The Virgin's Sicilian Protector. Chantelle Shaw

had to work hard, and she’d loved it.

      For the next hour she concentrated on pinning and cutting the material, before using a sewing machine to make a neat seam that she hoped would be up to Rosa’s high standards. Finally she looked up, feeling reasonably happy with her efforts. She was sitting next to the window that overlooked the street and had a perfect view of Santino seated at a table outside the café opposite the dress shop and the beauty salon next door.

      The constant presence of a bodyguard following her around was going to make it difficult to spend a few hours every day at Rosa’s workshop, she thought with a frown. It would be easier if she told Santino that she was having sewing lessons, but she was reluctant to reveal her dream of establishing her own fashion label.

      Her stomach squirmed with shame as she remembered how he had called her a leech who relied on her father for money. At the age of twenty-five she knew she should be independent, although many of her peers in her social circle—the offspring of super-rich parents—lived off trust funds and vast inheritances. But she wanted to be her own person—whoever that was, Arianna thought wryly. She had spent her teenage years and early twenties hating her father, but the result was that she’d become someone she did not like or respect.

      As she stared at Santino she felt that strange breathless sensation that only he had ever induced in her. His long legs were stretched out in front of him and his impressive biceps showed beneath his short-sleeved T-shirt. She had noticed earlier that he had a tattoo of a snarling tiger on his upper right arm. He glanced at his watch. No doubt he was bored waiting for her but he would have to get used to it. It occurred to Arianna that she would not need to fire Santino—all she had to do was behave so badly that he was bound to resign from his post as her bodyguard.

      ‘Are you sewing or admiring the scenery?’ Rosa asked drily.

      Arianna quickly jerked her head round and felt her face grow warm when the dressmaker moved closer to the window and looked at Santino. ‘Is he your lover?’

      ‘No! Definitely not.’

      ‘A pity.’ Rosa shrugged her ample shoulders. ‘He is very handsome.’ She picked up the length of fabric that Arianna had been working on and inspected the neat seam. ‘Eccellente. You have improved a lot since last summer when you began sewing lessons with me. You still have much to learn, of course, but I can see you have a natural skill.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Arianna blushed again. She was not used to being praised, which was partly her own fault, she acknowledged. As a child she had sought attention from her various nannies by misbehaving, and she’d done the same with her father. At least when Randolph had been angry with her it meant that he’d actually noticed her. But mostly her father had treated her with crucifying indifference on the rare occasions when they met. He travelled extensively for his work, and Arianna had felt the same sense of abandonment that had been so devastating when her mother had left her behind to start a new life in Australia.

      Meeting Celine in Sydney after they had not seen each other for more than a decade had been a strange experience, Arianna mused. She had been shocked to discover that she had a half-brother, Jason, who was nearly fifteen. Her mother had explained that she’d been pregnant by her Australian lover when she’d left her husband and daughter. She had wanted to take Arianna to Australia with her, but Randolph had refused to allow it, and he had offered Celine a large amount of money in return for her agreement not to seek custody of Arianna or contact her.

      Celine had sacrificed a relationship with her daughter and accepted the pay-off from Randolph, which had allowed her to bring up her son. Arianna understood her mother’s reasons but it hadn’t hurt any less to hear that she had been used as a pawn in her parents’ bitter divorce.