The High-Society Wife. Helen Bianchin

stood and bade their immediate guests ‘goodnight’.

      ‘I’m sure we’ll run into each other again before long,’ Famke offered silkily.

      Not if she could help it, Gianna vowed silently, barely controlling the itch to slap the actress’s face.

      Talk about eating a man alive!

      There were friends and business associates who caught their attention as they began threading their way through the ballroom, reminders of invitations exchanged and news of upcoming social events.

      She was conscious of Franco’s arm along the back of her waist, the light stroke of his fingers…an attempt to soothe her ruffled composure?

      Was he aware how his touch affected her? In bed, without doubt. The thought of their shared intimacy caused her pulse to leap into an accelerated beat. His mouth, hands…dear heaven. Heat flowed through her veins as sensation unfurled deep inside.

      She needed the physicality of their loving, to lose herself in him and believe, for a while, that he cared. More than mere affection, and their marriage, although forging an alliance between two families, surpassed duty.

      He’d never said anything. Not once, even in the throes of their lovemaking, had he mentioned the L word. And he never lost control. Something which irked her unbearably.

      ‘We’ll look forward to seeing you Wednesday evening.’

      Get with it, a tiny voice prompted, providing a memory jog…dinner party at the home of Brad and Nikki Wilson-Smythe. ‘Of course,’ she managed with a smile.

      It was a relief to eventually gain the hotel lobby, even more so to slip into the car and lean back against the cushioned headrest as Franco eased into the flow of traffic departing the city.

      Any attempt at small-talk was out, and she didn’t offer so much as a word during the relatively short drive home.

      Instead, she idly noted the passing scene through the windscreen. The bright neon lights, various vehicles, the dark indigo night sky, the sturdy leafed trees lining the main thoroughfare, an electric tram…the light sprinkling shower of rain that wet the bitumen and set the windscreen wipers in action. The changing cityscape as they reached the established suburb of Toorak, with its stately homes partially hidden behind high walls and security gates.

      An almost inaudible sigh whispered from her lips as Franco eased the Mercedes into their driveway.

      Strategically placed lights outlined the gentle curve lined with topiary that led to the elegant two-storeyed home Franco had purchased on his return from the States.

      He’d employed contractors to preserve the main Georgian-style structure, whilst completely renewing the interior to resemble the original. Refurbishment, beautiful antique furniture, original art gracing the walls, had made it one of the most admired homes in the district, receiving media attention when he’d acquired the adjoining property, razed the existing home and added a swimming pool and tennis court.

      Franco brought the Mercedes to a halt inside the multi-vehicle garage, above which resided a two-bedroom apartment occupied their trusted staff, by Rosa and Enrico, connected to the house by an enclosed walkway shrouded from the front by shrubbery. A functional gym and studio had been cleverly constructed to fit behind the walkway between the house and garages.

      Together they entered the large tiled lobby, whose focal point was an exquisite crystal chandelier and a curved double staircase leading to the upper floor.

      She adored the large spacious rooms, with a splendid mix of formal and informal areas occupying the ground level, the exquisite marble tiling and huge luxurious oriental rugs, and the main and guest suites situated upstairs, superbly carpeted in aubusson and furnished with genuine antiques.

      ‘Nothing to say?’

      Gianna paused and turned towards him, aware of his ability to read her so well. Too well for her peace of mind.

      ‘An argument in the car might have proved too much of a distraction,’ she managed evenly, meeting his gaze and holding it.

      One eyebrow rose in silent query, and she went for the direct approach.

      ‘Do you intend seeing her?’

      His expression didn’t change, although she had the distinct impression his body stilled, and for an instant there was something unreadable in those dark eyes.

      ‘Why would I do that?’

      His soft drawl sent shivers feathering down her spine, and her chin tilted a little in defence. ‘Because it’s what Famke wants.’

      ‘Your trust in me is so tenuous?’

      Gianna took a moment to compose the right words. ‘I won’t become a figure of public ridicule.’

      ‘You want a promise of my fidelity?’

      ‘Only if you mean it.’ She turned towards the staircase. ‘Promises can be broken.’ It was as good an exit line as she could come up with.

      Respect, affection, friendship and sexual compatibility formed the base of their marriage. Love wasn’t supposed to enter the equation.

      Yet it had, and she was willing to go on oath that a one-sided love was hell on earth.

      Gianna sensed rather than heard Franco join her as she reached the upper level, and she directed him a steady glance.

      ‘You evaded the question.’

      Together they crossed the spacious central area separating each wing and made their way towards the main suite.

      Gianna entered the room ahead of him and slipped off her evening sandals…a mistake, given it merely accentuated her diminutive height.

      ‘It shouldn’t require an answer.’

      Her chin lifted a fraction, and her eyes were remarkably clear. She held up one hand and began ticking off each finger. ‘We’re joined together in marriage, legally bound in business.’ Her gaze didn’t waver. ‘I deserve your honesty in our private life.’

      Something moved in the dark depths of his eyes. ‘Have I ever been dishonest with you?’

      She didn’t have to weigh her answer. ‘No.’

      ‘Accept that isn’t going to change.’

      Reassurance? Possibly. He was no fool, and she indicated as much.

      He moved close and saw the way the pulse at the base of her throat jumped to a faster beat. ‘A compliment, cara?’

      That was the thing…she wasn’t his darling. Merely a convenient partner when she longed for more…so much more.

      There were those among the social clique who imagined she had it all. The trappings of extreme wealth, a perfect job, the ultimate man… Yet she’d willingly give it up in exchange for his love.

      So…dream on, a tiny voice taunted. It isn’t going to happen.

      Franco took hold of her wrists, then shaped her arms to settle on each shoulder. He lowered his head and sought her lips with his own, nibbling a little, teasing until he sensed her breath catch.

      She nipped at his lower lip with her teeth, held on for a few seconds, then eased back. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

      Stupid question. She knew exactly what he was doing!

      His mouth captured hers, seeking, exploring, and wreaking havoc with her emotions as heat coursed through her veins, bringing her alive as only he could.

      Gianna felt the familiar swirling sensation begin deep inside, and she was scarcely aware of his fingers easing the spaghetti straps of her gown aside, or the zip fastening easing open…until the red chiffon slithered to a silken heap at her feet.

      Lacy red bikini briefs were all that separated her from total nudity, and her body shook a little as he traced the lace, following its pattern