To Love Again Read Free Page B

cheek and he reached out and touched her hand.
    You look beautiful today. The light in his eyes bathed her in sunshine.
    Better than this morning? They both laughed. She had been wearing a new cream on her face, her hair tied up high on her head, a comfortable dressing gown, and his slippers.
    But Amadeo only shook his head. No. I think I liked you better this morning. But ' I like this too. Is it one of ours?
    Of course. Would I wear anything not ours? For a moment the dark eyes flashed into his green ones.
    It looks like one of your grandfather's designs. He studied her carefully, narrowing his eyes. He had a way of seeing and knowing all.
    You're very smart. I stole it from his nineteen thirty-five collection. Not totally, of course. Just the flavor. She grinned. And the pleats.
    He smiled at her in amusement and bent toward her again for a rapid kiss. The flavor is excellent.
    It's a good thing we don't work together full time anymore, we'd never get anything done. Sometimes I wonder how we ever did. She sat back in her seat, admiring him. It was impossible not to. He was the Greek god of a hundred paintings in the Uffizi in Florence, the statue of every Roman boy, long, lean, graceful, elegant; yet there was more. The green eyes were knowing, wicked, wise, amused. They were quick and certain, and despite the golden Florentine beauty of his genes, there was strength there as well, power and command. He was the head of the House of San Gregorio, he had been the heir to a fairly major throne, and now he wore the mantle of his position well. It suited him. He looked like the head of an empire, or perhaps a very large bank. The neatly tailored pin-striped suit accentuated his height and narrow figure, yet the broad shoulders were his own. Everything about Amadeo was his own. There was nothing fake or flawed about him, nothing borrowed, nothing stolen, nothing unreal. The elegance, the aristocratic good looks, the warmth in his eyes, the quick wit, the sharp mind, and the concern he had for those around him. And the passion for his wife.
    What are you doing down here all dressed up today by the way? Other than sharing a few' ideas with me, of course. He smiled again as their eyes met, and Isabella broke into a smile.
    I'm having lunch with some ladies.
    Sounds terrible. Can I lure you to a room at the Excelsior instead?
    You might, but I have a date with another man after lunch. She said it smugly, and laughter danced in her eyes, as well as his.
    My rival, Bellezza? But he had no cause to worry and he knew it.
    Your son.
    In that case, no Excelsior. Peccato. A pity.
    Next time.
    Indeed. He stretched his legs out ahead of him happily, like a long, lazy cat in the sun.
    All right. Shut up. We have work to do.
    +ecco. The woman I married. Tender, romantic, gentle.
    She made one of their son's horrible faces, and they both laughed as she pulled a sheaf of notes out of her handbag. In the sunlight in his office he saw the sparkle of the large emerald-cut diamond ring he had bought her that summer for their tenth anniversary. Ten carats, of course. What else? Ten carats for ten years.
    The ring looks nice.
    She nodded happily as she looked down at it. It looked good on her long, graceful hands. Isabella wore everything well. Particularly ten-carat diamonds. It does. But you look nicer. I love you by the way. She pretended to be flip, but they both knew she was not.
    I love you too. They shared a last smile before plunging into work. It was better now. Better when they weren't together every day. By the end of the afternoon he was always hungry for her and anxious to get home. And there was something special now about their meetings, their evenings, their lunches, their days. She was mysterious to him again. He found himself wondering what she was doing all day, where she was, what she was wearing, as the thought of her perfume filled his mind.
    You don't think the American line is too subdued? I wondered about that last night. She