At Her Latin Lover's Command. Susan Stephens

      It was her turn to wince. As they walked back to the palazzo in total silence, she felt sadness creep through her, filling every part of her yearning body. He felt trapped. He was young and virile and facing the daunting prospect of marriage to a woman he didn’t love—for the foreseeable future.

      She shrank at the thought. Maybe they had both made a mistake in thinking that they must stay together for Carlo’s sake. For Dante, a civilised divorce and shared custody might be a better solution.

      Though she would need assurances about her future role if she was ever to agree to such a drastic step. And she didn’t know how she would cope when he remarried—as he surely would.

      Miranda stomped along miserably, trying to sort out the mess they’d made of their lives. She knew one thing. Whatever they decided, she must clear the air. She couldn’t let him think she was a bad mother and an unfaithful wife. He had to know that she hadn’t treated her marriage vows lightly, even if he had.

      And that, she mused optimistically, might change his attitude towards her. She brightened up a little.

      ‘I think we need some time apart now. This has been tougher than I imagined,’ Dante muttered as he unlocked a small gate into the garden and deactivated the alarm. He glared at her. ‘When we collect Carlo later, I expect you to make an effort to be friendly towards me.’

      ‘Oh, I will,’ she assured him. ‘I’ll give it my all. And tonight,’ she added with steely determination, ‘we will talk this situation through. There’s some things we must get straight. And we need some ground rules.’

      ‘We’ll need more than rules to keep us in check,’ he growled, and before she could ask him to explain the cryptic statement he strode away rapidly through an archway of lemon trees.

      She filled the time wandering in the garden, trying to come to terms with Dante’s feelings about her. Tonight she would make him reveal who’d told him all those lies about her. And they’d confront this person together, she vowed grimly, demanding evidence.

      And somehow they’d discover what had happened that night she was taken ill. Maybe a friend had come round before the flu had hit her—though she didn’t know anyone who’d be able to knock back so much champagne.

      Her eyes darkened as she gazed out over the untroubled lake. The overwhelming temptation was to retreat into her shell and pretend that nothing hurt her. But now she realised that hiding her feelings had led Dante to believe she didn’t love him. Or Carlo.

      She had to go for broke. Dante needed to know how deep her feelings were, even if that meant risking his contempt and rejection.

      It was an unnerving prospect. Nothing she had done so far—concealing her misery at her father’s death, shouldering her sister’s upbringing and suppressing her longing for fun and freedom—had been as hard as this.

      But she loved Carlo and she loved Dante with all her heart. Misguided though it might be, she harboured a fancy in the back of her mind that if she persevered they could be a real family again. It was worth the try, worth the risk of being hurt.

      Nervous but resolved, she checked her watch and saw to her surprise that it was time to collect Carlo.

      At first, she and Dante were a little strained and false when they met him at the nursery. Their chatter was ridiculously bright and bordering on the inane. But soon she was caught up in her love for her child and the fun of seeing the world through his eyes.

      ‘Dat’s Mummy,’ he said proudly, presenting her with a painting consisting entirely of muddied splodges. ‘Mummy on de floor.’

      ‘It’s lovely!’ she enthused, spotting a small smear of blue—presumably her—in the middle of the brown swirls. ‘What am I doing on the floor?’

      ‘Larfing,’ Carlo said with a giggle and she swept him into her arms. ‘Mummy larfs lots,’ he told his father. ‘Mummy loves me lots. I love Mummy.’

      And she was subjected to an affectionate stranglehold. The ice had been broken and Carlo had confirmed the fact that she adored him.

      From that moment on, gradually Dante and she grew more natural and spontaneous in their reactions and the atmosphere between them eased.

      And their togetherness had a sweet poignancy that was not lost on her. Dante—at the moment—was playing at happy families. She was doing it for real.

      By the evening, her emotions were in a tangle. She had loved every minute of her time with Dante and her beloved son. And wished it could be like this all the time because in this make-believe world there were no nightmares, no accusations of infidelity and no lack of love.

      Instead, there was fun, laughter and affection. And lovely silly games, she thought in amusement as Dante plotted to ‘chase Mummy’ with Carlo, and began to stalk towards her menacingly.

      ‘No, help! Help!’ she squealed.

      She had let her hair down, literally, and her white-blonde mane streamed out behind her as she dashed barefooted through the hall with Dante and a delighted Carlo in hot pursuit.

      Pretending to trip over her flowing silk skirt, she allowed herself to be caught and they all collapsed in a laughing heap on the soft Persian rug.

      Carlo flung his arms around her neck in his trademark stranglehold. ‘I ’ove you, Mummy.’

      ‘I love you too, sweetheart,’ she said tenderly, giving him a kiss.

      ‘Mummy’s pretty,’ he said proudly, pulling experimentally at her soft coral top and accidentally revealing the lace of her strapless bra. He looked to his father for confirmation.

      ‘Yes,’ he agreed in a low tone, though she didn’t dare look at him. His voice was seductive enough. ‘Very pretty.’

      ‘Kiss Daddy!’ Carlo demanded.

      She hesitated, her eyes flicking to Dante’s where he lay winded beside her. This was a bridge too far. Hastily she busied herself with sliding her narrow shoulder straps into place and wriggling the top back down to cover the soft skin of her exposed midriff.

      ‘Kiss Daddy!’ Carlo repeated, his face puckering anxiously.

      She managed to smile in reassurance. Dante was beautifully smooth-shaven, she thought, her heart jerking with love. And devastatingly handsome, particularly now that his bow-tie had come undone in the mêlée and his top button was undone. That, the glimpse of tanned throat and his dishevelled hair just made him more irresistible.

      Leaning forward, she kissed him briefly on the cheek and quickly withdrew, too wary of betraying her longing for more. Old habits died hard, she thought, wishing she’d hugged Dante as she’d wanted.

      ‘No!’ Carlo crossly turned her head back. ‘Like Paolo’s mummy and daddy do!’

      ‘Silly Mummy,’ Dante murmured and kissed Miranda full on the lips.

      She imagined that his mouth lingered a little on hers but then it was gone, leaving her feeling very shaky. She rose with a rustle of silk and hauled Carlo into her arms.

      ‘I think,’ she declared breathily, in case her son came up with any more intimate gestures that Paolo’s parents might have indulged in, ‘it’s time for your bath and bedtime story.’

      ‘No—!’

      ‘Yes!’ they chorused, and exchanged the conspiratorial smiles of parents the world over.

      The instinctive communication between them made her feel good. It seemed that Dante’s hostility had melted away after an afternoon and evening of sheer fun.

      A child, she thought, can reach parts that nothing else can. And her hopes lifted several notches.

      ‘I can get to the top of the stairs before you do,’ announced Dante slyly.

      ‘Can’t!’ yelled Carlo, and set off at a great pace, his