The Italian’s Cinderella Bride

another.

Suddenly she didn’t want to talk to Pietro again that evening. She wasn’t sure why, but it had something to do with the memory that had nearly come to her a few days ago when she’d been talking to Mario.

‘Venetian dialect,’ she murmured now. ‘We were saying-something about-what was it? And why does it trouble me now, even though I don’t know what it is? Why can’t I remember?’

Because you’re afraid to remember, warned a voice in her head. Because once you’ve remembered nothing will ever be the same again. And you’re not sure you’re ready for that.

CHAPTER SEVEN

RUTH couldn’t face an evening in Pietro’s company. If he noticed her agitation he might guess the reason, and that would be worse than anything. Calling through the bathroom door, she told him that she needed an early night and was going straight to bed. By the time he emerged she had gone.

She lay awake for a long time, wishing her seething brain would grow calmer, but she was still restless when she finally fell asleep. And in that uneasy state, the memory she’d been seeking came back to her.

It was happening again; she was clasping him, whispering ‘Te voja ben’, kissing him again and again. But it wasn’t Gino in her arms, not Gino’s mouth she had kissed with such passion.

‘Lie back, you’re safe now.’

When she’d heard his voice she’d known it was true. She was safe. She had opened her eyes and seen Pietro.

No, she thought in urgent self-defence. She could not have kissed Pietro and not known it.

But his mouth was a different shape from Gino’s, wider, stronger, more mobile. She felt it now against her own as surely as if he were there with her, and she knew which man she had kissed.

Shocked, she opened her eyes. It was still there, real, sharp-edged, horrifying. It had been Pietro all the time.

Not by a word or a look had he given her a sign in the days since. He understood, of course. He hadn’t blamed her, had refused to embarrass her. But it had happened, and she couldn’t escape it.

And now, appalled, she remembered something else. When he had first brought her in from the storm he had undressed her completely, holding her naked body in his arms after he stripped off her wet clothes, then replaced them with dry ones.

He had done it as impersonally as a nurse. She trusted him well enough to believe that. And yet as she thought of it heat began to spread through her body. He seemed to be there with her, holding her steady while she kissed him frantically with kisses that were meant for Gino, and vowed her love again and again.

She groaned, dropping her head into her hands, wondering how she could ever face him again.

‘He must never know that I’ve realised,’ she whispered. ‘I’d die of shame. I will never, never let him guess.’

It was easy to say, harder to do. When she went out next morning Minna was already there, pouring coffee, which was a relief as it would surely make things easier. But then Pietro smiled at her, and his mouth was the one she had pressed to hers in her delirium. For a shocking moment she could feel the firm shape of it. And then she knew that nothing was going to be easy.

‘It’s not like you to sleep late,’ he chided her good humouredly.

‘I didn’t get much sleep last night. I think I’d rather stay here today if you can manage without me.’

Something uneasy in her voice made him come to stand in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders, saying gently, ‘What is it, Ruth? Aren’t you well?’

‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ she said quickly.

‘You don’t sound fine. Has something happened to upset you?’

‘No, of course not,’ she said, wishing he wouldn’t stand so close.

‘You’d tell me if it had, wouldn’t you?’

‘Pietro, I’m telling you it’s nothing. I just didn’t sleep, that’s all.’

If only he would remove his hands from her shoulders, she thought desperately. Didn’t he realise that his nearness now caused a fierce reaction to flow through her that she didn’t know how to handle?

But of course he didn’t know. And he must never know.

Having reached its peak, aqua alta began to recede. Within a day the level was normal and the Venetians began the all-too-familiar job of erasing it from their city.

Ruth helped Mario sweep the last of the water out of the shop, and soon nobody would have known that anything was wrong. It was a point of pride to recover as soon as possible, refusing to let the crisis make a difference.

But there were some for whom this wasn’t possible. Late that afternoon the door of the shop was flung open and Barone Franco came flying in as fast as his bulk would allow. He was almost in tears.

‘Disaster!’ he cried. ‘A terrible tragedy. Where is my friend Pietro?’

‘Right here,’ Pietro soothed him. ‘Whatever has happened, Franco?’

‘My palace is ruined, destroyed.’

Pietro calmed him down and managed to draw out the details. It transpired that the house on the island had suffered grievously from the high tide. While not actually ruined, it was in no state for the glamorous ball that was planned, and for which so many expensive tickets had been sold.

‘Franco, I warned you that you didn’t protect that place properly,’ Pietro said gently. ‘When you did it up you skimped on the safety features.’

‘There was no time. It would have taken several more months. Serafina set her heart on this ball. Now it’s a mess. There’s only a few days to go, and there’s no time to put it right. Serafina is devastated. I must find somewhere else, but everywhere suitable is already taken for other things. Pietro, my friend-’

‘No,’ Pietro said at once. ‘Forget it, Franco.’

‘But who else can I ask? Pietro, I beg you-you have that great building standing empty. You wouldn’t have to do anything. My own people will come in and get it ready. You won’t be troubled.’

Looking at Pietro’s face, Ruth could tell that this was far from the truth. The thought of strangers invading his peaceful home was horrible to him. But Franco couldn’t see this. He continued pestering while Pietro listened, a withered expression on his face and his hand clenching and unclenching out of sight. Only Ruth noticed this and it gave her a strange feeling, as though the two of them were apart from the rest of the world.

‘The trouble with you,’ Franco burbled, ‘is that it’s been too long since you enjoyed yourself. You ought to get out more, give a party.’

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t agree-’

‘Of course you can. It’s not good to shut yourself away. You don’t really mean to refuse me.’

Ruth regarded the insensitive oaf with something close to hate. She was consumed by a fierce protectiveness towards Pietro. His wealth, his grand status were suddenly nothing, and all she could see was how alone he was. She wanted to scream at Franco, For pity’s sake shut up! Can’t you see what you’re doing to him?

But she stayed silent, knowing that, in his defiant solitude, Pietro would resent any attempt to rescue him.

Franco burbled on, oblivious. ‘You’ve hidden away too long. Now it’s time to snap out of it. Lisetta wouldn’t have wanted you to grieve for ever, and this will be the perfect way to come back to the world. Besides, think of having to send back all the tickets.’

‘You’re quite right,’ Pietro said in a tight voice. ‘By all means let us have the ball in the Palazzo Bagnelli. How shrewd of you to appeal to the businessman in me.’

Franco beamed, taking this at its face value. But that wasn’t the reason, Ruth knew. Pietro had given in because he was on the rack, and it was the only way to make Franco shut up.

‘I knew you’d see sense,’ he chortled. ‘Why don’t we go back there now and-?’

‘Tomorrow would be better,’ Pietro said quietly.

‘But I’m here now. Let’s get going.’

Pietro’s hand clenched on a piece of decorative wood and his voice was very controlled, alarmingly controlled,