It was broken by the arrival of a domestic, wheeling in a trolley laden with food. Plate after plate was placed on the table and silence didn’t give way. Abby watched Gabe from beneath shuttered lashes, studying him, trying to imagine him as a heartbroken eight-year-old.
When the servant left and the food was offering delicious, tantalising aromas, Abby spoke again. ‘Did you know she had a substance abuse problem?’
Gabe was stiff. ‘I was only a child,’ he said, his broad shoulders lifting with self-recrimination. ‘I suppose I knew something was wrong, but I had no way of knowing exactly what. It started about a year before we moved to Australia.’ His expression was taut, his whole body wound like a spring. ‘It got worse once we arrived.’
Abby shifted in her chair and, beneath the table, her toe inadvertently rubbed against his calf. His eyes seared hers with the heat that was always simmering just below the surface for them.
But Abby didn’t want to be distracted by what they felt physically. She sensed that she was on the brink of understanding something important. Something important about Gabe that she needed to know.
‘Why?’
She felt the depth of emotion in him and wanted to reach inside him and hold it, to reassure him and comfort him. But she couldn’t without knowing what motivated it.
‘You want me to explain addiction?’ he asked, but the question didn’t come across as flippant as Abby knew he’d hoped. It was desperate. Angry. She could see the eight-year-old he’d been now, feel his sense of rejection.
‘Your mother’s addiction,’ she said quietly. ‘Do you know why she took drugs?’
He sat straighter in his chair, as though remembering that he was Gabe Arantini, one half of the multi-billion-dollar Bright Spark Inc, a man renowned the world over as a ruthless CEO. ‘I know why she was miserable.’
‘Why?’
His eyes pierced hers then and she shivered because there was such cold anger in his gaze that it scored her deep inside. ‘Because she made the phenomenally stupid mistake of falling in love with my father.’
She felt his words resonate strongly: a warning to herself.
‘They weren’t happy together?’ Abby pushed. The feeling that she was on the brink of something very important held her still.
‘They weren’t together at all, period.’
Abby frowned, remembering threads of past conversations. ‘You told me that you destroyed your father…’
‘Yes.’ He nodded once, a cold jerk of his head.
‘He hurt her?’
‘He ruined her life,’ Gabe grunted.
‘How? Why?’
‘Because I hardly fitted into his plans, tempesta.’
‘He didn’t want to be a father?’
‘He was already a father,’ Gabe corrected. ‘A grandfather too.’
Abby frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
Gabe expelled an angry sigh, and now his eyes held resentment. ‘My mother was a cleaner. Here. In this castle.’ He waved a hand around the room. ‘My father was a lecherous jerk who liked to get his hands on the maids when his wife wasn’t looking—which was pretty often.’
Abby frowned, but she didn’t say anything. She didn’t want to interrupt him. Not now that he’d started to open up.
‘She loved him. When she found out she was pregnant, she was overjoyed,’ Gabe spat, his derision for that emotion obvious.
‘He wasn’t overjoyed, though,’ she surmised.
‘No.’ Gabe sipped his wine then turned his head, his eyes running over the view through the window. The snow was still falling—a thicker layer had settled on the railing now. ‘He paid her to have an abortion. And fired her.’
Abby gasped. She couldn’t help it. ‘You’re not serious?’
He didn’t answer. Her question had been largely rhetorical.
‘She took the money and tried to make a life for herself in a nearby village.’ His eyes shifted to Abby’s for a moment. ‘It was tough. Being a single mother to an infant is not easy, as you are well aware.’
Something was prickling at the edges of Abby’s brain, something she didn’t want to think about until later. But it offered darkness and doubt and complications she hadn’t been aware of when she’d agreed to this.
‘What did she do?’
‘She blackmailed him,’ Gabe said softly. ‘He paid a small amount to keep her quiet and refused to see us. I don’t think she even wanted the money,’ he said. ‘She wanted him to be in our lives. She really did love him. He was forty-five years older than her and he’d had a string of affairs. He was an out-and-out bastard to her, by all accounts. Apparently love makes people act like fools.’
‘Eventually, as he grew older, I suppose he became worried about what would happen when he died. Would my mother seek a share of his inheritance?’
‘She’d have been entitled!’ Abby snapped, ignoring the parallels between her own situation and that of Gabe’s mother.
‘Yes.’ His gaze narrowed thoughtfully on Abby. ‘But she wouldn’t have tried. As I said, she loved him.’
‘So what happened?’
‘He convinced her to go back to her home. He bought her ticket, told her he would come and see us, that if we were over there it would be easier for him to visit and be in our lives. He offered her a lot of money to leave Italy.’
Gabe’s face was taut with anger. ‘He lied to her. He wanted her gone. He knew he would never visit, but he also knew that once she was in Australia it would be harder for her to come here.’
‘But he gave her money…’
‘He promised to give her money. It never eventuated. Once she landed he broke it off.’
‘Oh, God.’
‘So I can only presume it caused her to do whatever she could to blot out the pain.’
‘Gabe…’ Abby’s heart was swelling with sympathy and sorrow for both his mother and him—then and now. ‘That’s awful.’
Gabe’s nod was a sharp dismissal. ‘He was a bastard, as I said.’
‘But he must have had a change of heart,’ Abby said thoughtfully. ‘To leave you the castle…’
‘Leave it to me?’ Gabe let out a harsh laugh. ‘He was in his nineties when I bought it from him. His finances had been draining for years. The castle was all he had left.’
Something like pure hatred flashed in his face. ‘I took it from him for her, you know. I wanted my father to die knowing that I was living here.’
‘Oh, Gabe…’ She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Why? I did what I needed. I made him pay. I avenged her life and death, her abuse at my father’s hands. I only wish his wife had lived to learn about me.’
A shiver ran down Abby’s spine; Gabe’s hatred and animosity were formidable. She couldn’t imagine being on the receiving end of that degree of rage. It made his anger with her, her intention to deceive him, pale in comparison.
‘Did he know she’d died? That you were left alone out there?’
‘Yes.’
Abby’s eyes swept shut. The rejection was awful and astounding.
‘So you see why it is very important to me that Raf grows up knowing his parents love and want him; why I want him to see that I live to protect him, to protect you both. I never wish him to have a reason to doubt that.’ His frown deepened. ‘You must also understand that if I had known about him sooner I would have done everything I could to spare you the pain and financial burden you carried. I would have made sure you were comfortable and cared for, that you had all you needed. I would never allow a woman to experience what my mother did.’
Abby nodded, but it was impossible to take any comfort from his words. He wanted to do right by her but not because of who she was, nor because of the connection she was convinced they shared. No, this was all because of what had happened to his mother. T
he concern she’d allowed herself to see, to hope might be a sign of burgeoning feelings specifically for her, was simply a commitment to a duty he knew his father had neglected.
Tears sparkled on her lashes and she blinked them away hurriedly, but not fast enough to escape the notice of Gabe.
‘It was a long time ago,’ he said softly, misunderstanding the reason for her emotional response. ‘Getting upset won’t change what happened then.’
She nodded, dashing at her cheeks with fingertips that weren’t quite steady.
‘You met Noah through foster care?’
‘Yes. I’d been in the system a long time by then,’ he said, the conversation obviously one he wasn’t overly thrilled to be having. ‘The day he arrived at the same house was a turning point for me. And for him.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘Eat something, Abigail. You are too slim.’
She frowned. Was she? She had always been petite—her ballerina build partly genetics as well as from diet and exercise. But since having Raf she’d been stretched emotionally and financially. ‘I don’t always get time to eat,’ she admitted.
‘You’ve been busy. Raising a child on your own must have been difficult.’
Gabe reached for some serving spoons and began to heap various portions onto her plate. She watched with a frown. ‘You could say that.’
‘And the pregnancy?’
She blinked. ‘Hard. I was sick often.’
He shook his head. ‘I should have been there.’
‘You couldn’t have done anything to stop me from being ill,’ she pointed out, her heart thumping hard in her chest.
‘I tried to tell you,’ she said, though they’d discussed it before. ‘About Raf. I wanted you to be involved.’
His eyes locked onto hers and something strong and fierce surged between them, an electrical current that flooded her body with sensations. ‘I know that.’ He compressed his lips into a grim line. ‘And it’s just as well. I can’t think how I might have reacted if you’d chosen to conceal my child from me. I think that is something I would never have been able to overlook.’
She swallowed. ‘You’d probably feel a little like I did when I was dragged out of your office in Rome,’ she said tartly.
He winced. ‘A grave error on my part.’ His eyes held hers. ‘I am sorry, tempesta. I should have listened to you.’
How could she fail to be moved by his apology? She lowered her lashes to the meal and speared a piece of vegetable, but inside she was warming up from the centre.
But not for long.
‘I could have killed your father, you know,’ he said, so conversationally that Abby almost laughed. Except it wasn’t funny—not even remotely.
‘He was the man who should have been there for you, who should have loved you, and he was no better than my own father. He threw you out into the cold—and threw Raf out too. How you can not hate him is beyond me.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘Because he’s my father,’ she said simply. ‘And I see him for what he is. Flawed, yes. Broken, undoubtedly. But there is goodness in him too, and kindness. He’s just been too battered by life’s ill winds to remember that.’
Gabe let out a noise of frustration. ‘You make excuses for him because you are not brave enough to face the truth and accept that he is a disappointment. You are too frightened to live in a world in which you reject your father.’
‘I think it takes more courage to fight for who you love,’ she said with quiet strength. ‘To hold onto the truth of what you believe, deep in your heart, even when all evidence is to the contrary. I know my dad. I know how he feels. I understand why he acts as he does. And I forgive him that.’
He swore. ‘Do me a favour, Abigail? Never say such things about me. Never make excuses for me as though I need them. I know I am cold and ruthless and cynical—my father’s son in many ways—and that I am—and always will be—a loner in this life. I am happy with that. I don’t need you digging deeper and pretending there is more to me.’
‘A loner?’ she murmured, the smile on her lips heavy. ‘Hardly. You’re a father, and soon to be a husband.’
‘Yes,’ he said with a curt nod. ‘But our marriage is not about love; it is about common sense and practicality. Isn’t that proof of my coldness?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ABBY BARELY TASTED the scampi, though she was sure they were delicious. Everything looked to have been prepared with care and using only the finest ingredients, but her mind was reeling.
It shouldn’t have surprised her. She knew that what Gabe said was true. And yet her own visceral sense of despondency forced her to look deeper and acknowledge what she’d probably known all along.
Why had she been willing—no, desperate!—to go to bed with him? Because the connection she’d felt was that mythical, much talked about love at first sight. She’d looked at Gabe and known that they were meant to be together. That there was more to their meeting than a random happenstance and her father’s financially motivated manipulations.
It was him and her.
Fate had conspired to give them a baby, linking them for ever. Surely there had been something predestined and magical at work there, for now that she knew the story of his parentage she didn’t doubt that Gabe would always take great care not to conceive a child.
‘I’m sorry you have been worried about money,’ he said, apparently having no idea that Abby was still brooding over his revelations.
‘Yeah, well, working in a kitchen doesn’t pay very well.’
‘I don’t mean in New York,’ he said. ‘I’m talking about here in Italy.’ His frown was grim, self-condemnatory. ‘I overlooked this detail, and I truly regret that.’ He reached into the bag beside him and pulled out a black wallet, slender and long.
‘I’ve had cards drawn in your name.’ He passed the wallet to Abby and she opened it reflexively. ‘You’ll have no spending limit, of course. Buy whatever you need.’
The words were said without any expectation of a response but Abby sharply rejected the sentiment.
‘There’s cash too.’ He nodded, indicating a huge wad of hundred euro bills. ‘And I’ll have one of my assistants take on your workload. Anything you need—money, holidays booked, cars, if you wish to go back to America and see…your father, or anyone, she will arrange.’
A shiver ran down Abby’s spine. The delineation was clear—she was his wife in name only. Oh, and in his bed. But when it came to troubling himself with her concerns, he was washing his hands of it.
Abby folded the wallet and placed it in the centre of the table. ‘I don’t need any of that.’
He leaned forward. ‘You have already proved to me that you are not mercenary, but think this through, Abigail. Do you want to come and ask me for money any time you want to book a trip? To go on holiday?’
She swept her eyes shut. She had thought, of course, stupidly, that they would do such trips together. But of course Gabe was setting out a life that was far more private. Separate.
A loner in this life.
Her heart twisted. Just like that, the difficulty of her position became glaringly obvious. She had fought it, she had resisted, but such efforts had proved impossible. She was in love with him and he felt nothing for her, beyond responsibility. He was trying to right the wrongs of the past, to prove to himself that he was different to his father, Lorenzo.
Her future yawned before her, long and cold, save for the love of their son. Raf alone could make this bearable for her.
‘I want you to make a life here with me,’ he said gently, so that her heart ached. ‘A real life. You aren’t to feel like a guest. This is your house, your money. Our son binds us, tempesta.’
‘Tempesta,’ she said distractedly. ‘You call me that often. What does it mean?’
‘Storm.’ His lips twisted sardonically. ‘I thought it the first night we met—
that you had the power to move through me like a hurricane. I feel that still.’
She wouldn’t let those words come to mean anything. They were insufficient, meaningless.
‘Have you told your father we are to marry?’
Abigail shook her head. ‘I didn’t have time before I left and…’ The words trailed off into nothingness.
‘You don’t want him to know,’ Gabe concluded.
‘He’d hate this,’ she said simply. ‘I’d worry that it would be the last straw for him. You know? Since losing Mom, he’s just been so…caught up in the company and a huge part of that is…’
‘Hating me,’ Gabe supplied with a drawl.
‘Yes.’ No sense denying that. ‘When he found out I was pregnant with Raf, that you were the father, it was like I’d shot him.’
Gabe’s eyes narrowed.
‘Knowing that I’ve moved in with you… I don’t want to do that to him.’
Sheer cold anger met her gaze when she looked at him. He was furious—but why? ‘Do you expect our marriage will be kept out of the public eye? I am a well-known figure, and you are too. At some point the media will discover our union. Isn’t it better for your father to hear it first from us?’
‘No.’ She shook her head quickly. ‘Absolutely not. It’s best of all if he never knows.’
‘But I’ve just pointed out how unlikely that is.’
‘Unlikely isn’t definite,’ she said urgently. ‘There’s still a chance.’
* * *
The noise was shrill, panicked. He sat bolt upright, rubbing a hand across his face, trying to work out what the hell was going on. He turned around and saw her. Abby, crying out in her sleep. He stared at her and an adrenal response fired in his belly. He reached for her, shaking her shoulder gently. ‘Wake up, Abby.’
She pulled a face in her sleep but didn’t open her eyes.
‘You’re dreaming.’
She mumbled something, words he didn’t hear, so he did the only thing he could. He kissed her, swallowing the panic, tasting it, and returning it as passion. She responded instantly, wrapping her arms around his neck and, when he lifted his head a little, her eyes were open. Groggy and thick with passionate entreaty.
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