‘No. I think that was a one-off just now—at least for tonight.’ She untied her sash and slid the dressing gown off into his waiting hands. ‘That bed looks very inviting,’ she told him, suddenly almost too tired to speak as she slid into bed.
He drew the covers over her. ‘I will be minutes only, Rose.’
It seemed like only seconds before Dante switched off the lamp and got in beside her. He hesitated for a moment, then lay flat on his back and took her hand. ‘Buonanotte, sposa mia,’ he said softly.
‘Good night, Dante.’ Rose closed her eyes thankfully, well aware that he’d wanted to put his arms round her and hold her close, but had opted for hand-holding instead. Good move, she approved hazily. His unexpected reaction to her news had cut deep. Any attempt at cuddling by Dante right now would have met with short shrift.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE RETURN TO the Villa Castiglione the next day was physically far less of an ordeal than Rose had expected. When she woke up she felt a moment of panic when she heard Dante in the bathroom, but then relaxed when she found that her digestive system was in good working order. No dash to the bathroom was necessary. When her new husband emerged, towelling his wet curls, he eyed her searchingly.
‘Buongiorno, Rose. How do you feel today?’
‘Good morning. I feel better, thank you.’
‘No nausea?’
She gave it some thought. ‘None at all.’
He relaxed visibly. ‘Grazie a Dio. You gave me much worry last night. But be truthful, Rose—are you well enough to travel today?’
‘Yes, definitely.’ Postponing the trip, even by a day, would mean explanations to her mother she would rather avoid right now. And a second round of goodbyes would be bad for Bea—and herself, if it came to that. Rose slid out of bed and stood up, shaking her head as he moved swiftly, ready to help her. ‘I’m fine, Dante, really. After a shower I’ll feel even better. What time do we leave?’
‘At ten. I will order breakfast.’ He put an arm round her. ‘What would you like?’
‘Just toast and tea, please.’ She detached herself very deliberately. ‘I won’t be long.’
Dante stood back, his eyes sombre. ‘You have not forgiven me.’
‘Not yet, but I’m working on it.’ Rose busied herself with choosing clothes to take into the bathroom with her.
‘You are shy of dressing in front of me?’ he demanded.
She turned in the bathroom doorway. ‘Awkward, rather than shy. I’m not used to sharing my life with a man, Dante. You’ll have to make allowances.’
He smiled crookedly. ‘Then, to avoid further awkwardness for you, I will dress while you shower.’
‘Thank you.’ Rose closed the bathroom door and got to work, grateful to Dante for not pointing out that there had been no awkwardness last night when he was undressing her. But today, illogically, it would have been hard to put her clothes on in front of him in the new intimacy of married life—which was something she had to get over pretty quickly to make that life successful, if only for Bea’s sake. She patted her stomach gently. For you, too, she added. After all, compared with life as a single mother, she was living the dream as Dante’s wife. His physical response to her, at least, was everything she could wish for. She would just have to work on changing that into the more cerebral love she felt for him. Not that hers was totally cerebral. Otherwise she wouldn’t be expecting his second child. Whatever her brain felt about Dante, her hormones were utterly mad about him.