The Mistress Wife. Lynne GrahamЧитать онлайн книгу.
in the face of his boundless confidence, unwilling to acknowledge that he was right on target.
He began phoning her, but only occasionally. She began waiting for his calls and was disappointed and unable to settle when they didn’t come. On the phone she found him endlessly entertaining without being threatening and she continued to deny the growing strength of her own feelings. Meanwhile her peace of mind evaporated and her once total absorption in her work vanished. She had no idea that Lucca was steadily breaking down her defences until she dropped into Serafina’s leaving party in the summer term and saw him with another woman. Literally torn apart by the most violent sense of betrayal, she was finally forced to confront the power of her emotional attachment to Lucca Saracino…
Emerging from that energising recollection of the past into the even more challenging present, Vivien registered that once again she was in a very similar position. She gazed out the windows of the limo and saw nothing. Exactly what were her feelings for her husband? As soon as she had read Jasmine Bailey’s confession, she had dropped everything in her urgent need to see Lucca. It was true that honour demanded that she immediately make every effort to express her regret for not having had greater faith in him two years earlier. But was that really the only reason she had fired off like a rocket to London?
Vivien found herself squirming at that inner question but she made herself answer it truthfully. And the answer was so self-serving she was thoroughly ashamed of herself. The instant the barrier of Lucca’s supposed infidelity had been swept from her path, she had wanted him back. Without the smallest fore-thought she had approached him in the desperate hope of saving their marriage before the divorce went through. Wasn’t that what her real motivation had been? Hopefully Lucca remained in blissful ignorance of her foolish secret hopes. So did that mean she just went back home because he had told her to go back home? Was that it? Had she really made her best effort?
She found herself striving to remember how many rejections Lucca had swallowed before she’d finally surrendered and agreed to go out with him. Lucca was very proud yet, three years ago, he had persisted in spite of her rebuffs. It would have been so much easier for Lucca to walk away and choose one of the many women who would have been flattered by his interest and immediately responsive. But Lucca had decided that he wanted her and he had not let pride get in the way of that objective.
Vivien straightened her bent spine as though someone had jabbed a well-aimed hat-pin into a tender part of her anatomy. At the first taste of embarrassment and hurt pride, she had been ready to give up. Shame enveloped her. Just three short years ago, Lucca had fought for her…did she have the courage to fight for him? And for their marriage? Was she prepared to ditch her pride and make the effort to persuade Lucca that their marriage could still have a chance? It did not take much time for her to make a decision: existing without Lucca was like being only half alive.
The limousine was already drawing into the station to drop her off and she clambered out for want of anything better to do. Noticing the ice-cream stains on her skirt, which she had forgotten, she groaned. She would have to buy a change of clothes before she could make a second call on Lucca, who had long since impressed her with the reality that whether she approved or otherwise, people made value judgements on the basis of appearance.
It took some time for her to find her way back to an area where she was familiar with the shops and it took even longer for her to locate a suitable outfit. Stiff with reluctance, for she absolutely loathed wearing anything that attracted the least attention to her person, Vivien chose an ice-blue dress. Lucca had always preferred to see her clothed in light, bright colours. Letting the pale golden weight of her hair fall loose round her shoulders, she brushed it smooth.
She took a taxi to the elegant residential square where Lucca now owned a Georgian townhouse. His interior designer had sold illicit pictures to a glossy magazine and Bernice had drawn her sister’s attention to the article. It seemed especially ironic to Vivien that Lucca should finally have given up the vast minimalist apartment that she had loathed only after their marriage had broken down.
Her body taut with tension, she climbed out of the taxi with thoughts that were wholly dominated by the enervating challenge of what she should say to Lucca. Someone shouted her name and, when she glanced up in surprise, a man with a camera took a picture of her and urged her to stay where she was to enable him to take another. At the same time other people were running across the road towards her, shouting questions. For a split second she was so taken aback by the onslaught, she was paralysed to the spot, and then she dropped her head and raced as fast as she could up the steps to ring the bell on Lucca’s front door.
The paparazzi crowded round her in a suffocating crush. ‘How do you feel about Jasmine Bailey now, Mrs Saracino?’
‘You were seen at your husband’s office this afternoon.’ A microphone was thrust in Vivien’s stricken face and more cameras clicked. ‘Is it true that Lucca made you wait for hours before he would agree to see you?’
‘Are you aware that Lucca is currently seeing Bliss Masterson? She’s one of the most beautiful women in the world. How does that make you feel? Do you find that intimidating?’ Horrified by the shocking intrusiveness of that cruel interrogation, and backed up against the door in her desperate desire to escape, Vivien could easily have fallen when the door opened abruptly. Happily, a strong arm braced her and lifted her smoothly over the threshold.
‘Vivien…are you trying to save your marriage?’ the last reporter screeched like a vulture just before the door thudded shut.
‘Are you all right?’ Wearing an expression of concern, her rescuer urged her down into a chair in the huge gracious hall. It was Arlo, Lucca’s Chief of Security, who had always been very kind to her
‘F-fine…’ Vivien stammered, her teeth chattering together while she struggled to still the tremors of shock still coursing through her slender body.
‘That’s good, cara.’ Another, infinitely less sympathetic voice interposed from several feet away. ‘I would hate to be deprived of the opportunity of telling you that coming here tonight has to be the stupidest thing you have ever done!’
CHAPTER THREE
AGHAST at that condemnation, Vivien focused on Lucca as he strode towards her. The sight of him transfixed her and slashed like a cruel blade through her concentration. She, who had always liked to argue that looks were a superficial thing and not half so important as intellect and personality, was utterly dazzled by Lucca’s raw masculine vibrancy. He was so gorgeous that just looking at his lean, strong face and hard, powerful body made her feel dizzy and weak.
‘How on earth can you say that?’ Vivien fumbled and found those words with difficulty and rose hurriedly up from the chair to defend herself. Lucca would steamroller over her and verbally pound her into submission if she did not fight back.
‘It was obvious that the press would pounce at the first sign that you were reacting to the Bailey woman’s confession!’ Lucca proclaimed, his anger given a keener edge by the shocked pallor of fright that she still wore.
‘I was so wound up by all this,’ Vivien admitted ruefully with the frankness that was a great part of her charm, ‘that I’m afraid that that risk just didn’t occur to me.’
‘But it should’ve done.’ Lucca was too exasperated to be softened by the genuine regret clouding her lovely green eyes. Tomorrow the newspapers would carry unflattering photos of her clad like a tiny fragile ghost in a very strange wispy dress with fluttering sleeves and a fussy handkerchief hem. A fashion accident of pile-up proportions, it had most probably leapt right off the hanger into Vivien’s appreciative arms.
‘Yes…do you think I could have a drink?’ Vivien enquired in an apologetic undertone, for she was still feeling distinctly unsteady on her feet. But then it was hardly surprising that she should feel faint when she had not eaten since breakfast-time, she conceded ruefully. Recalling the restorative powers of the brandy she had imbibed in Lucca’s office, she decided to temporarily set aside her objections to alcohol and make use of it on what was a momentous occasion.
Another drink? Lucca was startled