Pride And The Italian's Proposal (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 2

  The second sister, who looked to be still in her teens, was all flash and flare, her make-up overdone, her light brown hair pulled into a high, tight ponytail, a tight cropped top emphasising her curvy figure. The look in her eyes was what Fausto could only call avaricious, and his stomach tightened once more in sour anticipation of a most unpleasant evening.

  The mother, he saw, was cut from the same cloth as the sister, and dressed in almost as revealing an outfit—but hadn’t there been another at the table? Briefly Fausto recalled curly chestnut hair, a pair of glinting hazel eyes. They were no more than vague impressions, but he held the distinct certainty there had been a fourth woman at the table. Where was she?

  Chaz set the drinks down with a gentlemanly flourish and, predictably, the pretty blonde stammered an invitation for him to join them, which Chaz did, sliding into the booth next to her. Fausto was left with no choice of seating other than next to the teenager with a lusty look in her eye, and so he coolly informed them he would prefer to stand.

  ‘I’m sure you would,’ a voice quipped near his ear, as the woman he realised he’d been looking for walked briskly by and slid into the booth next to her sister. ‘To tell the truth, you seem as if you couldn’t get out of here fast enough.’

  Fausto locked gazes with the hazel eyes he’d recalled, and they were just as glinting as he remembered. Even more so, for right now they were flashing fire at him, and he wondered why on earth this Little Miss Nobody was looking at him with such self-righteous anger.

  ‘I admit this was not my first choice of establishment,’ he returned with a long, level look at this slip of a woman who dared to challenge him. Her hair was the colour of chestnuts and tumbled over her shoulders in a riot of corkscrew curls.

  Large hazel eyes were framed with lush chocolate-coloured lashes, and her mouth was a ripe cupid’s bow. She wore a plain green jumper and jeans and, all in all, Fausto decided after a moment’s deliberate perusal, she was nothing remarkable.

  The woman raised her eyebrows as he held her gaze, her angry expression turning to something more mocking, and with a disinterest that was not as legitimate as Fausto would have wished, he flicked his gaze away.

  Chaz was making introductions and Fausto turned to listen, although he doubted he would ever have the need to address any of these women by name.

  ‘Jenna... Lindsay... Yvonne... Liza.’ Chaz looked as delighted as if he’d just done an impressive sum in his head, and Fausto shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers. So now he knew her name was Liza, not that it mattered.

  ‘And your name?’ the mother, Yvonne, trilled. It was obvious she already knew who he was—Chaz graced enough of the gossip rags and society pages, with his pedigree, wealth and cheerful attendance at many social occasions.

  ‘Chaz Bingham, and this is my good friend from university, Fausto Danti. He’s here from Milan to head up his family’s London office for a few months.’

  Fausto gave him a coldly quelling look; he did not need these people knowing his business. Chaz smiled back, completely unrepentant as always.

  ‘What do you think of our country, Mr Danti?’ the mother asked in a cringingly girlish voice. Fausto gave her a repressive look.

  ‘I find it as well as I did when I was here for university fifteen years ago,’ he answered coolly, and she gave an uncertain laugh and then blushed, before gulping down her ridiculous cocktail.

  Instinctively, unwillingly, Fausto glanced at the woman—Liza—and saw she was glaring at him with unbridled fury. This time she was the one to look away, a deliberate snub which he found both irritating and unsettling. It wasn’t as if he cared.

  Chaz was chatting animatedly to Jenna, which left the four of them—Fausto and these three tedious women—to sit through an insufferable silence. At the start Lindsay attempted a few flirtatious forays of conversation which Fausto shot down unreservedly. He was tired, out of sorts, and he had absolutely no interest in getting to know these people, not to mention a seven a.m. start tomorrow. After fifteen excruciating minutes, he looked pointedly at his watch. Chaz caught his eye and then blithely ignored him. Fausto ground his teeth.

  He didn’t want to be here, but neither did he wish to be unapologetically rude and leave his friend flat—although perhaps that was what Chaz wanted, all things considered. Fausto glanced at his watch again, even more pointedly this time.

  ‘I’m so sorry we’re keeping you,’ Liza remarked acidly, and Fausto glanced at her, unperturbed.

  ‘Actually, Chaz is keeping me,’ he returned, and she let out a huff of indignation.

  ‘He seems like he’s having a good time,’ she said with a nod towards Chaz and Jenna, their heads bent together. ‘I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you chose to leave.’ Her eyebrows lifted and Fausto saw a definite spark of challenge in her eyes that caused a ripple of reluctant admiration to pass through him. Here was a woman with a bit more fire than her beautiful sister, a few more depths to discover. Not that it mattered even remotely to him.

  ‘I’m inclined to agree with you,’ he replied with a short nod. ‘And so, in that case, I will make my goodbyes.’ He gave another nod, this one of farewell, his impassive glance taking in all three women before he nodded at Chaz, who gave him a shamefaced grin and kept talking to Jenna.

  Fausto couldn’t keep from giving Liza one last glance before he left, and as their eyes met something shuddered through him—and then, as dismissive as he had been at the start, she looked away.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LIZA STARED AT her bedroom ceiling as the autumn sunlight filtered through the curtains and lit her tiny room with gold. She didn’t take any notice of it, however, because in her mind she was picturing Fausto Danti, with his steel-grey eyes and his sculpted mouth, his midnight hair and his disdainful look.

  Jerk. Rude, arrogant, irritating boor.

  Her fists clenched on the duvet as she remembered his aristocratic drawl. ‘She looked as plain and boring as the other, if not more so.’ She’d heard his damning statement, so indifferently given, when she’d gone to the bar, and the words had scorched through her, branding her with their carelessly cruel indictment. Reminding her that she wasn’t anything special—something she’d always felt, had been told to her by someone she’d thought she’d cared about, but to have it confirmed so ruthlessly, and by a stranger...

  It felt as if Fausto Danti had ripped off the barely healed scab covering the wound she’d done her best to hide from everyone, even herself. She’d always known she wasn’t beautiful like Jenna, or intelligent like Marie, or spirited like Lindsay. But to have it confirmed again...

  After Fausto’s callous comment, Liza had raced back to her table, furious and hurt, before he could see her. It wasn’t as if she cared or even knew the man, she told herself, and he obviously didn’t care at all. The way he’d looked down his nose at them all...as if they were so uninteresting that he simply couldn’t be bothered even to make the most basic of pleasantries for a few minutes.

  And the way he’d looked at her... Liza’s fists clenched harder and her stomach did too. There had been something simmering in his iron-coloured eyes that had made everything in her seem to both shiver and heat. As much as she wanted to hate him, and she did, of course she did, that look had created a sweet, surprising longing in her she couldn’t deny even as she strived to, because she knew it couldn’t lead to anything good.

  Yet, based on what he’d said, she’d obviously misread that look completely, which added another humiliation to the whole sorry story. Of course he hadn’t looked at her like that. She wouldn’t even know what that kind of look was like. She had certainly misread one before.

  As for her own humiliating reaction, all heat and awareness...so the man was attractive. Any woman with a pulse would respond to his looks, that much was certain, although after Chaz had left, having exchanged mobile numbers with Jenna, the excited chatter between h
er mother and sisters had all been about him rather than Fausto Danti.

  Would he call? Would he ask Jenna out? When? Where? The deliberations had gone on for half the night, until Liza had finally retreated to bed, unable to contribute to the excitement but not wanting to lower the mood.

  She had no doubt that all the conversation today would continue to be about Chaz. No one had even mentioned Fausto Danti last night, which seemed rather incredible considering both his undeniably good looks as well as his undeniably bad manners. But no, her mother and sisters had only wanted to talk about Chaz. Handsome, polite, perfectly nice Chaz Bingham, who was clearly halfway to being head over heels in love with Jenna. And meanwhile Liza couldn’t stop thinking about Fausto Danti.

  With a sigh she rose from her bed. She had a feeling it was going to be a long day.

  By Sunday night, when she said goodbye to her mother and sister who were heading back to Herefordshire, Liza felt it had been a very long two days. They’d shopped on Oxford Street, had tea at The Ritz and seen a West End musical. They’d gone out for curry, strolled through Hyde Park and had makeovers at Selfridge’s, and all the while they’d talked of Chaz, Chaz, Chaz.

  How rich was he? How many houses did he have? Where had he gone to school? Lindsay had done countless searches on her phone, trumpeting every gleaned fact with triumph while Jenna had murmured something appropriately modest and blushed.

  By the end of it all, Liza was heartily tired of even thinking about Chaz Bingham—as well as Fausto Danti. She’d thought about him far too much while her family wittered on about his friend. Why had he been so rude? Who did he think he was? Had she been imagining some sort of...spark...in the look he’d given her? She must have, based on what he’d said to Chaz about her. Of course she had. She was ridiculous to think—hope—she hadn’t, even for a second. Ridiculous and pathetic.

  In any case, they were all futile questions because Liza knew she’d never see him again. In fact, she thought he’d most likely make sure of it, and if he didn’t, she would. She would.

  Still, thoughts of the irritable and inscrutable man dogged her as she headed to work on Monday. Although her position as an assistant to the editor of a tiny, obscure publisher of poetry paid peanuts, Liza loved it.

  She loved everything about her job—the elegant, high-ceilinged office in Holborn, with its many bookcases and tall sashed windows overlooking Russell Square. She loved her boss, an elderly man named Henry Burgh, whose grandfather had founded the business a hundred years ago. He was holding onto it now by the skin of his teeth—as well as his generous but dwindling inheritance.

  Liza had no idea who bought the slender volumes of poetry with their silky pages and ink-drawn illustrations, but she thought they were the most beautiful books she’d ever seen, and she loved the combination of older canonical poetry with works by refreshingly modern poets.

  It annoyed her that as she worked at her desk in that beautiful room, she was still thinking about Fausto Danti. Wondering why he was so arrogant—and if there was any chance whatsoever that she might see him again. She really needed to stop.

  ‘You seem a bit distracted,’ Henry commented as he came out of his office to give her some manuscripts to copy edit. As usual he was wearing a three-piece suit in Harris tweed, a gold pocket watch on a chain in his waistcoat pocket. For a man nearing eighty, Henry Burgh certainly had style.

  ‘Sorry.’ Liza ducked her head in apology. ‘Busy weekend. My family visited.’

  ‘Ah, and how did they find the city?’ He raised shaggy grey eyebrows as he gave her a kindly smile.

  ‘They loved it, but I knew they would.’ Liza thought Lindsay had been waiting all her life to get to London, to the business of living among fashionable people, socialites and YouTubers and the wealthy elite. A school trip to Paris at age twelve was the furthest adventure Lindsay had had so far, and she was most certainly ready for more when she started university next September.

  ‘I’m pleased,’ Henry told her. ‘The next time they come, you must bring them here to meet me.’

  Liza murmured her agreement, although privately she doubted her mother or sisters would want to visit her workplace. None of them, not even Marie, were interested in reading poetry. Her father would, she thought, but he was reluctant to leave the former vicarage in Little Mayton that he’d bought for a song thirty years ago and done up slowly. He loved his home comforts—his study, his workshop, his garden. Unlike his daughters, he had no hankering for adventures outside the home.

  What would Fausto Danti think of the place where she worked? Liza wondered after Henry had gone back into his office. Was he a man who liked books? Poetry? Of course she had no idea, and yet somehow she suspected he might. There had been a quiet, contained intensity about him that suggested a man with at least some kind of an inner life, although perhaps that was stupidly wishful thinking on her part. Why should she think the man had depths, just because he had a sexy scowl? No, of course he didn’t. He was just a jerk.

  Smiling to herself at the thought, Liza reached for the stack of manuscripts.

  ‘Liza!’

  Jenna threw open the door of their tiny flat as soon as Liza had reached the top of the stairs, causing her to put her hand to her heart in alarm.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ Jenna declared with a chortle. ‘Everything is wonderfully right. Or at least—I think it might be! Look.’ She thrust her phone so close to Liza’s face that the screen blurred and she had to take a step back. ‘It’s from him,’ Jenna explained, although Liza had already figured that out.

  ‘If you’re free this weekend,’ she read, ‘I’d love for you to come to a little house party I’m having in Surrey.’ She glanced up at Jenna. ‘A house party? Really?’

  Jenna bit her lip, doubt flickering in her blue eyes. ‘Why not?’

  ‘You’ve met him once, Jen. And now he wants you to go to his house? Doesn’t it seem...’ Liza struggled for a way to explain her concerns that didn’t sound too harsh ‘...a bit much, a bit too soon?’ she finished helplessly.

  ‘There will be loads of other people there. And it’s only for the weekend.’

  ‘I know, but...’

  ‘This is what people like him do, Liza. Just because we’ve never been to house parties doesn’t mean it isn’t the usual thing.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Liza handed back the phone as she headed into their flat. She was tired and her feet ached from her walk from the Tube. She was looking forward to an evening of ice cream and maybe some Netflix, but it was clear her sister wanted to talk about Chaz. Again. Not that she’d begrudge Jenna anything, because her sister was her best friend and just about the most genuinely sweet person in the world. She was the one with the attitude problem.

  ‘Do you think I shouldn’t go?’ Jenna asked as Liza opened the fridge to peruse its meagre contents. ‘I won’t if you don’t think I should.’

  ‘It’s not for me to say...’

  ‘But I need your input,’ Jenna protested. ‘I trust you, Liza. Do you think it’s a crazy idea? I barely know him. It’s just he seems so nice.’

  ‘He does,’ Liza admitted, because that much was certainly true.

  ‘And I do like him.’ Jenna bit her lip. ‘More than I probably should, considering how little I know him.’

  ‘There’s no reason not to go, really,’ Liza said as she closed the fridge and started examining the contents of their cupboards. ‘We came to London for adventure, after all. Now you’re having one.’

  ‘Yes...’ Jenna still looked uncertain. The truth, Liza knew, was that her older sister had never been particularly adventurous. It had been more Liza’s idea than Jenna’s to come to London, desperate for a new start, after she’d been offered the job of editorial assistant. Jenna had found a position as a receptionist at an accountancy firm, and Liza had bowled them both along. It wasn’t lik
e her older sister to step out on her own. It never had been. ‘I know,’ Jenna said suddenly. ‘What if you go with me?’

  ‘What?’ Liza turned from her disappointing perusal of the cupboards. ‘Jenna, I can’t just show up without an invitation.’

  ‘I’m sure I could bring a plus one.’

  ‘I’m sure Chaz Bingham is counting on you not bringing a plus one,’ Liza returned dryly. ‘There’s no way I can just turn up like a spare part and act as if I was invited.’

  ‘Please, Liza.’ Jenna’s eyes widened appealingly as she gave Liza a pleading look. ‘You know how nervous I get on my own. I’m no good at these kinds of things...’

  ‘We’ve never been to this kind of thing—’

  ‘Parties. Social events. You know. I never know what to say, and I go all shy and silent. I need your support.’

  Liza shook her head resolutely. ‘Jenna, if you’re too nervous to go on your own, you shouldn’t go at all. You could always go and then leave if you really don’t like it. But I cannot, and will not, turn up uninvited.’ She suppressed a shudder at the thought. If Chaz Bingham was having a house party, there was a chance Fausto Danti would be there and she could only too well imagine the incredulous and disdainful look on his face if she appeared unexpectedly, an obvious hanger-on. He might think she was trying to attract his attention, and she’d be seeming to confirm the unkind remark he’d made about them being gold-diggers. No, thank you!

  ‘I don’t know...’ Jenna murmured, fiddling with her phone, and Liza reached for a packet of pasta, realising this conversation might take the entire evening and she was going to need sustenance for it.

  It took three days of deliberation, but on Thursday morning Jenna finally decided to accept the invitation. Liza helped her word a polite but reserved text back to Chaz.

  By Friday afternoon Jenna was packed, and Liza saw her off on the train to Chaz’s family estate in Surrey, trying to squelch that treacherous flicker of envy that Jenna was going somewhere exciting and she wasn’t. Of course Chaz wouldn’t have invited her, and Fausto Danti wouldn’t have extended an invitation either. The idea was utterly ludicrous; it wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, and it was shaming that it had crossed hers, even for an instant.