel as though my whole body has been flooded with light.

When you touch me, I feel like I’m glowing from the inside out, and when I’m not with you, I crave you in a way that is, honestly, kind of frightening.

I’ve never felt this before, but I know for you, this is just what you do.

It’s just who you are. I don’t…love that, if I’m honest.”