Latin Lovers. Helen Bianchin

was conscious of his discerning glance seconds before he set the car in motion.

      ‘A little.’ She closed her eyes, and let the vehicle’s movement and the quietness of the night seep into her bones.

      ‘Do you want me to take you home?’

      A silent sigh escaped her lips, and she effected a rueful smile. ‘Now there’s a question. Which home are you talking about? Yours, mine or ours?’

      ‘The choice is yours.’

      Was it? The new house was completely furnished, and awaiting only the final finishing touches. Her own bedroom beckoned, but that was fraught with implication Teresa would query in the morning.

      Besides, she coveted the touch of his hands, the feel of his body, his mouth devastating her own.

      Then she could pretend that good lovemaking was a substitute for love. That no one was meant to have it all, and in Carlo, their future together, she had more than her share.

      ‘The penthouse.’

      Carlo didn’t comment, and she wondered if it would have made any difference if she’d said home.

      An ache started up in the pit of her stomach, and intensified until it became a tangible pain as he slowed the car, de-activated the security system guarding entrance to the luxury apartment building, then eased down into the underground car park and brought the vehicle to a halt in his allotted space.

      They rode the lift to the top floor in silence, and inside the apartment Aysha went willingly into his arms, his bed, an eager supplicant to anything he chose to bestow.

      It was just after nine when Aysha eased the Porsche into an empty space in an inner city car park building, and within minutes she stepped off the escalator and emerged onto the pavement.

      It was a beautiful day, the sky a clear azure with hardly a cloud in sight, and the sun’s warmth bathed all beneath it with a balmy summer brilliance. Her needs were few, the purchases confined to four boutiques, three of which were within three blocks of each other.

      Two hours, tops, she calculated, then she’d meet her bridesmaids for lunch. At two she had a hair appointment, followed by a manicure, and tonight she was attending an invitation-only preview of the first in a series of foreign films scheduled to appear over the next month.

      Each evening there was something filling their social engagement diary. Although last night when Carlo had suggested dining out she’d insisted they eat in... and somehow the decision hadn’t got made one way or the other. She retained a vivid recollection of why, and a secret smile curved her lips as she slid her sunglasses into place.

      Selecting clothes was something she enjoyed, and she possessed a natural flair for colour, fashion and design.

      Aysha had three hours before she was due to join her bridesmaids for lunch, and she intended to utilise that time to its fullest potential.

      It was nice to be able to take time, instead of having to rush in a limited lunch-hour. Selective shopping was fun, and she gradually added to a growing collection of glossy carry-bags.

      Bags she should really dispense with before meeting the girls... which meant a walk back to the car park to deposit her purchases in the boot of her car.

      Lianna, Arianne, Suzanne and Tessa were already seated when Aysha joined them. Two brunettes, a redhead, and a blonde. They’d attended school together, suffered through piano and ballet lessons, and, although their characters were quite different from each other, they shared an empathy that had firmed over the years as an unbreakable bond.

      ‘You’re late, but we forgive you,’ Lianna began before Aysha was able to say a word. ‘Of course, we do understand.’ She offered one of her irrepressible smiles. ‘You have serious shopping on the agenda.’ She leaned forward. ‘And your penance is to relay every little detail.’

      ‘Let me order a drink first,’ Aysha protested, and gave her order to a hovering waiter. ‘Mineral water, slice of lemon, plenty of ice.’

      ‘What did you buy to change into after the wedding?’ Arianne quizzed, and Lianna pulled a face.

      ‘Sweetheart, she won’t need anything to wear after the wedding except skin.’

      ‘Sure. But she should have something sheer and sexy to start off with,’ Suzanne interceded.

      ‘Honest, girls, can you see Carlo helping Aysha out of the wedding gown and into a nightgown? Come on, let’s get real here!’

      ‘Are you done?’ Aysha queried, trying to repress a threatening laugh.

      ‘Not yet,’ Lianna declared blithely. ‘You need to suffer a little pain for all the trouble we’re going to for you.’ She began counting them off on each finger. ‘Dress fittings, shoe shopping, church rehearsals, child chaperoning, in church and out of it, organising the bridal shower, not to mention make-up sessions and hair stylists practising on our hair.’ Her eyes sparkled with devilish laughter. ‘For all of which our only reward is to kiss the groom.’

      ‘Who said you get to do that?’ Aysha queried with mock seriousness. ‘Married men don’t kiss other women.’

      ‘No kiss, we decorate the wedding car,’ Lianna threatened.

      ‘Are you ladies ready to order?’

      ‘Yes,’ they agreed in unison, and proceeded to completely confuse the poor young man who’d been assigned to their table.

      ‘You’re incorrigible,’ Aysha chastised as soon as he’d disappeared towards the kitchen, and Lianna gave a conciliatory shrug.

      ‘This is a feel-good moment, darling. The last of the great single-women luncheons. Saturday week you join the ranks of married ladies, while we, poor darlings, languish on the sideline searching for the perfect man. Of which, believe me, there are very few.’ She paused to draw breath. ‘If they look good, they sound terrible, or have disgusting habits, or verge towards violence, or, worst of all, have no money.’

      Suzanne shook her head. ‘Cynical, way too cynical.’

      They ordered another round of drinks, then their food arrived.

      ‘So, tell us, darling,’ Lianna cajoled. ‘Is Carlo as gorgeous in bed as he is out of it?’

      ‘That’s a bit below the belt,’ Arianne protested, and Lianna grinned.

      ‘Got it in one. Hey, if Aysha ditches him, I’m next in line.’ She cast Aysha a wicked wink. ‘Aren’t you glad I’m your best friend?’

      ‘Yes,’ she responded simply. Loyalty and integrity mattered, and Lianna possessed both, even if she was an irrepressible motor-mouth. The fun, the generous smile hid a childhood marred by tragedy.

      ‘You haven’t told us what you bought this morning.’

      ‘You didn’t give me a chance.’

      ‘I’m giving it to you now,’ Lianna insisted magnanimously, and Aysha laughed.

      She needed the levity, and it was good, so good to relax and unwind among friends.

      ‘What social event is scheduled for tonight? Dinner with family, the theatre, ballet, party? Or do you just get to stay home and go to bed with Carlo?’

      ‘You have the cheek of old Nick,’ Aysha declared, and caught Lianna’s wicked smile.

      ‘You didn’t answer the question.’

      ‘There’s a foreign film festival on at the Arts Centre.’

      ‘Ah, eclectic entertainment,’ Arianne sighed wistfully. ‘What are you going to wear?’

      ‘Something utterly gorgeous,’ Lianna declared, her eyes narrowing speculatively. ‘Long black evening trousers or skirt, matching top, shoestring straps, and that exquisite beaded evening jacket you picked up in Hong Kong. Minimum jewellery.’