Page 17 of On His Bride's Terms

A moment tautened between them, alive with electricity. A waiter came by and the man in black—Faye refused to acknowledge who he really was just yet, like a coward—took a drink and deftly swapped her half-finished one for a fresh glass.

Then he said, ‘Join me on the balcony? It’s a little stuffy in here.’

Faye nodded and let him take her gloved hand, leading her through the crowd to open French doors leading to a balcony. Another couple were at the other end, heads close together.

She still couldn’t quite believe that he was here. That she’d been lamenting acting too hastily only a moment before he’d appeared.

They stood together and for a moment nothing was said. They took in the iconic and impressive view of the Grand Canal and the palazzos on the other side, lights shining from windows, each one a portal into another life, or lives, being played out as they had been here for hundreds of years.

‘The history of this place has always humbled me.’

Faye looked at the man in surprise, and then almost felt irritation.Would he stop reading her mind?She shook her head at her own ridiculousness.

He obviously saw her reaction and said, ‘What? Did I say something wrong?’

‘No.’ She couldn’t help smiling a little. ‘I was just thinking the same thing.’

He was looking down at her. She couldn’t read his expression. She was glad of their masks, creating this barrier between them. Then he reached out and touched her mouth with a finger, but it was so fleeting that she wasn’t sure if she imagined it, even though her lip tingled.

He said, ‘Look, let’s stop this—

Before he could emit another word Faye blurted out, ‘Can we not? Please?’

She knew he was about to dismantle this shimmering delicate facade of anonymity and she wasn’t ready. She felt a little foolish, but she really, really wanted to preserve this moment, and she didn’t want to analyse why it was so important to her. Something about not being ready to face the reality of why they’d married. For a business deal. She wanted him to wanther, uniquely, and felt somehow protected behind the flimsy lace mask. As if it disguised the truth of their situation and how badly she wanted him.

‘Can we leave?’ she asked, before she lost her nerve. Before reality could return.

For a moment he said nothing, and Faye was afraid he’d make some flippant remark, but suddenly the air was infused with a sense of urgency. He just nodded, took her hand again and led her back into the room, dispensing with their glasses en route to the entrance. From there he led her down to the ground level, where a water taxi was waiting.

Faye hadn’t even noticed that she’d left her cape behind until Primo was undoing the silk tie on his and taking it off and putting it around her bare shoulders. It still held the warmth of his body, imprinting onto her skin, making it rise up into goosebumps.

‘Thank you.’

She glanced at him through the gauzy lace of her mask. His mouth looked firm.

‘You’re welcome.’

He sat beside her and put an arm across the back of the seat. Faye knew she should ask where they were going, but she was too afraid of shattering this illusion that they were strangers taking a moment out of time. When the reality was anything but that.

For a second, it struck Faye that perhaps this man she’d left the party withwasin fact a stranger, and that she’d projected her desire for her husband onto him, willing him to be Primo. But when she sneaked a glance at him again, she could see the distinctive jaw under the mask. Hard and stern.

As if sensing her looking at him, he turned. The hawkish mask should have made him look scary against the backdrop of a moonlit Venice but she felt only excitement. His eyes were very blue. It was Primo.Her husband.

The boat’s engine had stopped now, and they were being steered into a landing pier that was attached to a soaring four-storey palazzo.

‘What is this place?’ Faye asked, in spite of her wanting to maintain the charade of anonymity.

The fact that it was obviously one of Venice’s older palazzos was obvious. It was one she’d noticed on her trips up and down the canal. She knew who owned most of them, but not this one. Which usually meant very old money.

Primo replied, ‘I own the top-floor apartment. The rest of the palazzo is owned by the Monegazio family.’

Faye’s sucked in breath of shock that was disguised by the fact that Primo was getting out of the boat. He extended a hand to her and she took it, holding her dress up with the other hand as she stepped onto concrete.

The Monegazio family were one of Venice’s oldest and most venerated. They had a private art collection that was the stuff of legend. It had never been seen in public. And apparently her husband owned their top-floor apartment.

Primo badeciaoandgrazieto the boat taxi driver and led her to huge ornate doors that opened as if by magic as they approached. An elegant older man was on the other side, dressed in black trousers and a long-sleeved black jumper.

Faye heard him address the man as Matteo, and they exchanged a few words in Italian. Cleary he was some kind of concierge. The man dipped his head towards Faye in greeting, and then disappeared through an open door off the main entrance hall. Presumably his apartment.

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