His meaning was clear. But Antonia shook her head at it. ‘We’ve been away on a week’s holiday,’ she explained. ‘And only arrived back late this afternoon. Today is the housekeeper’s day off. I haven’t seen Carlotta, had a chance to check messages or do anything other than get ready to come here.’
‘So the guy hasn’t resorted to censoring your messages yet?’ He smiled a trifle cynically. ‘I did begin to wonder when I couldn’t get to speak to you personally,’ he admitted. ‘Because you can bet your sweet smile, my darling, that the moment I agreed to show in Milan, then Mr Patron of the Arts knew about it.’
He was implying that Marco had known about him being here in Milan and had deliberately kept the information from her! It seemed an appropriate moment for the music to stop. Stefan walked her to the edge of the floor and said nothing while she came to terms with the ugly possibility that he could well be right. For if anyone knew exactly what was happening on the art scene, here in Milan, then it was most definitely Marco!
The rat, she fumed. He might no longer want her for himself, but his inflated ego wouldn’t sanction him having to witness her with a man who would always want her!
‘Here.’ Stefan offered her a glass of champagne. ‘Drink this. You might feel better.’
Stubbornly dismissing the knowledge that she’d probably had more than enough champagne for one wretched night, she accepted the glass and drank the whole lot in a couple of determined gulps.
Champagne bubbles began to mix with anger in her blood. It was a dangerous combination. ‘I think I hate him,’ she announced with a deep sense of satisfaction for having said the words out loud.
‘Well, in that case the next few minutes should be interesting,’ Stefan murmured levelly. Dropping his eyes from a point somewhere over her left shoulder, he mocked her vehemence with a wry challenge. ‘This may be a good moment for you to decide how much you hate him,’ he suggested. ‘Because war is about to be declared, my darling.’
He had to mean Marco, she realised, and felt the champagne bubbles start to pop. Her soft mouth parted, her eyes grew dark, and a helpless kind of indecision sent her hand out to swap her empty glass for his full one.
On a sigh, Stefan gave a shake of his head. ‘You sweet idiot,’ he murmured. ‘Didn’t it occur to you even once that you might not be ready for a showdown with him?’
An astute question, and a painful one, because she had considered and accepted only this morning that she wasn’t ready for any kind of showdown with Marco. Now here she was, standing on the very threshold of one hell of a row—and in a room packed full of his loyal supporters.
Cuckoo in the nest didn’t even cover what she suddenly began to feel like.
‘Be brave, my friend,’ Stefan softly encouraged. Then—’Good evening, Marco.’ He smiled. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you again…’
But it wasn’t a pleasure for any of them. Standing close to Stefan still, Antonia was assailed by the familiar scent of Marco before she was assailed by the full impact of his physical presence. He arrived at her side, his shoulder level with her chin. As usual her skin began to shimmer at the near contact, her fingers curling tensely round the glass while she waited for him to say something totally unforgivable.
Yet all he did was offer Stefan his hand to shake and return the polite greeting without any obvious sign of animosity. ‘You’re showing at Romano’s all next week, I believe.’ As smoothly as that, Marco informed Antonia that he had known Stefan was here in Milan but had not bothered to tell her.
‘The doors open on Saturday,’ Stefan confirmed. ‘I was just asking Antonia if you were both coming to my private viewing on Friday evening,’ he added, with lying ease.
‘And of course she assured you that we wouldn’t miss it,’ Marco returned in the same lying vein.
‘Of course,’ Stefan smoothly confirmed. ‘Especially when I told her I have something for her to collect from me while she’s there.’ The smile at her puzzled frown and the teasing brush of a finger to her jutting chin were done, she was sure, simply to annoy Marco. ‘Let’s call it a belated birthday surprise,’ he suggested. ‘If you still have my Mirror Woman, Marco, then it may have some interest to you too,’ he added lightly.
It was a baited hook.
‘Sounds intriguing.’ Marco smiled, but Antonia stiffened at the mention of the painting that had given Stefan his fame—and herself her notoriety.
She had only seen it once since the first evening she had arrived in Marco’s apartment a year ago. The painting had been hanging in his study. When he’d shown it to her she hadn’t been able to hide her dismay, because she hadn’t realised that Marco actually owned the painting.