Her Italian Boss Page 9

  ‘Yes, Belston. The minute I worked out that time frame, I was suspicious. So, I called at his apartment this afternoon and was fortunate enough to find him home—’

  Poppy blinked in growing disconcertion, but Santino was far too caught up in his recital to notice her taut pallor. She was cringing at that very idea of him reading that letter while she still lived and breathed. Here they were on the brink of a marriage of very practical and unemotional convenience and pride demanded that she strive to match that challenge. But he would undoubtedly die of embarrassment for her if he was now confronted by those impassioned pages that declared how instantly, utterly and irrevocably she had once fallen in love with him.

  ‘I really don’t know why you would’ve thought Craig might remember anything about one stupid letter,’ Poppy muttered abstractedly, regarding the item with all the aghast intensity of a woman faced with a man-eating shark.

  ‘He had a grudge against you and he’s a coward,’ Santino informed her with expressive disgust. ‘I had the advantage of surprise today. He was so taken aback by the sight of Florenza and I—’

  ‘You took Florenza with you to call on Craig?’ Poppy squeaked, her expectations of Santino taking yet another beating.

  ‘I wasn’t going to leave her behind when I’d promised to take care of her,’ Santino pointed out with paternal piety. ‘The minute I mentioned the letter and got tough, Belston spilled the beans about what he had done with it. He threw it behind a piece of office furniture where it’s been ever since. Mind you, it shows you how the cleaners cut corners.’

  Poppy winced. ‘What a nasty, low thing to do…oh, well, all’s well that ends well and all that,’ she added breathlessly, snatching up the envelope and endeavouring to scrunch its fat proportions in one hand. ‘I’m glad the mystery’s been solved but time has kind of made this letter redundant.’

  ‘I still want to read it…’ Questioning dark golden eyes pinned to her, Santino extended an expectant hand.

  Poppy turned very pale and bit her lip and closed her other hand round the crumpled envelope as well. ‘I really don’t want you reading it now…’

  ‘Why?’

  As the taut silence stretched Poppy chewed at her lower lip in desperation. Santino tensed, a cool, shuttered look locking his darkly handsome features. What the hell had she written? A total character assassination directed at him? The news that she hated him for taking advantage of her naive trust and overlooking contraception and never, ever wanted to lay eyes on him again? His taut mouth set hard. Self-evidently, the letter she had penned was of the poisonous and destructive ilk.

  ‘So I won’t open it, but it’s still mine,’ Santino heard himself counter with harsh clarity, and no sooner had that foolish offer left his lips than he regretted it.

  Intimidated by the tone of that announcement, Poppy handed over the envelope with a reluctance that he could feel. Santino smoothed it out between long, lean fingers. ‘I believed that we could read this together, that you’d be pleased I had the faith to believe that you’d sent it,’ he continued in angry bewilderment. ‘For the first time in my life, I feel pretty damned naive!’

  Most unhappy to see him in possession of what was indisputably his letter, Poppy lowered her head. ‘It’s not the sort of thing we’d want to read together,’ she mumbled in considerable mortification. ‘What did you say to Craig?’

  ‘Nothing repeatable but I didn’t hit him.’ Santino’s dark drawl was rough-edged. ‘I wanted to kill him…only not in front of Florenza.’

  ‘Oh…’ Poppy was shattered by that blunt admission.

  ‘You see, I thought he’d cost us our chance of happiness.’ Santino welded his teeth back together on the rest of what he had almost said, which was that, in his volatile opinion at that instant, she had just done that most conclusively. There was so much he had longed to ask and learn about those months they had spent apart, and that she could not be honest about her feelings then angered him and made him feel shut out.

  ‘We have some forms to fill out to satisfy the wedding legalities,’ Santino continued grittily. ‘Then I’ve got some calls to make.’

  He didn’t even laugh when she confided that her middle name was Hyacinth. Before he went off to make those phone calls, Poppy shot a glance at his grim profile and gathered all her strength to ask, ‘Are you still sure about this…sure you want to go ahead and marry me?’

  ‘Of course, I am sure.’ Having fallen still at that sudden question, Santino shook her by tossing the letter back on the table in front of her. ‘Keep it. As you said, the passage of time has made it redundant.’

  Poppy went up to her imposing bed and cried. What had gone wrong? Where had the wonderful warmth and intimacy gone? Surely a silly, outdated letter should not create such tension between them? And she knew that she had said and done the wrong thing. Even though it would have mortified them both beyond bearing, she should have let him have that letter…

  CHAPTER TEN

  AT FIVE the following afternoon after an incredibly busy day, Poppy stood out on a Venetian hotel balcony entranced by the magical scenes taking place on the quays and the canal below.

  A group of masked men and women in superb medieval costumes were boarding a launch outside the imposing palazzo opposite. A Harlequin and a Pierrot passed by in a gliding gondola, their outfits blessing them with total anonymity. On the quay, a trio of children, dressed up as a clown, a milkmaid and a comic spotty dog were whooping with delight over the firework display streaking through the heavens above the rooftops. Venice at carnival time: noisy, colourful and so full of bustling, vivid life that the very air seemed to pulse with mystery and the promise of excitement.

  ‘You are pleased to be here with us?’ A designer-clad little dynamo of a lady of around sixty, Santino’s mother, Dulcetta Caramanico, emanated vivacity and natural warmth.

  ‘I have had the most wonderful day…’ Poppy admitted with sincerity. ‘And I can’t thank you enough for the fantastic welcome you have given us.’

  Poppy had not expected to meet her future in-laws alone, but urgent business had forced Santino at the eleventh hour to accept the necessity of his coming out on a later flight. Greeted at the airport by Santino’s mother and Arminio, his charming stepfather, Poppy and Florenza had been wafted on to their motor launch and across the lagoon into the city of Venice. They had brought her to their hotel but it had taken her most of the day to work out that the older couple indeed owned an entire chain of international hotels, famed for their opulence, legendary customer service and exclusivity.

  From the instant Dulcetta and Arminio had laid eyes on them, Poppy and Florenza had been treated as though they were already a much-loved part of the family circle. Florenza had been the star of the party. The luxurious suite of rooms allotted to them would have been at home in a palace. That morning, the Caramanicos had taken them to St Mark’s Square to see the Flight of the Little Doves that officially opened the carnival, and after lunch Dulcetta had escorted Poppy to a fantastic bridal salon where a huge array of glorious gowns and accessories had awaited her inspection.

  Dulcetta was delighted by Poppy’s freely expressed gratitude, and her fine dark eyes shone with happy tears. ‘It is a joy to please you, Poppy. You brought my son home to me and now you are even making him smile again. When Santino first visited me last year, he didn’t confide in me but I sensed how very unhappy he was at heart.’

  Poppy hung her bright head, wondering how low she would sink in the popularity stakes when Santino arrived in Venice looking as grim and detached as he had the night before at the priory.

  ‘Santino may have inherited Maximo’s looks and business acumen,’ his loving mother continued. ‘But inside, Santino is much more emotional and caring than ever his father was. So will you wear the dress for me this evening and surprise my son?’

  Poppy focused on the utterly over-the-top eighteenth-century-style silk, brocade and lace gown on the dress form that awaited her and a rueful grin tilted
her generous mouth. ‘Just you try and stop me getting into the carnival spirit!’ She laughed in spite of her aching heart. ‘It’s such a fantastic outfit…’

  Maybe, even if Santino believed that she looked ridiculous, he would at least smile at the effort she was making, Poppy thought when Dulcetta had left her. Tears prickled her eyes as she removed her make-up and freshened up with a bath. Only a few days before her wedding, she ought to be the happiest woman alive. After all, she was about to marry the man she loved…but a man who would not be marrying her had it not been for their daughter’s birth. Santino adored Florenza though, and he would make a wonderful father. It was just selfish of her to want the moon into the bargain.

  Santino had already been alienated by her foolishness over the letter and it had finally occurred to her that he might even have got the impression that what she had written was unpleasant in some way. His unashamed anger with Craig, his belief that the other man had cost them the chance of happiness the previous year, had shaken Poppy when he’d voiced it, but at the time she had been too enervated to appreciate what Santino had really been telling her. Too busy conserving her pride and protecting herself from embarrassment, she had neglected to note that Santino had been making no such pretences. It shamed her that he should be so much more open and unafraid than she was. He had told her how attracted he was to her, shown her in his anger what he believed Craig Belston had stolen from them, for without his spiteful interference they might have been together much sooner…

  And what had she done? Let Santino continue thinking that the valentine card had been a joke. She had saved face at every turn and given not an inch because the memory of her own adoring generosity the night of the party still mortified her. Yet it had been a wonderful night of love and sharing and wasn’t it time that she acknowledged that? It didn’t matter that he didn’t love her. He cared, he certainly cared. From now on, she swore that would be enough for her.

  While Poppy was anxiously owning up to her sins of omission, Santino, who had just arrived in his own suite next door, was confronting his as well. He needed to squash the conviction that he deserved a woman who saw him in terms of being the sun around which her world resolved. Poppy was not in love with him but that was only the beginning of the story, not the end. Ego might urge him to play it cool, but playing it cool was not advancing his own cause in any way, was it? For a start, he had been downright childish about that letter, he conceded with gritted teeth. Her determination to prevent him from accessing material that would damage their present relationship had been sensible. Just as Santino still recalled every word Poppy had affixed to that valentine card almost twelve months earlier, so he knew that he would have been haunted for ever more by the accusations he imagined had to be contained in that letter.

  Anchoring the glorious feathered head-dress to her upswept Titian hair took Poppy some time. Dulcetta and Arminio had invited her to dine with them and a maid was to come upstairs to sit with Florenza. Poppy attached the glittering diamanté-studded mask to her eyes and surveyed herself. The emerald-green gown had theatrical splendour and the neat low-cut bodice flattered her lush curves in a way that made her blush. Yet she felt her own mother would not have recognised her, a stray thought that hurt just a little for she had decided not to tell her family about her wedding until after the event. At such short notice and with flights from Australia and accommodation in Venice during the carnival being so expensive, it would have been impossible for her parents to attend their daughter’s special day. But in her heart of hearts, Poppy had also feared to put what she deemed to be already strained affections to the test.

  When the knock on the door sounded, Poppy hurried to answer it before Florenza, who had just gone to sleep, could awaken again.

  Disconcerted that it was Santino, whom she had believed might not arrive much before midnight, she fell back an uncertain step. Intent golden eyes pinning to her, he murmured something in husky Italian and his heartbreaking smile slowly curved his handsome mouth. As ever, he looked devastatingly dark, vibrant and attractive.

  Her breath caught in her throat, for she had truly wondered if Santino would ever smile at her again. Her heartbeat picked up tempo and a flock of butterflies flew free in her tummy, but she held her head high, firmly convinced he would not recognise her at first glance.

  ‘Poppy…’ Santino said without a second of hesitation.

  ‘I thought you wouldn’t know it was me!’ Poppy wailed in helpless disappointment.

  As he closed the door his wonderful smile deepened. ‘I would know you anywhere. In any light and any disguise.’

  ‘You’ll be able to dine with your mother and stepfather, after all.’ Feeling foolish, Poppy reached up and unfastened the diamanté mask to set it aside.

  ‘No. I called them from the airport and expressed our mutual regrets.’ Santino’s expression was now very serious. ‘We need to be alone so that we can talk.’

  Poppy tensed in sudden apprehension. It was as if he had pushed a panic button. Suddenly she feared he was as keen to cancel the wedding as he had been to cancel the family dinner. ‘Santino…’

  ‘No, let me have the floor first…’ Santino dealt her a taut look from his beautiful eyes, his raw tension palpable. ‘I haven’t been straight with you. I haven’t been fair either—’

  ‘You’re stealing my lines…’ Poppy sped past him to snatch up her handbag and withdraw the much-abused letter, which she thrust at him in near desperation. ‘I didn’t think how it must’ve looked when I wouldn’t let you read it, but it is your letter—’

  ‘Stuff the letter,’ Santino groaned, not best pleased to have been interrupted just when he had got into his verbal stride and setting it straight back into her unwilling hand. ‘It’s unimportant. What matters is that I tell you how I feel…but you’re not likely to be impressed by the news that you had blown me away in Wales before it dawned on me that I was in love with you.’

  In the act of ripping in frustration into the envelope for herself to produce a thick wad of notepaper, Poppy stopped dead and viewed Santino with huge, incredulous blue eyes. She couldn’t possibly have heard that, she told herself. In fact she must have been dreaming…

  ‘Porca miseria…in advance of that day, strange as it may seem,’ Santino disclaimed with touching discomfiture and a look that was a positive plea for understanding in his strained dark eyes. ‘I just had no idea why I was always coming down personally to the marketing department, why the day seemed a little brighter when I saw you, why I just liked you, why I started finding fault with every other woman I met…have you anything to say?’

  In shock, Poppy shook her head.

  ‘Your very first day when I took you to hospital after you hurt your finger,’ Santino reminded her doggedly, lean, strong features taut, ‘I demonstrated how macho I was by passing out at the sight of the needle coming your way. Yet even though you were a real chatterbox and all my staff would have fallen about in stitches had you told them about that episode, you kept quiet. That was remarkably restrained of you…’

  ‘I wouldn’t have d-dreamt of embarrassing you at work.’ A great rush of answering love was surging up inside Poppy and playing havoc with her speech.

  ‘I know, amore…’ But his shapely mouth only semi-curved. ‘I was furious when my marketing head overreacted to that stupid cup of coffee. I was so protective of you, and then at the party, when Belston was scoring points off you, I could’ve ripped him apart! And when we were together in my office and I finally had you all to myself, it was more temptation than I was capable of withstanding—’

  ‘I felt like I’d thrown myself at you…’ Poppy shared painfully.

  ‘Who stopped you from leaving? Who kissed you? Who made all the real moves?’

  Only then did Poppy appreciate that the prime mover had been him. ‘But you had been drinking—’

  Santino groaned out loud. ‘I was just making excuses for myself. That night nothing had ever felt so right to me and I knew exac
tly what I was doing, but the next day I felt appallingly guilty for seducing you—’

  ‘I sneaked off because I thought it was all my fault—’

  ‘And I was furious about that. I called round at your bedsit that afternoon—’

  Poppy winced. ‘Oh, no…you just missed me…’

  ‘I suspected you were home and just not answering the door because you didn’t want to see me—’

  ‘I wouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘Then I had to phone round half of Australia to track down your sister-in-law, Karrie, to find out where you were. Didn’t she tell you about my call?’

  Even though her heart was singing, Poppy had paled. ‘Yes, but I just assumed it was because you were really worried I might be pregnant ’cos at that stage I still believed you were engaged to Jenna. Santino…I think you ought to take a look at this letter of mine before I get so mad with myself that I scream!’

  But Santino had other ideas. She was still listening and her lovely eyes were soft and warm and it had been a day and a half since he had last touched her. Tugging her into connection with his lean, powerful length, he brought his mouth swooping down with unashamed hunger and urgency on hers, and for timeless minutes she clung, every fibre of her being alive with joyful excitement and the wondrous relief of knowing herself loved.

  Pausing to snatch in a ragged breath, gazing down into her shining eyes, Santino muttered, ‘Sooner or later, I’ll find the magic combination of making you love me back…if only you hadn’t hated me when you were in Wales—’

  ‘I didn’t—’

  ‘I was devastated for weeks after that. I tore up the belated valentine card I had searched high and low for—’