FLORENCE! How well its medieval ruler Lorenzo de
Medici had loved his city, and how willingly he had
shown that love, commissioning the best of the
Renaissance"s gifted artists to embellish and enhance
both its glory and his own.
Jodie could only catch her breath as she sat beside
Lorenzo in the Ferrari whilst he edged it through the
city"s busy traffic, stretching every sense she could to
take in as much as possible of the wonders all around
her. Lorenzo turned off the busy main road that ran
alongside the River Arno and drove the Ferrari down
a street lined with elegant seventeenth-century buildings.
"My apartment is in the block above us," he informed
Jodie casually, as he turned into a narrow alleyway
and then down into an underground car park.
Jodie’s eyes adjusted to the gloom of the car park
after the brilliance of the sunlit street. He had already
informed her that he lived in Florence, but he hadn’t
said as yet just where they would be living once they
were married. Given the choice she would far rather
be in Florence than the Castillo, Jodie thought as they
left the car.
Lorenzo guided her towards a door which opened
onto a flight of stairs that took them up to an impressive
entrance hall, with an equally impressive coat of
arms prominently displayed above its main doorway.
The same coat of arms, surely, which she had seen
carved into the fireplace lintel in the great hall of the
Castillo?
"Come — the lift is this way," Lorenzo instructed
her. "My apartment is on the top two floors. I chose
it when I had the Palazzo remodelled because of its
views — although my grandmother used to complain
that she wished I had chosen one at ground level. She
did not care for enclosed spaces or lifts."
"The Palazzo?" Jodie questioned suspiciously
"Does that mean that the whole of this building—?"
"Was originally the home of my family? Yes. The
Palazzo was built for the tenth Duce, who had many
business interests in Florence. During my grandfather"s
lifetime it fell into disrepair — much like the
Castillo. When I inherited it I was faced with two
choices. Either I abandoned it and sold it, or I restored
it and found a way to make it pay for itself.
Converting it into apartments seemed the most sensible
option. That way I could retain control over any
work to be done."
"Is this where we will be living, then?" Jodie asked
as they got out of the lift and she followed him across
an elegant marble-floored outer hallway to a pair of
intricately carved heavy wooden doors.
"There will be times when we will live here in
Florence, yes, which is why—" He broke off from
whatever he had been about to say to unlock the doors
before opening them for her.
The room beyond them was another hallway: a
long, rectangular double-height space, with a gallery
around the whole of the upper storey. Its ceiling was
domed in the centre and painted with allegorical
scenes from mythology, whilst its walls were hung
with paintings.
"My family were at one time renowned patrons of
the arts. The eleventh Duce enjoyed entertaining the
English visitors who came to Florence in the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries. He held court here in
the Palazzo, and his mistress"s salons were famous."
"His mistress"s salons?" Jodie queried uncertainly.
"The eleventh Duce was something of a rebel.
While he stayed here in Florence, and set up home
with his mistress, his wife and children were banished
to a villa outside the city. He was a great patron of
beauty in all its forms. He caused something of a
scandal in Florence by having his mistress depicted
in a series of paintings, each one portraying her readiness
to receive him in a different sexual position. It
is rumoured, in fact, that in order for the artist to
faithfully portray the correct angles of her body, the
original sketches were made whilst she and the Duce
were in the act of making love. But the Duce’s figure
was removed by the artist for her final painting, so
that her patron could visualise his lover’s body as she
waited to receive him."
"Oh," said Jodie weakly. "The artist was a woman?"
Lorenzo shrugged. "My ancestor was probably concerned
that a male artist might find such an erotic
commission too much for his self-control. And rumour
has it that Cosimo himself was not averse to
persuading his artist to abandon her work in order to
join them in their pursuit of sexual pleasure."
When Jodie couldn’t help glancing at the walls,
Lorenzo told her grimly, "You will not find any of
the paintings here — they vanished a long time ago—
looted, so it is believed, on Napoleon"s instructions.
He had heard of them and wanted them. If they still
exist they will be in the possession of some private
collector." Lorenzo give another shrug. "Their value
was not in the hand of the artist who painted them so
much as in their notoriety." He flicked back the cuff
of the linen jacket he was wearing and glanced at his
watch.
"It is now almost four o"clock. I telephoned ahead
and arranged for you to have a private showing at a
designer salon on Via Tornabuoni. The manager there
understands the situation, and she will help you to
select a suitable wardrobe — including a wedding
dress. It isn’t very far from here, and—"
"No!" Jodie could see the look of hauteur darkening
Lorenzo’s eyes. He obviously didn’t like having his
plans questioned. Tough, she decided grittily. No way
was she going to be treated like some kind of mindless
doll he could have dressed up in over-priced designer
clothes to suit his own idea of how his wife
should look.
"I agree that I need to buy something suitable to be
married in, but I am perfectly capable of making my
own choice and paying for whatever I need with my
own money. Think of how much medical care you
could donate to those children in need, instead of
wasting money on designer clothes for me," she urged
him.
"You have a valid point," he agreed. "But Italian
society, like any other society, has its rules and its
obligations. For you as my wife not to be dressed as
the other wives will cause questions to be asked—
which could raise doubts as to the true validity of our
marriage. That in turn could lead to a legal challenge
that the terms of my grandmother’s will are not being
met. Indeed, I wouldn’t put it past Caterina to do
everything she can to achieve just that. And, since the
whole purpose of this marriage is to meet those terms,
it is necessary that we both conform to society’s expectations.
If it will make you feel any better, I shall
undertake to donate an equal amount to charity as you
spend on clothes."
"that’s bribery," Jodie told him, but Lorenzo was
already walking away from her, leaving her no choice
but to follow him.
To her surprise the gallery opened out into a second,
even longer single-storey rectangular space, this
one housing more modern paintings and sculptures.
"Like my ancestors, I substitute my own lack of
artistic skill by taking an interest in and supporting
those who do have it," Lorenzo was explaining dryly.
But Jodie wasn’t fully listening to him. Instead her
attention had been caught by the large wall space in
the middle of the gallery, which was filled with what
seemed to be unsophisticated, childlike drawings.
"Ah, my most valued commissions," Lorenzo told
her quietly.
Jodie looked at him uncertainly. "They look like
children’s drawings."
"That is exactly what they are. These drawings
were all produced by children who have lost limbs—
sometimes but not always a dominant hand — as victims
of a variety of wars. These drawings were done
after they had been fitted with their new limbs, as part
of their ongoing therapy. The very special paintings
in the middle of the wall are painted with those new
limbs."
Jodie discovered that emotional tears had suddenly
rushed to fill her eyes. Blinking them away, she told
Lorenzo huskily, "No wonder you value them so
much."
He turned away. "I shall introduce you to Assunta,
who is my housekeeper here, and she will show you
over the rest of the apartment while I make some
telephone calls."
In other words, he was bored with her company
and wanted to be free of it. Well, that certainly did
not bother her, Jodie assured herself ten minutes later,
as she was handed over into the care of a shrewd-
eyed middle-aged woman who subjected her to open
scrutiny and then inclined her head. In excellent
English, she said calmly, "If you will come this way,
please…"
Half an hour later Jodie had seen every room in
the apartment, which covered not one but two floors
of the Palazzo and included an astonishingly luxuriant
roof garden.
It was plain that Lorenzo favoured modern design
and furnishings over antiques, but she had to admit
that the strong lines of the furniture complemented
the large rooms with their high ceilings.
Her bedroom was across the corridor from
Lorenzo’s, and had its own dressing room and bathroom.
To Jodie’s relief, Assunta unbent enough to
explain that she had worked in London for a time at
a restaurant owned by a cousin of her father, which
was where she had learned her English. Now a
widow, who prized her independence, she added that
working for Lorenzo had up until now suited her very
nicely.
"I shan’t be wanting to interfere in the way you
manage things," Jodie assured her, picking up her cue.
Indeed, she would not! She doubted that Lorenzo
would thank her if she were to be the cause of his
housekeeper handing in her notice.
"It is my cousin Theresa who is housekeeper at the
Duce’s villa near Sienna. It is a very good place for
bambini there, with much space and fresh air."
Another hint? Jodie wondered as she stood beneath
the welcome spray of the shower, mentally revising
their conversation. Well, she certainly wouldn’t be
providing Lorenzo with his bambini. The shower continued
to pound her skin with its needle-sharp spray
whilst Jodie stood perfectly still and let images of
small dark haired children stampede over her defences
and trample them into nothing.
There was a sharp rap on her bathroom door and
she heard Lorenzo calling out briskly, "It is time for
us to leave."
"I’m nearly ready," she fibbed, and then gave a
small gasp as he took her at her word and walked into
the bathroom.
Was it possible to be caught at any worse disadvantage
than naked and dripping wet? Jodie wondered,
pink-cheeked, as Lorenzo folded his arms and
leaned against the now closed door.
"That is nearly ready?" he demanded pithily.
"It won’t take me long to dry myself and get
dressed…" And it would take her even less time if he
wasn’t standing between her and the thick warm towels
on the towel rail on the other side of the bathroom.
Why didn’t he leave? Did he really expect her to walk
past him stark naked while he subjected her to more
of that steely scrutiny with which he was already
openly studying her legs? Out of habit she turned to
one side, trying to tuck her injured leg out of sight,
more anxious to conceal that from him than either her
breasts or the neat soft triangle of damp curls covering
her sex.
"Do you want to have a closer look at my leg?" she
demanded tartly. "I know the scars aren’t a pretty
sight, but Don’t worry — I can cover them up."
Lorenzo took his time about lifting his gaze from
her legs to her face, and when he eventually did so
her heart thumped heavily against her ribs.
"Perhaps I should have you painted like this," he
told her softly. "A fair-haired Northern water nymph,
with legs long enough to encourage a man to imagine
how it would feel to have them wrapped around him.
Or maybe spread on a silk-covered bed, with them
wantonly open, begging for the touch of your lover’s
lips against their tender flesh. There are sexual positions
that require… No! Do not look at me with that
hungry virgin look in your eyes," he told her sharply.
"Otherwise I might be tempted to satisfy that hunger
for you."
"You were the one who came in here," Jodie reminded
him. "I didn’t invite you."
"Liar. You invite me every time you look at me,
with those virginal half-glances that say how curious
you are to know what it is like to lie with a man."
"That is not true!" Jodie said hotly. "If I wanted to
have sex with a man, which I do not, then you are
the last man I would choose."
She realised immediately that she had gone too
far — Lorenzo was so arrogantly male that there was
no way he would allow her to get away with that kind
of challenge to his masculinity. But it was too late.
He was striding towards her, ignoring both her
shocked cry of protest and the effect her wet body
was having on his clothes as he hauled her out of the
shower and picked her up in his arms.
"Put me down," Jodi demanded, but Lorenzo wasn’t
listening to her. Instead he was carrying her through
her bedroom and towards the bed, where he put her
down against the pale green silk coverlet and held her
there.
He knelt over her and demanded softly, "So, what
is it you want to know most? How it feels to have a
man caress you here, like this?" Still holding her
shoulder with his left hand, he trailed the fingers of
his right hand down the whole length of her body to
her knee, and then slowly stroked up the inside of her
clenched thigh.
Helplessly, Jodie closed her eyes as her flesh absorbed
the intimacy of his touch and then reacted with
a series of sensual shudders that ricocheted relentlessly
through her.
"Ah, so you like that? And this?" His lips were
caressing the sensitive spot just behind her ear, causing
the ache deep inside her body to become a fiercely
urgent eager pulse.
Jodie moaned in outraged protest. He had no right
to be doing this to her.
But Lorenzo had obviously mistaken the cause of
her moan, because he murmured, "More curiosity?
Very well, then — you shall have your answer." His
hand swept up over her body to her breast, shaping it
and then rubbing the pad of his thumb over the erect
swelling of her nipple until all she could visualise
inside her head was his tongue curling round her nipple
and then lapping rhythmically at it.
Knowing her own desire had never been an issue
for her; it was having that desire not just satisfied but
aroused to the pitch it was being aroused to now that
had always been her problem. She had imagined she
might feel like this, but her imagination had fallen
way short of the reality, she acknowledged dizzily as
she locked her fingers in the thick darkness of
Lorenzo’s hair and urged his head down towards her
eager nipple. In the afternoon sunshine that filled the
room through the slats in the window blind, she could
see the telltale hardness of Lorenzo’s erection, and
her senses twisted with sweet triumph at the sight of
his arousal.
"Still curious?" Lorenzo’s tongue stroked the sensitive
flesh of her nipple and her body arched up towards
him for more. His hand dipped between her
legs, his palm warm against the eager swelling of her
mound. Instinctively Jodie held her breath, willing
him to part the closed lips of her sex and find the wet
heat waiting so urgently for him. Reality, reason, responsibility
were forgotten. She was like someone
possessed by a sudden fever — taken over by it so that
it overruled every other control system within her.
The knowing fingers answered her silent plea, parting
the soft pads of flesh and then stroking her with intimately
long, slow strokes that made her cry out
whilst her body jerked in frantic response.
"Now you see what your curiosity has brought you
to," she heard Lorenzo saying thickly. But he wasn’t
making any attempt to stop giving her the pleasure
his touch was inciting. Instead his touch became
stronger and deeper, until — suddenly and shockingly—
the ache inside her became a fierce convulsion
that gripped her and then exploded into an intense
orgasm.
Jodie lay stiffly on the bed, refusing to look at
Lorenzo. She felt scorched by the humiliation of what
had happened, and too close to tears to risk allowing
herself to speak. Not because she had had an orgasm
— it wasn’t her first, after all — but because of
the way she had had it. And because of the man who
had called it up out of her body so effortlessly.
"You shouldn’t have done that," she finally managed
to say.
"No," Lorenzo agreed heavily. "I should not."
Jodie closed her eyes. She could feel him withdrawing
from her as he stood up.
"I’ll go and ring the salon and tell them we shall
be later than arranged."
Why had she let that happen? Why hadn’t she
stopped him straight away? Her post-orgasm lethargy
clung heavily to her body as she showered again and
dressed as quickly as she could, promising herself that
it was never, ever going to happen again. Lorenzo
was a man — and an Italian — he was probably driven
by machismo and all those other things that gave such
men their powerful sexuality. And of course her unwitting
challenge had meant that he had had to make
his point to her. Other than that she had no idea why
he had done what he had — only that he must not be
allowed to do so again.
Lorenzo stood in his study and looked broodingly
out of the window. He had never been the kind of
man who allowed himself to be driven or ridden by
the needs of his body, so why, why had he allowed
himself to give in to them now? She was just another
woman, that was all, and not even an obviously sexually
available woman.
Not sexually available, no, but sexually responsive…
Lorenzo closed his eyes and immediately saw
Jodie as he had seen her minutes before, lying naked
on the bed, giving herself up to her pleasure…the
pleasure he had given her. Immediately his body, still
half tumescent from its earlier unsatisfied arousal,
stiffened into a painfully hard erection. He couldn’t
possibly want her as badly as that. Wanting the
woman — the virgin — he had chosen to marry for
purely practical reasons was a complication he did not
need in his life right now.
How had he managed to find a woman who was
still a virgin — a hungry sexually curious virgin — who
looked at him with a question in her eyes as old as
Eve? But he couldn’t afford the time it would take to
find someone to replace her now. At the moment
Caterina was still shocked enough for him to gain the
upper hand in the war between them, but once she
had time to recover from that shock she would be
back to her plots and the subtle, mind-poisoning tricks
at which she excelled. And besides, by now the whole
of Florence probably knew the identity of his bride-
to-be.
What did one wear to buy clothes sold in a designer
showroom? Jodie wondered ruefully. Probably not
what she was wearing — which was her spare pair of
clean jeans and a clean top — but since she had
brought only the bare necessities to Italy with her,
they would have to do.
Lorenzo was waiting for her when she found her
way back to the main salon. As soon as she walked
into the room he announced grimly, as he ushered her
towards the main door, "What happened earlier in
your room must not be allowed to happen again."
He was looking at her, speaking to her — lecturing
her, almost! — as though it had been her fault, Jodie
recognised indignantly as they stepped into the lift.
"It certainly mustn’t," she agreed fiercely. "But I
wasn’t the one who instigated it."
"Maybe not. But you didn’t stop me, did you?" The
lift had reached the ground floor.
"Why do men always blame women when it is they
who—?" Jodie began heatedly, only to be stopped by
Lorenzo.
"It was Eve who offered Adam the apple," he reminded
her flatly, as he held open the lift door for
her.
"Man"s eternal get-out," Jodie seethed. "The
woman tempted me…"
"So you admit that you did?" Lorenzo demanded as
he guided her towards the street exit.
"I admit no such thing," Jodie retorted angrily,
blinking in the fierce sunlight.
"It will take less time if we walk to Via
Tornabuoni," Lorenzo informed her as he took hold
of her arm and nodded in the direction they were to
walk, ignoring her fury. "It is this way. We will cut
through this alleyway here, which brings us out into
this square."
Jodie forgot her annoyance and caught her breath
in awed delight at her surroundings. She longed to be
able to take her time and absorb everything around
her, but Lorenzo was hurrying her through the square
and down another narrow street, where an ancient
church crouched between the other buildings, its
doors open in welcome.
Via Tornabuoni turned out to be a wide street filled
with imposing buildings and even more imposing
shops — so much so that Jodie found herself hanging
back a little when they reached one store. A uniformed
doorman opened the door for them and
Lorenzo ushered her inside. Almost immediately a
soigne.e, pencil-thin, immaculately groomed young
woman who looked more like a model than a sales
assistant glided towards them, her attention focused
on Lorenzo rather than Jodie. Of course Jodie
couldn’t understand what Lorenzo was saying to her,
but there was no mistaking its impact. They were ushered
towards the back of the store and into an enclosed
private area, where Ms Soigne.e disappeared
and was replaced by a slightly older, even more
dauntingly stunning woman, who quickly introduced
herself as the direttrice of the store.
"I received your message and conveyed it to the
maestro," she informed them reverently in English.
"The designer has himself selected several gowns for
your consideration, and they have been couriered here
from Milano."
They were being left in no doubt as to the great
honour being bestowed on them, Jodie reflected, but
she had to admit that it was equally obvious that the
direttrice was very impressed by Lorenzo.
She turned to look anxiously at Jodie and then exhaled
slightly. "Bene, your fiance.e is not tall, it is true,
but she has the right slenderness for our clothes. If
you will come with me…"
"I am afraid that I have several business appointments
I must keep," Lorenzo apologised. "But I know
I can leave my fiance.e safely in your hands. I shall
return for her in two hours."
The direttrice looked disappointed, but resigned,
whilst Jodie watched Lorenzo leave and told herself
that it was ridiculous for her to feel somehow abandoned.
She was taken to a private room, where she perched
on a small gilt chair as label-clad acolytes reverently
presented her with a selection of wedding gowns from
what she understood from the direttrice was the very
latest collection.
Jodie was no designer label junkie, but these were
very special, and she was forced to admit that she
was in danger of losing her heart to them all. But in
the end there could only be one choice, and she made
it, rebelliously selecting a gown that was in fact a
tightly fitting corset bodice with an elegantly draped
skirt that fitted it so perfectly it looked as though it
were actually a dress and not two pieces.
The direttrice beamed her approval.
"Yes, that is the one I would have chosen for you.
It is very simple, but very elegant, very regal — truly
a wedding gown for a princess. We have guessed your
size from the Duce’s description of you. So many
times a man tells us one thing and we discover…"
She gave a small resigned shrug. "But fortunately the
Duce was correct."
Half an hour later, Jodie faced her own reflection
in the mirror. A young woman who was almost a
stranger to her looked back. Jodie blinked and felt her
eyes blur with emotional tears. If only her parents,
her mother, could have seen her dressed like this. The
gown made her look taller, and emphasised her tiny
waist. A fitted lace jacket with three-quarter sleeves
concealed any bare flesh. The train was so long and
so heavy that Jodie worried that she wouldn’t be able
to manage it.
"It is perfect for you," the direttrice sighed ecstatically.
"The maestro will be so pleased. Now, for the
other things you will need…"
It was another hour before the direttrice finally declared
herself satisfied, by which time Jodie had been
provided with a deliciously curvy suit that could be
dressed up for evening or worn more simply during
the daytime, along with a selection of tops to go with
it, two pairs of impossibly flatteringly cut trousers, a
summer-weight coat with a matching skirt, two pretty
silky dresses, plus shoes and handbags, and what
seemed like an enormous amount of "everyday
things", as the direttrice had called them, from the
designer"s more casual jeans-based range. The only
way she could assuage her guilt over such blatant
consumerism would be to insist that Lorenzo made
good his promise to make a charity donation equivalent
to the cost of her new clothes, Jodie reflected.
She was just beginning to get tired, and felt relieved
when the door to the private room opened and
Lorenzo walked in.
"You have everything you need?" he asked her.
Jodie nodded her head.
Thanking the direttrice, who promised that those
items that were in need of small alterations would be
delivered to the apartment by the following afternoon,
Lorenzo ushered her back out onto the now dark
street.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
"Very," Jodie admitted.
"There is a restaurant a short distance from here
where they serve simple but excellent local food."
The restaurant was down a narrow street, its tables
set out on the pavement, and they had to edge their
way to one of the few tables that was empty.
"If you would like me to recommend something for
you?" Lorenzo offered once they were seated and the
waiter had brought menus.
"Yes, please — but nothing too heavy," Jodie begged
him, "otherwise I won’t be able to sleep."
"Very well, then. Perhaps not the affettati misti to
start with, which is a traditional selection of cold
meats, but instead pinzimonio, which is fresh vegetables
with olive oil?"
"That sounds perfect," Jodie agreed.
"Then, if it will not be too heavy for you, you
should try the lasagne al forno — it is a speciality of
Florence and like no other lasagne you will ever have
tasted," he assured her.
Smiling, Jodie nodded her head. "What are you going
to have?" she asked him.
"I shall start with the affettati misti and then I think
calamari in zimino — stewed squid," he explained, and
Jodie pulled a face.
All around them other diners were talking and
laughing, whole families eating together, Jodie noticed
slightly enviously. Her only family were her
cousin David and his wife Andrea, and though she
and David had always got on well, there was a nine-
year gap between them. David had already been married
when her parents had been killed, and his parents—
her father"s brother and his wife — had returned
to her aunt"s home country of Canada.
"Tomorrow morning I have arranged for us to visit
my bank," Lorenzo was telling her. "There are some
papers there it is necessary for you to sign. I have
opened a bank account for you, and the family betrothal
ring is in the bank"s vaults, along with certain
other pieces of jewellery. The ring will have to be
cleaned, and possibly resized — although, like you, my
mother had very slender fingers."
Their first course had arrived, but Jodie discovered
that she had lost her appetite a little.
"what’s wrong?" Lorenzo asked her.
"I Don’t feel happy about the idea of wearing a
valuable piece of jewellery," she told him truthfully.
"Especially not some kind of family heirloom. What
if I were to lose it?"
"I am the head of my family and you are to be my
bride. It will be expected that you will wear the family
betrothal ring," Lorenzo told her firmly.
"couldn’t you have a copy made or something?"
Jodie persisted.
Lorenzo started to frown. "If it concerns you so
much, then I shall think about it. Now, eat your dinner—
otherwise Carlo will think that you do not like
his food, and to a Florentine that is a very great insult."
The next morning Lorenzo allowed Jodie a little more
time to gaze in awe at her surroundings as they
walked through the city to his bank. She was wearing
some of her new clothes — an outfit she had privately
labelled Roman Holiday, because it comprised a pair
of linen Capri pants in a mixture of creams and tans
that sat low on her hips, teamed with a plain tan top.
Woven wedges with tan ties and a quirky little bag
completed the outfit, to which Jodie had been forced
by the bright morning sunshine to add her own sunglasses.
Although she was too engrossed in her surroundings
to be aware of the admiring male glances she
was collecting, Lorenzo most certainly wasn’t.
Remembered bitterness darkened his eyes. Women
were too vulnerable to the flattery of other men and
their own egos, as he already knew. But it didn’t matter
to him how many other men found Jodie desirable,
did it? He had no feelings for her, and nor was he
going to allow himself to develop any.
"This way."
Lorenzo’s curt instruction reminded Jodie of how
much she disliked and resented his arrogance. She felt
nothing but pity for the poor woman who did eventually
become his "real" wife, she decided.
Nowadays Florence might be famous for its works
of art, but there had been a time when its fame had
rested on the reputation of its bankers — of whom the
Medici family had been members, Jodie remembered
as they stepped into the cool, cathedral-like sombreness
of Lorenzo’s bank.
The formalities appertaining to the opening of a
bank account for her were soon dealt with, allowing
them to be taken down a marble stairway to an impressive
pillared and gilded room patrolled by two
armed guards. They were given a key and escorted to
one of several small private rooms, furnished with a
table and several chairs. Here they had to wait for the
vault manager and one of the armed guards to return
with a locked safety deposit box, which was put on
the desk in front of Lorenzo. He then produced a key
and inserted it into the lock. Only then did the manager
and the guard leave them to lock themselves in
the small room.
Only the hum of the air-conditioning broke the silence
as Lorenzo turned the key. She was, Jodie discovered,
actually holding her breath.
Lorenzo lifted the lid of the box. Quickly Jodie
looked away. She had very mixed feelings about old
and priceless jewellery. For one thing, it always
seemed to possess a dark and tainted history — if not
because of the way it had been mined, then often
because of the acts of cruelty and greed of those people
who had wanted to possess it. No wonder priceless
stones were so often said to be cursed.
Lorenzo looked down into the box. The last time
it had been opened had been following the death of
his mother. He had a savage impulse to slam the lid
shut, to take Jodie by the hand and to go out into the
bright warmth of the sunshine. But he could not do
that. He was a Montesavro, and the head of his family,
and besides, what ghosts — if there were such
things — could possibly lurk here, in this piece of
metal? His fingers closed round the familiar faded
velvet box he remembered from his childhood.
"Here it is," he told Jodie brusquely, closing the
safety deposit box and relocking it before opening the
ring box.
"There is a legend that when the woman who wears
this ring is pure the stone glows with a particular clarity.
My mother always claimed that it was the stone
itself that was clouded," he added cynically, as Jodie
stared in disbelief at the huge rectangular emerald surrounded
by white flashing diamonds.
"I can’t possibly wear that," she protested. "I’d be
terrified of losing it. I wouldn’t feel safe unless I had
an armed guard with me. It must be worth…" She
shook her head, and Lorenzo frowned, recognising
not awed excitement in her voice at the thought of
the ring"s value but instead shocked distaste. A
woman who felt distaste rather than excitement at the
thought of wearing expensive jewellery? Such a
woman was so far removed from his own experience
that he hadn’t imagined one might exist.
"let’s see if it fits before we start arguing about
whether or not you will wear it," he told her coolly.
Jodie could feel her hand starting to shake when
Lorenzo gripped her wrist and then slid the ring down
onto her ring finger. The very weight of it felt uncomfortable.
Jodie frowned, and immediately went to
tug it off.
"No, leave it!"
The peremptory bite of Lorenzo’s voice shocked
her into stillness.
Lorenzo’s frown deepened as he studied the ring,
lifting her hand so that he could inspect it more
closely.
"what’s wrong?" she asked him uncertainly.
"Look into it and tell me what you can see,"
Lorenzo instructed her.
Reluctantly Jodie did so. "I can’t see anything," she
told him, confused.
And neither could he, Lorenzo acknowledged. The
ring was totally free of the vague cloudiness which
he remembered had so dissatisfied his mother. A freak
of chance? A difference in chemical reactions between
one woman"s skin and another"s? There had to
be a logical reason for the clarity of the emerald when
Jodie wore it.
Oblivious to the conflicting emotions Lorenzo was
trying to repress, Jodie tugged off the ring and handed
it back to him.
"I meant what I said. I’m not wearing it," she told
him hardily.
"We shall see. Certainly you will have to wear it
on Sunday, when we attend church for the first reading
of our banns," Lorenzo informed her.
She knew someone who would be envious of her
supposed betrothal ring, Jodie thought half an hour
later, after they had left the bank. And that was
Louise. Jodie could well imagine her reaction were
she to turn up at John’s wedding wearing it!
Automatically, to cheer herself up, she tried to conjure
up some satisfying images of her moment of triumph—
but somehow the sense of elation she wanted
just wasn’t there. But that was the only reason she
was putting herself through this whole palaver, allowing
herself to be bullied and hectored…and made love
to…by Lorenzo. wasn’t it?