She looked at the row of dresses awaiting her. And then at Andreina, who was staring down at her ankle boots, her forehead pinched in obvious disbelief at the water stains on the suede. Yeah, well, maybe Andreina should try walking from Camden Police Station to Highgate in icy slush.
Her stomach lurched. She felt like a gauche fourteen-year-old again, facing her mother’s critical stare. Forced to wear only what her mother approved of.
Time for Operation Toughen Up again.
She propelled Andreina by the elbow towards the door. ‘I’ll call you if I need any help.’ She closed the door on a stream of Italian protest, adrenaline pumping.
She approached the dresses warily. She would get this over and done with as quickly as possible. She stripped off her clothes and grabbed the first dress to hand. Her stomach lurched again. She pulled the silk bodice over her head, felt layer upon layer of fine tulle falling from her waist down to the floor. She twisted her arms around to her back in an attempt to tie the bodice but it was hopeless. She needed help.
She fought against the tears stinging her eyes. She couldn’t bear the feel of the material on her skin.
A knock sounded on the door. She ignored it.
‘Emma, what are you doing?’
Matteo.
She called out, ‘None of them suit. I’ll just have to wear my own clothes.’
The door swung open.
‘For crying out loud, Matteo, I could have been undressed!’
He crossed the room towards her, his eyes darkening. ‘I see near-naked models backstage at fashion shows all the time.’
‘Well, I’m not a model, am I?’
His mouth pursed, and then he asked with irritation, ‘Why are you upset?’
‘I’m not.’
He threw her an exasperated look. ‘That dress is perfect for you—what do you mean, it doesn’t suit? Look in the mirror and see for yourself.’
She turned her back on the mirrors, refusing to look, unable to speak.
He came closer, and she gave a yelp when she felt his fingers on the back of the bodice, tying the tiny fastenings.
‘Please don’t.’
He ignored her protest and continued to work his way down the bodice. Her spine arched beneath his touch as startling desire mixed with the upset dragging at her throat.
At first his movements were fast, but then he slowed, as though he too was weakened by the tension in the room—the tension of bodies hot and bothered, wanting more, wanting satisfaction.
Finished, he settled one hand on her waist while the other touched the exposed skin of her back above the strapless bodice.
‘Cosa c’e’? What’s the matter?’
She couldn’t answer. She longed to pull on her skirt and jumper again. To cover every inch of herself. To not feel so exposed. So vulnerable. So aware of him.
‘Look into the mirror, Emma. See how beautiful you are. I wasn’t comparing you to models.’
She could not help but laugh. ‘God, it’s not that...it’s just.’
His hands twisted her around until she was staring at herself in the mirror.
Sumptuous silk on brittle bones.
She spun back to him, her eyes briefly meeting his before looking away. ‘I’m sorry...it’s just these dresses remind me of my wedding dress.’
HOW COULD HE have been so stupid? Stupid to have agreed to let her work for him. Stupid not to have foreseen how these dresses might remind her of her wedding. Stupid to feel a responsibility towards this stranger. It was all so illogical. He barely knew her. He had too many other problems, responsibilities, in his life. But something about this woman had him wanting to protect her.
His hand moved to touch her, to lift her chin so that he could gaze into her eyes. To offer her some comfort. But he stopped himself in time. She was an employee. She was a runaway bride just burnt in love. He had to keep away from her.
‘I will ask Andreina to help you undress. You do not need to try on any more.’
‘No. It’s okay. I’m sorry...this wasn’t supposed to happen.’
He needed to get away. Away from the close confines of this dressing room. Away from how stunningly beautiful she looked in the gown, pale skin against ivory and purple silk. Away from the pain in her eyes he didn’t know how to cope with, didn’t know how to ease.
‘I’ll get Andreina.’
Her hand shot out and her fingers encased his wrist. She gave it a tug to halt him. ‘Not Andreina. Please will you help me untie the bodice?’
Why was she so adamant about Andreina?
He untied the clasps of the bodice, saw her shoulder blades contract into a shrug above the bodice.
‘All the dresses are stunning. I would be very proud to wear them. I just need to get used to the idea.’
Her voice shook just like her body.
More than ever he needed to get away.
‘Let’s talk about it outside.’
He walked out of the fitting room, wanting to get away.
Wanting to go back and take her into his arms.
Five minutes later she joined him outside the store.
Instead of guiding her back to his boat, he led her towards Campo di San Moisè. At the footbridge that led to the square and the baroque façade of Chiesa di San Moisè he found what he was looking for—a street vendor selling frittelle, the Venetian-style doughnuts only available during Carnival. He ordered a mixed cone.
They stopped at the centre of the footbridge and he offered Emma a frittella before biting into a frittella veneziana. The raisins and pine nuts mixed into the dough were the sugar hit he badly needed.
* * *
Emma bit into her frittella crema pasticcera, filled with thick custard cream, and gave a little squeal. The custard escaped from the doughnut and dripped down her chin.
Desire, thick and desperate, powered through his body.
They stood in silence, eating the frittelle, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss away the grains of sugar glittering on her lips.
The deep upset in her eyes was easing.
He needed to get this over and done with.
‘This isn’t going to work. I should never have agreed to it.’
She touched her fingers to her mouth and brushed the granules away, heat turning her pale cheeks a hot pink. ‘I’m really embarrassed...about getting lost and about what happened in the store. It was unprofessional of me. I promise it won’t happen again.’
‘You need time to recover from what you have gone through; you shouldn’t be working.’
She drank in his words with consternation in her eyes. ‘But I need to work—I want to work.’
Why couldn’t she see that he was doing her a favour? That this attraction between them was perilous.
‘Why?’
She crumpled the empty frittella cone in her hands. ‘Because I need the money. Because I want to focus on my career and forget the past year.’
Her jaw