The Italian’s Cinderella Bride

‘Isn’t this better than safety?’ she murmured against his mouth.

‘Yes!’

If she’d wanted to escape him then she couldn’t have done. His arms suddenly became like chains, forbidding her to leave him, his hands were possessive, now holding her, now releasing her so that he could pull off her coat, tossing it away, then seeking her buttons, working on them, discovering the soft skin beneath.

Her bedroom door was just close enough for her to reach behind and turn the knob. A small step back and they were gliding through almost without realising.

Pietro guided her so that she was sitting, then lying on the bed, and he could rest his face against her exposed breasts. What was happening to him now shook him to the core. Not just desire, not just emotion, but the mystic combination of the two that was worth any sacrifice. If it had been in his power he would have made it last for ever, and counted the world well lost.

But the world wouldn’t let itself be lost. It clung on to the edge of his consciousness, reminding him of the last time he’d come to the bed and felt her arms around him and her whisper of ‘Te voja ben,’ in his ears.

He tensed as the unwelcome knowledge invaded him. That had been on the first night, when she’d been half- unconscious, and she’d kissed him, thinking he was Gino. She had awoken directly afterwards and hadn’t seemed to react. He’d sworn then never to let her know the truth, and until now he’d kept his vow.

But now-

‘What is it?’ Ruth asked, distressed as he gave a sudden heave. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘How can you ask?’ he choked, pulling away from her, ‘Am I mad to be doing this?’

He got to his feet, almost staggering with the violence of his revulsion for himself.

‘How can it be mad if it’s what you want?’ Ruth asked. ‘What we both want?’

‘Is that all that matters? What we want at this moment? What about later, the regrets?’

‘Will you regret?’ she asked quietly.

He had himself under control now, and said, ‘I’ll regret anything I do that hurts you.’

‘I’m not worried about that-’

‘But I have to be. You’re not well, that’s why you’re here. You came to me for help and I-’

‘Pietro, I’m not an invalid.’

‘But neither are you completely well. It was only a few hours ago that you set off for the railway station to meet Gino, thinking of nothing but him. If he’d been there-what would you have felt?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Exactly. Maybe you love him, maybe not, but you don’t know. And until you’ve had a chance to find out the answer to that, I have no right to-’ He shuddered. ‘What was I thinking of?’

‘Perhaps you wanted me,’ she said with a quick spurt of anger, doing up her buttons quickly. She knew now that he wouldn’t return to her.

‘Of course I want you. If there was nothing else standing between us I could go back to my bad old ways and take-’

‘Don’t you dare say it,’ she interrupted him. ‘Don’t you dare say “take advantage of me” like I was a wimp who couldn’t speak for herself.’

‘That’s not what I meant.’

‘I think it is,’ she said fiercely.

‘I meant only that you’re vulnerable. We both know why. For me to take-take what you have to give,’ he amended hastily, seeing murder in her eyes, ‘would be unforgivable.’ He added in a low voice, ‘And I’ve done enough unforgivable things in my life.’

She wanted to say, ‘Would it be unforgivable to love me?’ but she wouldn’t let herself do that. Love was the word she didn’t dare to use, although the conviction of it was growing in her own heart. He wasn’t ready to love her. He might never be ready. But she could wait.

‘I don’t believe you’ve ever done anything unforgivable,’ she said.

‘What the hell do you know about it?’

Ruth jumped at the sound of his voice, not merely the sudden volume but at the note of ferocity. It cut through her like a razor and gave her a terrifying sensation, as though he’d turned on her the same look he’d turned on Franco.

‘What do you know?’ he repeated in a voice that was less harsh but still biting. ‘Do you know about my life, what my experience has been? Do you know me?’

‘I thought I did,’ she said softly.

‘You know no more of me than I do of you. We play this little game in which you’re three people, but it’s not a game. There’s a tragic reality beneath it, and what would you think of me if I betrayed your trust? Do you know how vulnerable you are here, with me?’

‘I never feel that way. I trust you-’

‘Why? What reason have I ever given you to trust me?’

‘All this time you’ve cared for me, and never harmed me-’

He gave a crack of mirthless laughter.

‘I was biding my time, waiting to pounce at the right moment. Can you be sure that’s not the truth?’

Dumbly she shook her head. The pain that was rising in her was too great for words.

‘No, you can’t because you know nothing of me.’ He leaned towards her and his eyes were cold. ‘I could treat you any way I liked and you’d have no comeback. In this city who’d listen to you against me?’

Something in his bleak hostility caused her own temper to rise.

‘Of course, I should have realised,’ she snapped. ‘They’d think you were reverting to type. Casanova reborn, that’s what they used to say about you, isn’t it?’

‘You’ve heard the stories? Good! Maybe you’ll see sense.’

‘Yes. I’ve heard the stories of your flaming youth. And how! You probably made half of them up.’

‘I promise I didn’t need to. I behaved every bit as badly as they say, and a few more things nobody ever got to hear of, luckily.’

‘So, of course nobody would listen to me. They’d say I was lucky you even looked at me. Only you’re not Casanova anymore.’

‘You don’t know what I am,’ he said roughly. ‘If you know that much, you ought to have more sense than to be here with me now.’

‘I’m not a fool. You can say what you like. I think you can be trusted.’

‘And how would you know? Has your experience been so extensive? Did Gino teach you about trust? I don’t think so. What about before him?’

It was cruel, it was appallingly brutal, and she reeled with shock, closing her eyes against the agony that he’d inflicted deliberately. She had no doubt of that. He saw the movement and reached out a hand to her, only to snatch it back before she could see it. When she opened her eyes it was to find him staring at her from eyes that gave nothing away.

‘Nothing like this will ever happen again,’ he said in a dead voice. ‘You have my word on that. Goodnight.’

Pietro walked out, closing the door firmly behind him. A moment later Ruth heard his own door being locked.

She clenched and unclenched her hands, filled with bitter rage at that final insult. He’d locked her out like some floozy who didn’t come up to standard. She wanted to scream and throw something against the wall.

There was no point in even lying down, so she sat in the darkness, looking out of the window at the Grand Canal, numb with despair.

She didn’t recognise the man who’d attacked her so coldly tonight, but she could guess what he was thinking and feeling; scorn for her lack of control in throwing herself at him, contempt at her arrogance in thinking she had the power to charm him.

She’d once made a joke about Serafina treating her like Cinderella, but how could Cinderella be so foolish as to think she could really charm the Prince, except for five minutes? That was a fairy tale.

She must leave, of course. As soon as she could will herself to move she would begin to pack. Anything would be better than facing him again.

But then a water bus passed under the Rialto Bridge, its lights gleaming across the canal, briefly illuminating