Kitabı oku: «Notorious», sayfa 4

CHAPTER SIX

THE colonnaded walkway was beautiful, shaded by pine trees and masses of brilliant bougainvillea. Jenny could imagine a Roman emperor with a string of courtiers strolling along it, sandals slapping on the flagstones. She wondered if Marco Rossini presided over his family like an emperor, parcelling out power to those who pleased him. Like Dante.

‘I’ve had the blue suite in the guest wing made ready for you,’ Lucia cooed at her. ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy staying there. It has a lovely view of …’

‘I don’t think so,’ Dante cut in with an air of haughty command. ‘Isabella will feel much more comfortable in the suite adjoining mine. Makes it easier for her to come to me if she has a problem. I did promise her my protection on this journey.’

It was the first Jenny had heard of his promised protection, but she didn’t contradict him, thinking she might need it if Lucia was planning to sink her snaky fangs into her. Putting her in the guest wing, away from the puppeteer’s support, was probably a ploy to make her more accessible to hostile action, as well as making her feel like an outsider, which she was, but she wasn’t supposed to be.

‘But Isabella is safely here,’ Lucia argued. ‘What possible problem could she have now?’

‘Do as I say, Lucia.’ No moving him on that point.

‘It can’t be done,’ she said with a much put-upon sigh and a smug look at Dante. ‘Anya Michaelson is already in the suite adjoining yours. Which is where you wanted her on previous visits.’

Dante’s grip on Jenny’s hand tightened, revealing a rise in tension. She glanced at his face. Displeasure was written all over it. ‘Anya came here uninvited?’ he bit out in cold anger.

If Anya was his current girlfriend, she’d just made a bad move, Jenny thought. Dante Rossini liked to order things his way, and not even the lure of sexual pleasure right next door changed that aspect of his character.

‘No, no. I invited her,’ Lucia replied, still smug about her initiative. ‘I flew over to Rome to do some shopping and ran into her on the Spanish Steps. She was most upset about your leaving so abruptly, without a word to her, so I explained about Nonno sending you off to fetch Isabella, and then I thought you’d like some relaxation with Anya after such an arduous trip….’

‘In short, you interfered with what was none of your business.’

His tone would have made most people shrivel, but Lucia obviously thrived on his anger, positively enjoying herself.

‘You should be more caring of your women, Dante,’ she trilled back at him. ‘I was simply saving you from a nasty scene with Anya when you finally caught up with her again. I’m sure she’ll now be ever so sweet to you, all primed to smooth away your travel fatigue.’

Jenny felt a strong distaste for this conversation. She looked at the pots of flowers spaced between the columns, pretending total disinterest in Dante’s sex life, trying to keep herself emotionally separated from affairs that had nothing to do with her. Absolutely nothing.

Of course he would have a woman. What man like Dante Rossini wouldn’t? And no doubt Anya was beautiful and very beddable. Despite his annoyance at Lucia’s interference, Jenny expected him to choose the ready pleasures of a lover, especially since the arrangement was already in place. The potted flowers were lovely; geraniums, petunias, impatiens …

‘Bad judgement, Lucia,’ he said contemptuously. ‘Family takes priority at a time like this. You can deal with moving Anya out while I’m introducing Isabella to Nonno.’

A huge tide of relief swept through Jenny. His connection with her remained firm. She was more important to him than anything else. No, the deception was, she quickly corrected herself. He wasn’t about to abandon her during this testing time, not when his grandfather’s peace of mind was at stake. That came first. She kept her gaze trained on the flowers, but she heard real shock in Lucia’s response.

‘Don’t be so unreasonable!’ she snapped. ‘It’s not going to hurt Isabella …’

‘This is not open to argument, Lucia. You chose to invite Anya. She’s your responsibility. Do whatever you like with her, but Isabella is to occupy the suite next to mine. Make no mistake about that,’ he said with steely authority.

‘Anya won’t like it!’

‘Anya should have waited for me to contact her. If I wanted to.’

‘How can you be so cruel! She loves you.’

‘Since when have you become an authority on love?’ he mocked.

‘The two of you have been an item all this year.’

‘Don’t play games with me, Lucia. You’ll lose. Every time.’

His tone had moved to studied boredom. Jenny had no doubt that for him the issue was closed. She could feel Lucia seething with frustration, but had no sympathy for her. To her mind, people who set out to make mischief should be caught in their own net and made to pay.

‘One day your insufferable ego will be your undoing, Dante,’ Lucia warned venomously.

A little shiver of apprehension ran down Jenny’s spine. It was probably Dante’s ego that refused to accept failure, forcing her into this false identity. If Lucia somehow uncovered the deception …

‘Don’t hold your breath waiting for that day, Lucia,’ he drawled, emitting a confidence that eased Jenny’s spurt of fear, though didn’t completely eliminate it. Two months was a long time to be under the gun from this ‘cousin.’

‘Anyway, I can’t deal with Anya now. Nonno is waiting for us on the terrace.’

‘He’s not waiting for you,’ Dante coldly corrected her.

‘I won’t be shut out of Nonno’s first meeting with Isabella. He expects us to be all together.’

‘I’ll tell him you’ve already met Isabella. I doubt you’ll be missed. Nonno will want to focus all his attention on the grand-daughter he doesn’t know yet.’

‘It’s a point of hospitality, Dante,’ she grated out angrily.

‘If you insist on accompanying us, I’ll let him know just how inhospitable you’ve been, putting your guest ahead of the very special family member Nonno wants to feel welcomed here.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with the Blue Suite! Isabella, I promise you it’s beautiful.’

Jenny didn’t want to be dragged into the argument, but the direct appeal to her couldn’t be ignored. The colonnaded walkway had led into a fantastic atrium where they had come to a halt while the conflict was settled. It had a central water feature—a pool covered with gorgeous water-lilies—and she reluctantly lifted her gaze from these to look at Lucia.

Her younger ‘cousin’s’ dark eyes burned with the demand that she fall in with her plan, woman to woman against the man who divided them. For a moment Jenny was almost tempted, just to rattle Dante’s overbearing power, but the situation was too tricky for her to negotiate alone.

‘I’m sorry you’re being put to so much trouble on my account, Lucia,’ she said as calmly as she could, trying to maintain a composure that hid a growing mountain of nervous tension. ‘It is difficult, being a stranger to all this.’ She gestured to the exotic surroundings. ‘Dante has shepherded me around all week. Having him close by will make it easier for me.’

The hand holding hers squeezed approval, making her feel too connected to him again, too aware of him in a way that would not lead to anything good for her. He was her captor, her jailor, and while he probably meant to give her a sense of safety, he kept shaking her up with an attraction she knew was treacherous. Having him in the suite next to hers was not going to make life here easier for her, yet being separated from him was too scary to contemplate.

‘A fine start, Lucia,’ Dante mocked. ‘You’ve had Isabella apologising twice to you in the past ten minutes, making her feel uncomfortable.’

‘I didn’t mean to,’ she flared at him, furious at being out-manoeuvred.

‘Then you can demonstrate a kinder nature by making instant amends.’ He waved her towards one of the wide hallways which ran off from the atrium. ‘I’ll make your excuses to Nonno.’

Her jaw clenched. Every atom of her being exuded hatred of defeat, the knowledge that she was forced to accept it. This time around. Dante had her cornered with no way out. He was very good at that, Jenny thought with black irony.

Lucia managed to stretch her mouth into a smile aimed at her. ‘I truly had no intention of making you feel uncomfortable, Isabella. Please forgive my thoughtlessness.’

‘I don’t mean to be difficult, either,’ she replied with an answering smile. ‘I guess I haven’t yet recovered from the shock of being presented with a family I knew nothing about. I can understand it’s a shock to you, as well.’

Lucia seized the excuse. ‘Yes. Hard to know what to do for the best. I’ll go and fix everything up for you and join you on the terrace as soon as I can.’ With a last challenging glare at Dante, she turned on her heel and walked briskly to the hallway he’d indicated.

‘Well done,’ Dante murmured, his warm breath wafting over Jenny’s ear, making her flinch away from the tingling sensation.

Her head jerked up, her eyes rejecting any form of intimacy with him as they met and held his. ‘Bella might very well have walked away after one day of this rotten family rivalry,’ she said in a fierce whisper. ‘Why don’t I do that, Dante? Remove any danger of being caught out. You got me here, which is all your grandfather asked you to do. Be satisfied with …’

‘No!’ He cut her off, ruthless determination stamping on her rebellion. ‘I’ve paid for the performance. You give it.’

‘One day is enough,’ she argued on a wave of panic.

‘It won’t be for Nonno.’ He released her hand and took hold of her upper arms, forcing her to face him. His dark eyes blazed with relentless purpose. ‘While ever he lives, you stay here, giving him whatever he wants of you.’

She instinctively fought against the overwhelming pressure of his demands, frantically searching for some way out. ‘What if he doesn’t like me?’

‘He will.’

‘Why should he? He doesn’t know me.’

‘Neither do I but I like you, Isabella.’ The tension on his strong face broke into a slow, sensual smile. ‘I’m beginning to like you very much.’

Her heart skittered in wild alarm as she felt her resistance melting. Her mind screamed that he had a woman and she must not allow his famous ‘charm’ to get to her. ‘I haven’t given you any reason to,’ she snapped.

He laughed, effectively zooming up his attraction quotient which was already far too discomforting for Jenny. Her head whirled with the need to block it out, stay indifferent to him.

‘All this time we’ve spent together, not once have you whined or wailed or wept about your fate.’

‘There was no point in kicking and screaming over what I can’t change.’

‘Exactly. Which is a surprisingly intelligent response from a woman.’

‘Then you can’t know many intelligent women.’

‘Or you’re not practised in using feminine wiles to win what you want.’

He was right. She’d never learnt to use feminine wiles, never been in the kind of environment where they might have been of use. In any event, if she read his character correctly, they would have been futile weapons in this situation.

‘Would they have worked on you?’ she asked, showing her scepticism.

‘No. But that wouldn’t have stopped most women from using them.’

‘Waste of time and energy,’ she muttered.

‘True. And I appreciate your pragmatic attitude. Needs must to get the job done. You’ve actually given me many reasons to like you, Isabella. Not least of which was the deft way you handled Lucia.’

‘As you said, you’ve paid for the performance. I was simply following your lead.’

‘With a nice little embellishment of your own at the end.’ He smiled again as he lifted a hand to touch her cheek in an admiring salute. ‘I’m sure you’ll handle the meeting with Nonno just as well.’

Her skin burned under the light caress. Her eyes burned with resentment over the cavalier way he touched her as he liked, always reinforcing the inescapable link between them. An increasingly dangerous link in Jenny’s mind.

‘Let’s get on with it,’ she said tersely.

‘It will go better if you relax.’

‘I’ll relax more quickly if you get your hands off me.’

He raised his eyebrows at the too-revealing comment and Jenny cursed herself for letting it slip. He lifted his hands out in a gesture of meaning no offence, and she felt herself flushing as she rushed into answering the heart-pumping speculation in his eyes.

‘You might own me in one sense, Dante Rossini, but there are some liberties you have no right to take.’

He nodded but the speculation didn’t go away and she inwardly squirmed under it, knowing she had just shown a vulnerability that completely undermined any pose of indifference.

‘Another first,’ he murmured in dry amusement. ‘No woman has ever objected to my touch before.’

‘I’m your cousin,’ she fiercely reminded him. ‘And don’t you forget it.’

‘Cousins can and do show physical affection.’

‘I can do without Lucia’s brand of affection. And yours.’

He cocked his head musingly. ‘Nonno will like your feisty sense of independence. I think you’re ready to meet him now.’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘No.’

‘I didn’t think so.’ She waved a careless hand, doing her utmost to appear relaxed. ‘Lead on. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.’

Out of the corner of her eye she could see him smiling as he ushered her over to a set of double glass doors which opened to a terrace overlooking the sea they had flown over only a short while ago. The old saying—’caught between the devil and the deep blue sea’—slid into her mind. It was precisely how she felt.

Focus on what Bella would be feeling, she swiftly told herself. Here she was, meeting her grandfather for the first time, a man who’d wanted nothing to do with her family until now. Any sense of affection was impossible. Curiosity, yes. Perhaps resentment, too, at being called in so late in the day, too late for her own father who’d died in exile, never knowing any forgiveness for his grave teenage sin.

She mentally blocked out Dante, training her gaze on the old man being helped up from a sun-lounge by a woman caregiver. He still had a full head of thick wavy hair, shockingly snow-white, framing a face that seemed all bones, the flesh obviously wasted by the cancer that was eating him from the inside. His skin was tanned from lying in the sun, possibly in an attempt to look healthier than he was. He wore a loose white tunic over baggy white trousers. Neither hid the frailty of a body which had probably once been as big and strong as Dante’s.

He was a dying man, maybe in considerable pain, warranting some sympathy despite the other circumstances that had brought her here. It was clearly an effort for him to stand straight and tall, determined on meeting her with dignity. Pride doesn’t die, Jenny thought, and Bella might well be prickly with pride, too, the outcast who hadn’t asked to be rejoined to this Rossini family and had no reason to bow to this patriarch.

Hold your head high, Dante had instructed.

She did.

And met Marco Rossini’s penetrating dark gaze with determined steadiness.

I am Bella. You are my grandfather and you don’t know me. This is not just a test for me. It’s a test for you, too.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THEY stood, face-to-face, studying each other in a silence that stretched Jenny’s nerves so far she could feel them twanging with tension. Marco Rossini was taking in every feature of her face as though trying to match them against some picture in his mind, and fear squeezed her heart as she read disappointment in them. Inevitable, she knew, because she had no Rossini genes, though maybe his disappointment was good for her. He mightn’t want to keep her here, since she didn’t look like the son he had banished.

His mouth finally broke into a wry little smile. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he said, his voice furred with emotion.

‘I’m sorry it was too late for … for my father.’ She hated speaking the deception that had to be carried through, but the sentiment was right if she’d been Bella.

‘So am I, my dear. So am I,’ he repeated sadly.

And her heart went out to him. It was sad, sadder than he knew with his grand-daughter gone, too. Tears welled into her eyes, remembering Bella’s dreadful death, and Marco Rossini reached out and took one of her hands in both of his, patting it comfortingly.

‘Your loss is even more grievous with both parents gone,’ he said in gentle sympathy. ‘I hope I can make up in some way for not being there for you.’

The tears overflowed, spilling down her cheeks. It was awful, pretending to be someone she wasn’t. This should be happening to Bella, getting a grandfather who would care for her. She shook her head, bit her lip, swallowed hard, desperate to regain some control. ‘I’m sorry,’ she choked out. ‘I didn’t mean to …’

‘It’s okay, Isabella,’ Dante soothed, quickly stepping over to a small table beside the sun-lounge, pulling some tissues out of a box and thrusting them into her hand. ‘I’m sure Nonno understands this meeting isn’t easy for you.’

‘Come and sit down, my dear,’ the old man invited, drawing her over to a bigger table shaded by a large umbrella. ‘Pour her a drink, Dante.’

The table was round, the chairs well-cushioned. Marco dismissed his caregiver as Dante poured the three of them drinks from a jug of fruit-juice, adding ice from a more expensive version of an esky. The men sat on either side of her and Jenny did her best to regain some composure, mopping her cheeks, hoping the eye-makeup she’d been taught to apply wasn’t completely messed up, taking several deep breaths to ease the tightness in her chest.

‘Where is Lucia?’ Marco asked his grandson, diverting attention from her while she recovered from her distress.

‘Re-arranging accommodation for Isabella. She had designated the furthermost suite in the guest wing for her, which I didn’t consider appropriate.’

‘Ah! So typical!’ the old man remarked ruefully. ‘I should have directed the choice.’

‘Lucia is used to being your only grand-daughter, Nonno.’ He nodded towards Jenny, a silent warning that his cousin could be spiteful towards her.

‘I’ll take that into account. But for the most part, you’ll have to be my watchdog, my boy.’ It was a reluctant admission of weakness.

‘I will,’ Dante assured him.

‘Put all business on hold. I want you here now. It won’t be for long.’

‘I’ve already done that, Nonno. I want to spend this time with you.’

The old man heaved a weary sigh. ‘I don’t have much energy these days. Thank you for bringing Isabella to me, Dante. She should not have been left alone.’

‘I’ll see that she is never without family support again.’

Jenny couldn’t let that pass. ‘I’m all right. I don’t need anything from you,’ she declared, shooting a frown at both Dante and Marco. ‘I didn’t come to get your family support. I can look after myself.’

The old man eyed her quizzically. ‘Why did you come, Isabella?’

‘Because …’ He forced me to, but she couldn’t say that. ‘Because I wanted to know where my father had come from. Dante told me why you banished him, but you know, it must have been terrible for him, too, knowing he caused his mother’s death. I think now he punished himself, taking on the hardships of living and working in the Outback. It’s a very isolated life. But he was a good man, a good husband, a good father. You could have been proud of what he made of himself.’

She barely knew where the words came from—stories Bella had told about her growing-up years on the cattle station in far west Queensland, her own instinctive spin on the tragedy that had led to Antonio Rossini’s exile, a need to resolve the bad feelings that Dante wanted resolved because that would free her in the end.

Her earnest outburst seemed to drive Marco back inside himself. He closed his eyes. His face sagged. His skin took on a greyish tinge.

Dante leaned forward, anxiously touching his arm. ‘Nonno, Isabella didn’t mean to be accusing.’

The heavy lids slowly lifted. ‘My boy, I’ve been saying the very same things to myself, ever since I read the investigator’s report.’ He turned deeply regretful eyes to Jenny. ‘What was done was done in anger and grief. I loved my wife very much. And I believe what you tell me. Antonio loved his mother very much. He gave you her name.’

Dante hadn’t mentioned that to her. It made more poignant sense of Marco’s disappointment. ‘You wanted to see her in me.’

‘Yes. Antonio looked very like her. I thought …’ He made an apologetic grimace.

‘It’s Isabella on my birth certificate but I’ve always been called Bella,’ Jenny said defensively, shying from being linked to the woman whom Marco had loved and lost. It made her feel even more of a fraud.

‘Bella …’ he repeated softly. ‘A fitting name. You’re a beautiful young woman. Your mother must have been beautiful, too.’

Jenny flushed at the compliment, knowing it wasn’t really deserved since her ‘beauty’ had been engineered by Dante. ‘I thought so,’ she answered stiffly, judging it to be the safest reply.

‘Do you have photographs of your parents you can show me?’

Jenny shook her head, answering with Bella’s own words explaining why she had none of the usual mementoes of her family. ‘The old homestead on the station burnt down when I was eighteen and in my last year at boarding school. My parents were away at the cattle sales. Nothing was saved.’

‘Another loss for you,’ Marco murmured sympathetically.

‘And you.’ Her eyes flashed understanding of his desire to see a pictorial record of the son who had lived out his life on the other side of the world.

‘Yes. But I chose to bring my loss upon myself. You didn’t.’

It was fair comment and she nodded her appreciation of it. She was beginning to like Marco Rossini. He didn’t come over as a cruel tyrant, ruthlessly wielding his wealth and power to punish or reward, more a man in the winter of his life, regretting mistakes he could not re-write.

She picked up the drink Dante had poured for her and sipped the fruit-juice, grateful for the cool moisture sliding down her throat. It tasted of pineapple and oranges. She needed the refreshment for the next round of questions.

A glance at Dante showed him watching her with an air of curious respect, as though she’d met more than his expectation in her performance so far. Which was a huge relief, since she’d been winging it with a mish-mash of her own feelings and what she’d imagined Bella’s would be.

‘Since you chose to live at the Venetian Forum, I thought Antonio must have told you some of his family history,’ Marco put to her. ‘Yet you said you knew nothing of us.’

‘He never spoke of you,’ she answered, though she had no idea of whether that was true or not. The question of why Bella had bought an apartment at the Venetian Forum had been tormenting her ever since Dante had brought it up. She had to produce a logical reason for it.

‘We had an Italian name. I asked my father where it had come from. He told me it was an old Venetian name. His family had lived there but when he’d lost them he’d emigrated to Australia, and Venice was a place in the past for him. He said I should only think about being an Australian.’ She lifted her chin proudly. ‘Which is what I am.’

The old man nodded. ‘It’s a fine country. I spent some time in Sydney, purchasing suitable property for our hotel and the forum. It’s a beautiful city.’

‘Yes. I love it,’ Jenny said strongly, wanting him to know she had no desire to leave her life for anything he could offer. Bella might have made that change but Jenny Kent couldn’t.

‘A big change for you from life in The Outback,’ he remarked, possibly thinking if she could adapt to that, she could adapt to moving to another country.

‘I had no heart for trying to run the cattle station after my parents died. There was a large mortgage on it because of the drought and …’

‘Too difficult for you in every respect,’ Marco murmured sympathetically.

‘Yes.’ She sighed over the immediate difficulty of trying to relive Bella’s life. ‘After everything was settled up, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do, so I went on what you might call a journey of discovery, travelling around until I found a place that appealed to me. When I came to Sydney, I found the Venetian Forum and …’

‘And you remembered your father was originally from Venice,’ Marco supplied helpfully.

‘It felt right. Like a sense of belonging. I loved the artiness of it, the colours of the apartments, the markets around the canal. I’ve always loved drawing and I thought about signing up for an art course but I had to wait until the beginning of the new year to do that. I made a good friend who was also into art and asked her to share my apartment so I wasn’t alone. She didn’t have any family, either. We were like sisters.’

Jenny desperately hoped that covered everything. ‘But then I lost her, too,’ she finished off, her voice losing traction under the dampening weight of sorrow that Bella’s death always evoked in her.

She closed her eyes and ducked her head, fighting another rush of tears. Bella should be here, not her. Jenny Kent had no one to care if she was dead or not. And Bella had been so kind to her, so generous in her sharing, so good to be with. She had deserved more from life, and maybe she had secretly yearned for this reunion with the Rossini family.

Jenny wept for her in her mind …. I can’t do this for you. I’m not you. Yet to survive she had to take Bella’s place for Marco Rossini. Dante would not let her go until the performance was no longer needed for his grandfather.

‘You have us now, Bella,’ the old man assured her quietly.

She shook her head and lifted a bleak gaze to the man she had to satisfy. ‘You don’t feel real to me, Mr Rossini. None of this feels real. I’m apart from it.’ That was the truth.

‘Give it time, my dear. I know about the accident that killed your friend. You’ve suffered one tragedy after another and it’s taken a good part of this year for you to recover from your own injuries, delaying the career plan you’d decided upon. Let this visit to Capri be a healing time for you, in many respects. We’ll get to know each other …’

Panic churned through her again at the thought of keeping up this deception every day for months. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t … ‘But you’re going to die, too,’ she blurted out, wildly hoping he would understand she couldn’t bear it. ‘Dante wouldn’t take no for an answer, so I came to see you, but …’

There was an instant hiss of indrawn breath from Dante, a tense leaning forward.

Jenny was too scared to look at him, too scared to utter another word. Her eyes frantically pleaded with his grandfather to let her off the hook.

The old man raised a commanding hand to his grandson. ‘There’s no need to be protective of me, Dante. Why should Bella risk growing fond of a man she knows is dying?’

‘You’re her grandfather,’ he answered vehemently.

Jenny trembled at the sound of his displeasure.

‘Who has never played any part in her life, never done anything for her,’ Marco replied reasonably. With an air of sympathetic understanding, he turned to Jenny, addressing her kindly. ‘My dear, I have no doubt Dante did everything in his power to steam-roll you into this visit. I’m sure he would have played upon your natural urge to see where your father came from.’

She flushed, ashamed of the lie.

‘Antonio was my son for eighteen years,’ he went on in a tone of sad yearning. ‘He was a boy of great promise. One thing I can do is fill in those years for you, if you’ll allow me.’

Her heart sank. Bella would have wanted that. Any daughter who’d loved her father would. She could feel Dante fiercely willing her to agree, hanging the threat of prison over her head if she didn’t. There was no way out.

‘I have very little time left, Bella,’ Marco added softly. ‘Will you help me to spend it well, correcting a wrong that weighs heavily on my heart? Think of me, if you will, as a treasure chest of memories you can open now, but will be forever closed once I’m gone.’

It was too persuasive an appeal to deny. ‘All right. I’ll try it,’ she conceded, surrendering to the inevitable once again. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thrown your … your failing health in your face. It just seems that …’

‘Death keeps cutting through your life?’

She nodded, feeling too uncomfortable to say anything more.

‘It’s different with me, Bella. My journey is simply drawing to a close. Only this business with you remains undone.’ He smiled encouragement at her. ‘Let’s finish it together.’

She managed a wobbly smile back. ‘I hope it will be good for you, Mr Rossini.’

‘Good for you, too, my dear.’

Not in a million years, Jenny thought darkly.

She threw a defiant look at Dante, not really caring about his reaction to her performance since Marco was satisfied with the end result. Besides, she was too drained of feeling by this traumatic meeting to worry about him at this point.

‘It will be all right, Isabella. I promise you,’ he said quickly, determined on soothing her fears.

He’d stand between her and any trouble. Jenny had no doubt about that. But he couldn’t promise it would be all right for her. It never could be. The deception was tearing her apart. The bitter irony was she had thought surviving a term in a women’s prison would be harder.

Bad choice.

Bad, bad choice.

Jenny Kent was more in danger of losing herself here than anywhere else.