Chapter 38


My period arrived a day and a half later, heavier and more painful than usual, which, according to mum when I told her about my crazy week, was a possible sign of an early miscarriage. I decided to go on the pill after that, just to be on the safe side.

Sometime near the end of that week, Alessandro and I jetted across the country to Milan in order to attend a charity gala. The second we stepped from the limo that had pulled to a stop in front of a spectacular mansion, I understood why Alessandro had seen it a necessity to commission Zefiro Azzara to design our social wardrobes. Paparazzi crowded the street, cameras flashing, while members of the Italian elite milled about the red carpet and exchanged greetings and air-kisses. Groomed and dressed to such sophistication, they looked nothing sort of perfection. Wealthy men, counts and royalty dressed in their finest, sharpest and most expensive tuxedos. And the women? They were goddesses in their immaculate ball gowns and frocks, with not even a single hair or eyelash out of place. I must have looked like a deer standing in the headlights because it wasn't until I felt the touch of Alessandro's hand pressing into the small of my back that I remembered to move.

"One step at a time," I heard him murmur though I wasn't sure if it was directed at me or himself.

I followed his lead down the red carpet into the city mansion and we entered a grand ballroom decked in gold and marble that had me gaping like a child who had just stepped through the gates of Disneyland. The classical melodies of a symphony orchestra filled the ballroom where guests mingled, restrained their laughter and sipped on expensive champagne. There were faces I recognised from socialising with Alessandro over the past several weeks, but most I did not. The people I didn't know also happened to take the most interest in us. Raised eyebrows and sideways glances were cast in our direction. They'd probably heard the rumours, even read about it in the tabloids but now here I was; Alessandro Zingaro's new wife, the daughter of an Australian farmer no less. I felt myself shrink into Alessandro's hold, the sudden awareness of how utterly inadequate I was hitting home even despite the designer dress. I wasn't a woman of pedigree or class. I didn't belong here.

I caught sight of a woman slinking through the crowd. She was dressed in a gown that was figure hugging yet screamed with high class fashion. Everywhere she walked, the crowds seemed to ripple and part. Men stared as though entrapped by the spell she cast upon them and women envied, but the only man she had eyes for was the very one who had attached himself to me.

"Alessandro and Lisabetta." None other than Lydia Calvetti approached us with a predatory smile. "It has been so long, where have you been hiding yourselves these days?"

The three of us exchanged air kisses and pleasantries, Lydia's delicate fingers making sure to hover a little longer on Alessandro's chest than necessary. I felt myself bristle and edged a little closer to Alessandro's side. He took the hint and slipped his hand around my waist again. Lydia didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she chose not to acknowledge it. She continued to laugh and flirt with him, paying him compliments and brushing his arm with her hand, watching him from beneath impossibly long, lowered lashes. Then, so as not to seem too obvious, she would ask for my opinion.

"Wouldn't you agree, Lisabetta?" she'd say. "That Alessandro looks remarkably handsome wearing Azzara. Zefiro tailors them so perfectly to suit your dear lover's remarkable frame." She wouldn't even acknowledge that we were more than just lovers.

Another smile set to stun, another bat of her lashes and the brush of her fingertips over the lapel of Alessandro's tux. God, I hated her so much. I just wanted to rip that stupid plastic smile from her face and shake her until her fake eyelashes fell out. Then, finally distracted by someone else who wanted her attention, she made her graceful departure and left me alone to silently stew.

"I hate her," I whispered under a smile and a wave at an older couple we'd had dinner with in Naples the week before.

I felt the muscles in Alessandro's arm tighten around my waist. "I know, cara." His face alightened as the older couple approached us. "Goffredo, Serafina, buonasera. Come stai?"

After more mingling, champagne and nibbling on fancy canapés we were herded into an adjacent hall and sat down to a five course dinner. The table was exquisitely decorated and so long it was difficult to make out the faces down the other end. The floral arrangements - consisting of a wide away of roses and lilies - smelled so fragrant it was like someone had come along and spritzed the room in perfume. Much of the dinnertime chit-chat was in Italian, and while living in Rome had allowed me to improve in the language, I often found myself lost in the fast-paced flurry of conversation. Alessandro, in his supreme attentiveness, translated for me when he noted the polite, glazed-over expression in my eyes. The smell of his aftershave as he leaned in close to me and his breath on my ear sent sensual shivers down my spine.

At some point in the dinner I became aware of the eyes that followed me and glanced to my right to spot Lydia's father, Marco, watching me from his spot several chairs down. His glare was molten steel as he whispered something into Lydia's ear. She was glowering at the table, her grip on her salad fork so tight that the white was showing on her knuckles. Marco finished with his daughter and turned away to resume conversation with his table companions and I watched as Lydia practically slumped in her seat, as though it had taken every ounce of her strength just to sit there and listen to whatever it was he'd said. Tears sprang into her eyes which she quickly held back with a series of successive blinks, then, sensing my gaze, she glanced in my direction and I quickly looked away. By the time I glanced back, she was engaged in conversation with someone else.

After dinner Alessandro pulled me onto the dance floor for a waltz. He held me close, our bodies pressed in together as intimate as lovers. There was a look in his eyes as he watched me following his lead, swaying in perfect synchrony with his movements around the floor.

"I love the way we move together," he husked, his lips pulling into a sensual smile. "And I love the way your body still responds to me when we are close."

I blushed at this, wanting to deny it but failing abysmally. He knew he had me wrapped around his little finger. Even now, while we danced along to a live orchestra in this gilded ballroom, I felt my body pulse and burn everywhere he touched me. The glide of his fingers across my back, the brush of his solid thigh against mine... It was all too much. I could hardly breathe around him. I wanted to say something smart and witty but there was literally nothing that came to mind. I drew a blank.

"Curse you, Alessandro," I finally whispered against him. "You win this round but I will have my revenge."

A wicked chuckle was all he had to offer me.

"Have you seen the way Lydia has been watching us all night?" I said after a moment of silence, when I found myself in desperate need of a distraction from the erotic thoughts that were suddenly spilling through my head.

"I haven't bothered to look," confessed Alessandro. He frowned. "But why are you worrying about her? I'm sure she'll move on to the next wealthy, pretty face before long."

I scanned the room and found her politely dancing with a man who had been ogling her for most of the night. I was sure he had a wife here somewhere.

"In fact, have you seen the way all the women look at you Alessandro?" I said. "Their eyes basically follow you. You've broken a lot of hearts by marrying me."

He snorted at that. "Now I know you're exaggerating, cara."

"It's true!" I insisted then lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "They're all plotting how they'll go about seducing you and poking a hole in the condom so that they can fall pregnant by you. Then you'll have no choice but to divorce me and marry them instead."

He threw his head back and barked a laugh, causing people to turn and look at us but he was having too much fun at my expense to care. "Have I told you how ravishing you look tonight, bella mia?"

I grinned. "There will be no ripping off this dress when we get back to the Milan apartment, caro. It's expensive enough to feed a small village and I intend to keep it in one piece, do you understand?"

"Completamente," he said with a glint in his eye that denoted the fact that he wasn't making any promises.

After the dance I felt the need to get some fresh air. So when Alessandro found himself caught up in discussions on business with a group of associates, I took the opportunity to slip outside onto one of the many secluded terraces. I found a seat by a marble balustrade and glanced out across the city that was both modern and antiquated and, like Rome, never slept. The road below me was now clear of paparazzi and the rumble of traffic overtook the sounds of orchestra and chitchat inside. Milan was lit up like a Christmas tree. The night was clear and warm, the sky a blanket of black yet there wasn't a star in sight – the starlight swallowed by the city lights.

"I saw you come out here, cara."

My head snapped around at the utterance and I flew to my feet in time to meet Lydia stepping onto the terrace. "Lydia," I said a little breathless.

"I suppose you know why I'm here." There was angry resolve in her eyes and I found myself shrinking back a little.

I cast a glance at the party behind her but we were so secluded here that there was no hope of anyone intervening if Lydia decided to do something drastic like... I dunno... push me off the balcony. "You're jealous of my relationship with Alessandro," I said.

Her lips pressed together and her delicate hands clenched into fists. I'd struck a nerve.

"Has it occurred to you that maybe he's just not that into you, Lydia?"

She snorted in a rather unladylike fashion. "Alessandro and I have history. We have much stronger roots than you do, Lisabetta Green. Or should I be calling you Lisabetta Green-Sergi?"

I froze. "Wh-what did you just call me?" I rasped even though I'd heard her say it loud and clear.

Sergi.

She knew who I was.

She knew what I was.

"Yes, Lizzie," she spat. "My father did a background check on you. I know you have family in the Mafia. I know everything about you. And I know how much this revelation would hurt Alessandro if ever word got out," she implied.

"He knows," I said though it came out sounding panicked and pathetic. "He already knows about my family roots."

Lydia was unfazed. "But what about the rest of the world? What will happen when they find out? What will come of Alessandro's carefully guarded reputation after that?"

I sucked in a breath, feeling my stomach clench into a painful knot. "You wouldn't do that. Not to the man you claim to love. You can't expect he would take you back with open arms when he finds out you were the one responsible for hurting him."

"Oh I never said I would be the one releasing such information, Lizzie. My father is the one who is keen to do his part for the rest of honourable society and expose you. I'm merely here to warn you, cara."

"Warn me?"

She nodded. "Leave my Alessandro alone. Go back to your home to your farm and your library books and you won't ever have to face the shame that is sure to come with a name suddenly sullied by a scandal even bigger than before."

"And if I don't? If I decide to stick it out with Alessandro?"

"Oh Lizzie." She bled fake sincerity. I hated it. I hated her. "Alessandro won't want to be associated with a scandal like this. He has his name to maintain. Do you honestly think he would tolerate you once the 'cat got out of the bag' as you English say? He would blame you for pulling him into your sorcery and blinding his mind. He should have dumped you the moment he realised your pedigree is less than... honourable."

I desperately wanted to tell her that she was wrong. That her lies were as disgusting as the mouth they came from.

"Face it, Lisabetta," she said, looking me up and down in my impossibly expensive dress and fancy jewellery fit for a queen. "Fine feathers do not make fine birds. You're a farmer's daughter and a Mafia drone's granddaughter. Do you honestly expect you'll ever be able to live up to his standards?"

I blinked furiously, desperate for her not to see the tears that had suddenly formed in my eyes. Fury emanated from my every pore. I wanted to hurt her. To launch at her and wrap my hands around her perfect, swan-like neck.

"You sick, self-conceited bitch! You really think I'm just going to stand back and take this?"

The slap hit me with such force that I saw stars, her long claw-like nails leaving huge gashes in my cheek. I reeled backwards on my feet, she was screeching now. "Take it? I expect you to lie down and enjoy it! You're done, Lizzie. You've had your fun playing billionaire. Now it's time to go home and have sex with a kangaroo, or whatever else you Australians do. You're nobody, and until my ring is on his finger, Alessandro is free game. My dear Alessandro will marry me!"

That was it. I reached my snapping point. The scream that erupted was so feral that I was sure it caused a hush in the ballroom. I swung a clenched fist and punched her square in the face.

By the time Alessandro burst onto the terrace a small crowd had gathered around us. I held Lydia's long hair back behind her head as she leaned out over the balustrade, her bleeding nose dripping all over the street pavement below. She hadn't stopped screaming, calling me all range of obscenities in both English and Italian. Lydia's father finally came to her rescue and she turned and sobbed into his chest only to let out another shriek when her sensitive nose touched him. Relieved of my burden, Alessandro pulled me away from the scene.

"Are you ok, Lizzie? What happened?" He looked white with panic, especially as his eyes trailed across the scratches on my cheek but I was too mortified to give him a straight answer. I couldn't stop feeling the painful crack of her nose as my knuckles had made contact with her face. I couldn't stop seeing the sudden spurt of blood or the way she had flown backwards, head over feet.

"I..."

But it was Marco who spoke first, rage emanating from him like a boiling pot overflowing. "She broke her nose! That little witch broke my daughter's nose!"