The Bride's Awakening by Kate Hewitt Page A

whisky—barely diluted by water—burned down her throat.
    ‘Now, please,’ Vittorio said, sweeping his arm in an elegant arc. ‘Ladies first.’
    Ana nodded and set her glass aside. She lined up her first shot, leaning over the table, nervous and shy as Vittorio watched blandly. Focus, she told herself. Focus on the game, focus on the business. Yet that thought—and its following one, marriage —made her hands turn shaky and the shot went wide.
    Vittorio clicked his tongue. ‘Pity.’
    He was teasing her, Ana knew, but she ground her teeth anyway. She hated to lose. It was one of the reasons she was so good at stecca ; she’d spent hours practising so she could best her father at the game, which she hadn’t done until she was fifteen. It had been five years of practice and waiting.
    She stepped back from the table and took another sip of whisky as Vittorio lined up his shot. ‘So why do you want tomarry me?’ she asked, her tone one of casual interest, just as he prepared to shoot. His shot went as wide as her own.
    He swung around to face her, his eyes narrowed, and Ana smiled sweetly. ‘I think you’d make an appropriate wife.’
    ‘Appropriate. What a romantic word.’
    ‘As I said,’ Vittorio said softly, ‘this is a matter of business.’
    Ana lined up her own shot; before Vittorio could say anything else, she took it, banking his ball and missing the skittle by a centimetre. She’d been a fool to mention romance. ‘Indeed. And you see marriage as a matter of business?’
    He paused. ‘Yes.’
    ‘And what about me is so appropriate?’ Ana asked. ‘Out of curiosity.’ Vittorio took his shot and knocked her ball cleanly into a skittle. Ana stifled a curse.
    ‘Everything.’
    She let out an incredulous laugh. ‘Really, Vittorio, I am not such a paragon.’
    ‘You are from a well-known, respected family in this region, you have worked hard at your own winery business these last ten years, and you are loyal.’
    ‘And that is what you are looking for in a wife?’ Ana asked, her tone sharpening. ‘That is quite a list. Did you draw it up yourself?’ She took another shot, grateful that this time she knocked his ball into a skittle. They were even, at least in billiards.
    Vittorio hesitated for only a fraction of a second. ‘I know what I want.’
    She had to ask it; she had to know. She kept her voice light, even dismissive. ‘You are not interested in love, I suppose?’
    ‘No.’ He paused. ‘Are you?’
    Ana watched as he stilled, his head cocked to one side, his dark eyes narrowed and intent as he waited for her answer. What a strange question, she thought distantly. Weren’t most people interested in love?
    Yet, even as she asked the question, she knew the answer for herself. She was not—could not—be interested in love, the love of a man, romantic, sexual. She’d tried it once and had felt only failure and shame—both feelings had taken years to forget, and even now she remembered the way they’d roiled through her, Roberto’s horrified look…
    No. Love—that kind of love—Ana had long ago accepted, was a luxury she could neither afford nor access. Yet did she want it? Crave it? Need it? Ana knew the answer to that question as well. No, she did not. The risk was simply too great, and the possibility—the hope—too small. ‘No,’ she said coolly. She leaned over for her next shot, determined to focus completely on the game. ‘I’m not.’
    ‘Good.’
    She took the shot and straightened. ‘I thought you’d say that.’
    ‘It makes it so much easier.’
    ‘Easier?’ she repeated, and heard the sardonic note in her voice. When had she become so cynical? From the moment Vittorio had proposed a marriage of convenience, or before? Long before?
    ‘Some women,’ Vittorio said carefully, ‘would not accept the idea of a marriage based on common principles—’
    ‘Based on business, you mean.’
    ‘Yes,’ Vittorio said after a moment, ‘but you must realize that I