‘Stress-induced alopecia,’ she explained tightly, releasing her hair as she looked back at him. ‘I had it cut and layered to cover it when I had my nails done last week because my pride couldn’t bear for you to look at me and think I’d suffered in any way without you. I was trying to prove to myself, too, that I was over you and now I know I am because all the love I had for you...you’ve just killed it.’
His nausea had returned with a vengeance. ‘Livia...’
‘I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses.’ Her eyes blazed with a hardness he’d never seen before, a look he instinctively knew she hadn’t given since leaving Naples. ‘I’m not prepared...’ she dragged the word out with a sneer ‘...to waste another atom of energy on a man who refuses to give me an inch of what he devotes to his business. Enjoy the rest of your life—I hope you and your business are very happy together.’
The footprints she made in the sand as she walked away with her head held high were covered by foaming ocean within moments of being created.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE RETURN JOURNEY was harder than the outbound journey had been. Livia had debated the idea of making her own way back to Italy but reluctantly decided against it. It would take twice as long as it would to fly with Massimo and she wanted to be at home with her brother.
She had walked away from him with her head held high and kept her own company since, her emotions veering from humiliation to anger and back again. The only emotion she wouldn’t allow herself was despair.
Her anger was directed only at herself.
She had been pathetic. Not only in her marriage but in the aftermath, after she’d walked away. When she should have reclaimed her life and moved on, she’d become stuck in purgatory, unable to sever the emotional ties that had kept her bound to Massimo.
They were severed now.
Their only communication since her disastrous attempt at reconciliation had been a text message from him that morning informing her they would be leaving the island in ten minutes.
She’d spent the night in Madeline’s chalet. She neither knew nor cared where Massimo had slept.
During the short flight on the Cessna to Nadi airport, she’d refused to look at him and rebuffed his few attempts at conversation. When they’d boarded his jet, she’d taken her original seat, stuck her earphones in and selected the most mindless movie she could find.
The moment they were in the air, she’d put the physical barrier around her seat up. It went perfectly with the metaphorical barrier she’d erected.
The one good thing about this return journey was that Massimo would only be travelling as far as LA with her. She had no doubt he would go straight to his precious facility.
When one of the cabin crew asked if she would like something to eat she readily accepted and forced the warm baguette filled with smoked cheese and prosciutto into her cramped stomach.
She would never allow her feelings to prevent her from eating ever again.
She had no idea if Massimo ate. She refused to look.
She still refused to look at him when they landed in LA, even when he hovered by her seat as if trying to get her attention.
‘Take care of yourself,’ he muttered after she’d ignored him for as long as he could tolerate.
And then he was gone.
She didn’t expel a breath until he’d left the cabin.
The baguette she’d eaten felt as if it wanted to expel itself out of her system. She held it down and left the plane too, escorted by a hefty security guard to a private lounge. She didn’t have to worry about bumping into Massimo. He would already be in his car.
But he wasn’t in his car.
Livia’s heart came to a shuddering halt when the lounge door opened a few minutes later and Massimo stood at the threshold looking paler than she’d ever seen him.
She knew what was wrong before he spoke, her heart already aching for him before the words came out.
‘My grandfather had a bad turn on the flight home. They don’t think he’s going to make it.’
* * *
The only illumination in the room Massimo sat in came from the machines hooked to his grandfather’s weakening body. The incessant beeping from them grated in his head like nails on a chalkboard.
He’d shifted the armchair as close to the bed as he could get it. His parents were sleeping in a spare room down the corridor. The medical team were resting in the adjoining room. His sister had gone home for the night, making Massimo promise to call her if anything changed.
Nothing had changed in the two days his grandfather had been home. Nothing apart from his steadily weakening heart.
Jimmy Seibua was dying. But he was dying in the home he loved. His bedroom had been turned into its own hospital room with everything needed to keep him comfortable and pain-free until nature finally took its course.
The door opened.
He didn’t need to look to know it was Livia. He would know her movements blindfolded.
‘Hot chocolate,’ she said softly.
He took one of the steaming cups from her with a muted thanks.
She placed her own cup on a ledge before pulling a thermometer from the dedicated medical cupboard and running it gently over his grandfather’s forehead. After logging the reading and checking the equipment he was hooked to, she pulled the other armchair closer and sat beside Massimo. ‘He’s comfortable. That’s the most important thing.’
Massimo nodded.
In the two days they’d been holed up in his grandfather’s home, Livia had left only once, a short trip to her apartment on the other side of the city to check in on her brother.
He could never put into words how grateful he was to have her there. Her calm, compassionate presence soothed his family’s nerves.
It soothed his nerves too. She could easily save her compassion for the rest of his family and pretend he didn’t exist but she didn’t.
‘How are you doing?’ she asked quietly.
He shrugged. He didn’t know how he was doing. He felt battered from the inside.
‘Have you eaten?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
Her small hand rested on his and gave a gentle squeeze. It lasted only seconds but it spread a little warmth into his cold veins.
He had to stop himself from reaching over to snatch her hand back and keep it tucked in his.
She stayed with him for the next hour. They didn’t speak but it was a companionable silence. When she whispered that she was going to try and get a few hours’ sleep, the warmth she’d brought into the room left with her.
Time dragged on. The clock on the wall ticked slowly.
The first hint of daylight seeped through the curtains.
Needing to stretch his legs, Massimo got to his feet and walked to his grandfather’s dressing table. His mother had placed a dozen framed photos on it for him, his grandparents’ wedding photo taking pride of place. Massimo picked it up and smiled sadly at the two beaming faces. How young they had been. How happy. And how in love. They’d met during his grandfather’s deployment in the Second World War. His grandmother, who’d come from a wealthy English family, had worked for a secret government agency during that period. She’d kept those secrets for all her life. The only concrete facts Massimo knew were that they had met and fallen in love. His grandfather had left his home on the other side of the world permanently to marry her. Her parents, dismayed that she’d fallen for a man with skin they considered too dark, had disowned her. Massimo’s grandparents had never allowed their subsequent poverty to get them down. They’d got on with life as best they could, raising a daughter, Sera, who was their pride and joy. When Sera married the Italian Gianni Briatore, they hadn’t hesitated to follow her to Italy and make it their home.
He tried to imagine the challenges they’d faced. A mixed race couple in a time wh
en mixed race marriages were frowned upon and in a time when most of the world was reeling from unimaginable horrors. Yet they had remained strong. Their love had endured. He didn’t think it a coincidence that his grandfather was first diagnosed with cancer within a year of his grandmother’s death.
His hand trembled as he placed the frame back on the dresser. His knuckles brushed the picture next to it, the one photo he’d spent two days blurring from his vision. This time, he picked it up.
It was his own wedding photo. He and Livia were in the centre, his parents to his left, his sister and grandfather to Livia’s right.
If smiles could be converted into energy, Livia’s could have powered a small country.
Massimo’s own joy was there too on his beaming face. The camera didn’t show that Livia’s hand had been squeezing his bottom when the photo was taken.
Their wedding day had been the happiest of his life.
His grandfather coughed.
Abandoning the photo, Massimo hurried to his side and took his hand.
His grandfather’s eyes were open. He coughed again. And then he smiled.
The love behind that smile could have fuelled the same country as Livia’s and it filled Massimo’s chest and spread through his veins.
He returned the smile.
He didn’t notice the tear that had leaked from his eye until it rolled down his chin and landed on their joined hands.
The filmy eyes closed and his grandfather drifted back to sleep.
He never woke up again.
Three hours later, with the family he loved at his side, Jimmy Seibua took his last breath.
* * *
Livia switched the dishwasher on and dried her hands absently on the front of her black trousers, wishing there were something else she could do but there wasn’t a single mark left to wipe down. She’d scrubbed the kitchen so hard it gleamed.
She felt heartsick to her core.
She’d sat with her brother during the full Requiem mass for Jimmy. Gianluca had held her hand and kept her supplied with tissues. She was so proud of him and grateful for his support but she couldn’t stop her heart from wishing it were Massimo’s hand she’d been holding.
Stupid heart. One day it would catch up with her brain and let him go for good. All the resolutions she’d made had been destroyed before she’d had a chance to put them into practice.
But what else could she have done? Massimo’s family had wanted her there while they’d nursed Jimmy in his final days. She’d wanted to be there too, with the old man who’d given her the most precious gift she could have received. A family.
The wake was being held in a marquee in the garden of Sera and Gianni’s home. Caterers had been brought in for the refreshments, allowing family and friends to drink and reminisce his memory unhindered.
After an hour of it, Livia had needed to escape and slipped into the house to hide in the kitchen. Massimo’s immediate family knew now they were getting divorced. He’d told them shortly after Jimmy’s death. All had privately told her that their marriage was their own business but, divorce or not, she would always be family to them.
She wished that could be true and wished that when she said goodbye to them all later it wouldn’t be for the last time.
She needed a clean break. There was no way she could move forward with her life if Massimo’s family remained a central part of it. She would be permanently reminded of all she had lost.
She hoped they understood. She hoped they could forgive her.
‘What are you doing?’
She turned her head to find Massimo at the kitchen door, his brow creased. His suit looked slightly baggy. Unsurprisingly, Massimo had lost weight. Livia doubted he’d eaten a full meal since they’d left the island.
She supposed he would go back to LA tonight. She was surprised he hadn’t gone back after Jimmy’s death and returned for the funeral. He’d stayed with his parents. She didn’t think she was imagining the growing closeness between them. She could only hope it was a closeness that lasted.
‘Cleaning up.’
‘You didn’t have to do that.’
She shrugged and stared at the floor. It hurt too much to look at him. ‘I wanted to.’
Massimo closed the door and stood with his back to it. ‘I want to thank you.’
‘For what?’
‘Everything you did for my grandfather and for all the support you’ve given my family.’
She raised her shoulders. It wasn’t a shrug but he knew what she was trying to convey. That she didn’t want or expect thanks. It was something she’d done because it was the right thing to do and because she couldn’t not do it.
He wondered if she had any idea what a difference she’d made this last week.
Their last conversation before his grandfather had been taken ill...he’d hurt her so badly. She’d put her heart and her pride on the line for them to have a future together and he’d thrown it back at her and denounced the love they’d shared as anything worth fighting for.
And yet here she was, still there, still giving the support he’d once taken for granted. Because he had taken it for granted. He’d become so damned frightened of his own feelings that he’d forgotten how good it had felt to go home and unload what was on his mind to her receptive ears and to lie in her arms and feel her massage the tension from his head and his shoulders. The errors he’d made... They hadn’t been Livia’s fault. They’d been his alone. But he’d punished her for them.
He’d pushed her away and shut her out one cold retreat at a time when he should have wrapped his arms around her and told her he loved her every single day.
After the funeral service, she’d joined the line of mourners waiting their turn to give their personal embrace to Massimo, his sister and their parents. She should have been by his side.
If she’d been at his side and he’d had her strength to lean on he would have found it easier to endure. He’d found everything easier to endure with Livia by his side. He’d forgotten that too.
‘When are you going home?’ she asked, breaking the silence.
‘Tonight.’
‘What’s happened with the prototype?’
‘Nothing. I’ve deferred the testing again until I get back.’
The raise of her shoulder seemed to indicate something different from her first raise but this was a shrug he couldn’t interpret.
‘Come back with me.’ The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
Her eyes shot up to meet his. ‘What?’
He rested the back of his head against the door as everything suddenly became clear. ‘Come back with me. To Los Angeles.’
She just stared at him, lips parted but no sound coming out.
‘Those things I said on the island. I didn’t mean them...’
‘They sounded convincing to me.’
‘I love you.’ And as he said the words aloud he felt a physical shift inside him.
‘No!’ Her voice ricocheted through the kitchen like a bullet.
‘Livia—’
‘I don’t want to hear it.’ She pressed her hands to her ears then finally met his eye. The pain reflecting back at him almost tore him in two. ‘And I don’t want to be the salve for your grief.’
‘It’s not about my grief.’ How had he been so blind? ‘I’ve been...’
‘I don’t want to hear another word of your lies.’ Her shoulders rose in shudders and her throat moved before she turned away to take her bag from the counter. ‘It’s too late. I don’t believe you. And even if I did, the answer would still be no. I could never trust my heart with you again.’ She slung the strap of her bag over her shoulder and stood before him. When her eyes met his this time, they were devoid of emotion. ‘I need to go.’
Something cold scratched deep in his throat.
He’d never fully recognised the love that had always reflected back at him until now that it was gone.
He moved to one side to let her pass.
She walked out of the kitchen without looking back.
When he could no longer hear her footsteps and all that remained was the lightest linger of her fragrance, his knees finally gave way and he sank to the floor.
Head clasped in his hands, he breathed in deeply, calling himself every name under the sun until he could hold it back no longer and punched the nearest cabinet.
The crack it made echoed through the walls closing in around him.
He brought his hand to his face. Blood poured from his knuckles but he felt no pain.
The only pain came from the bleeding in his heart.
His grandfather’s words at his party about having lived... Finally he understood them.
For the first time since he’d been a small child, Massimo wept.
He understood everything.
He understood that the blood in his veins never pumped as hard as it did when he was with Livia. She brought him to life. She had brought him back to his family. She had brought joy and love to his cold heart. She had lit the way and pulled him out of the darkness he hadn’t realised he’d become lost in.
He understood, finally, that he could live in the warmth of her love or die in the cold of that darkness.
* * *
Livia hauled the shopping bags into the ground-floor apartment and closed the door with her bottom, craning her ears for the sound of the gaming console. Since she’d returned to her apartment after Jimmy’s funeral two weeks ago, the sound of fast cars racing had become the background music of her life. She never complained about it. She needed the noise to drown the sound of her tortured thoughts.
Today, though, the apartment was quiet.
‘Gianluca?’ she called.
A Passionate Reunion in Fiji Page 14