Page 11 of Seduced by Her Fake Husband (The Martinelli Wedding #2)

Chapter Six

W hile Gennaro waited for Luisa to finish in the bathroom, he paced the balcony, fighting the urge to hurl the bottle of scotch he was holding at the wall and letting it shatter into a thousand pieces.

He was also fighting the urge to smash the bathroom door open and throw Luisa over his shoulder like a caveman.

He had never known desire could be so powerful and consuming and for perhaps the tenth time that day, he thanked God that this side of Luisa, the whip-smart, feisty side, the complete opposite of the docile doormat she’d portrayed herself as for the past two years, hadn’t stepped out of the shadows sooner.

He’d not been the only one hiding from his spouse. Luisa had been hiding too.

But, of course, he’d always known that.

For two years they’d lived apart together, both hiding from the attraction that was no longer content to be kept in the shadows, and now they were locked in a dance where both were fighting a desire strong enough to taste.

Because that’s what Luisa’s performance just then had been about.

She hated the attraction that had mushroomed between them as much as he did and was fighting it the only way she knew how: by taunting and provoking him into anger.

He’d kept the anger at bay by the skin of his teeth but could still feel its vapours coursing through his veins, a volcanic toxicity he’d spent the whole of his life fighting.

Only once since an early childhood spent talking with his fists had he let it erupt, and he pressed his finger to the physical reminder of that one time: the bump on the bridge of his nose.

As much as he despised himself for letting his temper get the better of him on that occasion, he had no regrets.

No, he would never regret that; would do it again without hesitation in the same circumstances.

But this was nothing like that circumstance and he would not dare risk giving the volcanic toxicity space to breathe again.

His attraction to Luisa was already too potent.

He wanted her with a strength he’d never known was possible, and if it wasn’t that this was his brother’s wedding celebrations and that it was imperative he stay the duration to protect Niccolo from himself, he would get the hell out.

But it was his brother’s wedding celebrations, and Luisa’s observation about Niccolo’s body language being that of a hostage had brought home afresh the danger his brother was in.

Her observation was too close to the knuckle to be ignored.

If she recognised it then there was the possibility others recognised it too.

Needing to satisfy himself that at least one potential danger point was under control, he called Dante for an update on the Callie situation.

He ended the call reassured but troubled by the way Dante rushed their talk.

While he’d never been as close to Dante as Niccolo, he’d known him all his life, long enough to know when Dante was hiding something.

What he could be hiding now troubled him because it had to concern Niccolo.

If not, Dante, who was the most open person Gennaro knew, wouldn’t feel the need to hide it.

All this fed the feeling Gennaro couldn’t shake that the sister of Niccolo’s lover had flown to Italy for a very different reason than the one given by Georgia.

Swearing under his breath, he took a large glug of the scotch, was about to take another when movement in the suite caught his attention. Luisa had finished in the bathroom.

His lungs managed to inflate and deflate in one motion.

The silk of her full-length pyjamas covered her body like a loving caress, full breasts softly moving and rounded hips gently swaying as she padded to her wardrobe.

In the blink of a moment, red-hot arousal punched him in the guts.

As if in a trance, he watched her remove a rucksack-type bag from her wardrobe and put it on the bed before pulling a chunky cardigan off the rail and shrugging her arms into it.

He’d stepped back into the suite before he was even aware of his feet moving.

She met his stare with defiance. “I’m going onto the balcony for a while. If you want to pretend to work again, use the dining table – I want to be alone.”

Without another word, she swished past him in a cloud of her glorious scent and toothpaste, and closed the balcony door firmly behind her.

Luisa took her brand new art supplies out of her bag with shaking hands. She was so full of rabid emotions that she didn’t even inhale the delicious scent of unsealed fresh pencils like she always did.

In all the long months of their marriage she’d forbidden herself from doing any illustrations but had figured that with only a week until she was contractually free to work again, now was the time to shake the cobwebs off.

She’d missed her art terribly. Missed using the creative part of her brain. Missed losing herself in the absorption that came with transferring whatever was in her head to paper or whatever other medium she was using.

To get through her marriage, she’d had to turn off her artistic side.

She imagined it had been a little like a drug addict going cold turkey: painful but necessary.

She didn’t imagine Gennaro would have cared if she’d pursued it – not for money, of course, but as a quaint little hobby – but she’d cared.

Her art had always been precious to her, her first commission at the age of fourteen still the proudest moment of her life.

A cutesy picture Luisa had drawn of two small children bundled up for the winter chill ice skating had been selected by her school to go in the school art gallery.

One of the mothers had seen it and loved it and asked Luisa to paint something with a similar feel that she could use as a design for the Christmas cards she was planning to send that year.

To reduce something that meant so much to her to a hobby that could be picked up and put down on a whim would have hurt too much, been too much of a reminder of the life and budding career she’d been forced to give up.

Better to turn that side of herself off completely than let resentment get its foot in.

Better to never think about it than imagine Gennaro’s reaction if he were to catch her drawing or painting.

Arrogant dismissal that her work had barely evolved since she was a child. That’s how she’d always imagined he would react to her creations, an imagined reaction that never failed to make the whole of her insides twist.

And now she was sat on their hotel balcony with her insides twisting and prickles on her skin, as certain that he was looking at her than she’d ever been certain about anything, and a long-ago memory, one she’d thought of so often it was still as vivid as the day it had happened, danced into her mind.

She’d been eleven, maybe twelve – Niccolo had still been living at home so it had been before he’d gone off to university – and they’d gone to the Martinellis for the Easter weekend.

Gennaro had still been living there too.

Not long after their arrival he’d appeared in the garden and casually handed her a gift bag.

“I was passing an art shop in Florence the other day and thought of you,” he’d said.

Inside the pretty paper bag had been a set of watercolour pencils and a book of thick drawing paper.

He’d disappeared back inside before she’d found her voice to thank him.

To her horror, tears filled her eyes. She frantically blinked them back.

So he’d done one nice thing to her in her twenty-seven years on this earth? Well, so what? One long-ago memory didn’t change anything.

It took another two hours of sitting in the chilly air before she dared go back into the suite.

She hadn’t drawn a single stroke.

It was the buzz of his phone that woke Gennaro the next morning. Even as he reached for it, he knew the suite was empty.

Luisa had slept on one of the sofas… or maybe not slept.

Through the beam of moonlight that had poured through a crack in the drapes, he’d watched her emerge through the balcony door carrying the bag he was certain was filled with her art supplies, and tiptoe through the archway into the living area and then disappear from his sight.

After that, he’d not se en or heard her, but instinct had told him that the long hours spent willing himself to sleep had been the same for her.

So many thoughts and feelings had consumed him, memories of the shy little girl whose quirky art had touched his heart…

until that night, he’d seen no evidence Luisa had drawn so much as doodle throughout their marriage…

and the beautiful, intelligent woman with the mesmerising eyes she’d grown into.

He read the message and almost smiled.

Gone for brunch with Marisa at the bistro. Let me know when you’re ready for me to play your nodding dog/ dutiful wife.

He could practically feel the sarcastic defiance she’d written those words with.

He should be out of bed already and giving his brother a much-needed reminder of everything he stood to lose if he didn’t up his game.

Instead, his thoughts were still consumed with the woman whose face had hovered behind his eyes for all the long hours it had taken him to fall asleep and whose face had then haunted his dreams.

There was something off again about Marisa, a skittishness that Luisa would have probed her about if she wasn’t feeling so skittish herself. Gennaro had messaged her back.

Need to see Niccolo to discuss what you and I spoke about last night. Will join you when I can.

She had to read the message a number of times to make sense of it.

Need to see Niccolo to discuss what you and I spoke about …? Did that mean her observations he’d dismissed?

She thought hard but couldn’t think what else it could mean .

“Are you okay?” Marisa asked, her forehead furrowed with concern. “You look like your head’s somewhere else.”