‘Sofia, please let me explain.’ Roberto grasped her hand, his touch searing her skin.
She snatched it away, her head spinning as she backed along the table. ‘That’s why Vittorio taunted me to taste one. Not because he knew about my anosmia but because he wanted me to know. That you’d betrayed me.’
‘Sofia no—’
‘He wanted to humiliate me just like your father did to my mother. Is that what you wanted?’ Sofia dug her fingernails into her clenched fists, fighting the swell of stinging tears.‘I would never do that. I ordered our staff not to serve the ornella chocolate, only the l’artista. Vittorio must have reserved a tray for you.’
‘Stop blaming him,’ Sofia snapped. ‘Vittorio wasn’t with me in Baraldo. He didn’t wear a blindfold and steal my recipe. He didn’t seduce me into his kitchen. Or his bed. You did.’ Sofia’s body trembled, her heart pounding with such force she imagined it shattering inside her.
‘Please, Sofia. Just let me explain.’ Roberto’s voice shook as he looked at her, his hand raised beseechingly against his chest.
Nothing could justify what he’d done but a tiny part of Sofia flickered with hope, that by some miracle he had the words to dull the pain writhing inside her. Fighting the urge to flee the room, she rested against the tabletop and stared at the intricate weave of the carpeted floor at her feet.
‘I’m listening.’
‘When I tasted your cioccolatino fiori in Baraldo it was like... a black shadow lifted from my memory. I felt pure joy. No sadness or grief. For a moment, your cioccolato washed away the pain of my past and I realised... I’d tasted that chocolate before.’
Sofia’s attention shot across to Roberto slumped against the table, his head bowed over, staring into his hands.
‘How is that possible?’
‘Years ago, my family used to holiday on the Italian Riviera. Matteo would join the artist retreats in the nearby mountains. One summer he took me with him.’ Roberto lifted his gaze to meet hers. ‘I met your mother there.’
‘What?’ Sofia bolted upright. ‘In Baraldo?’
‘Si.’ Roberto nodded as he swallowed, his jaw twitching. ‘Matteo joined your father and the other artists while I waited in the kitchen at Villa Castello, watching Rachel work. She wouldn’t tell me her secrets but she inspired me. The taste of her chocolate was unforgettable. So when I tasted your cioccolatino—’
‘It was the same as my mother’s,’ Sofia whispered, her head whirling as she rested back on the table. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? In Baraldo? You let me confide in you about my past. I told you I never even knew my father. And you’d met him?’
‘I barely spoke to him.’
‘That’s more than I ever got,’ Sofia gasped as she leapt from the table, away from Roberto. She paced across the room, rubbing her hand against her beating chest. ‘You sat in my mother’s kitchen. Why didn’t you tell me?’ Tears erupted from her stronghold, rolling down her cheeks in grief and anger.
‘Because it was too much.’ Roberto stood, taking a hesitant step towards her before thinking better of it. ‘Too much for me to tell... too much for you to hear. If you knew what I’d done...’ His voice trailed off as he looked at her helplessly, his chest rising with each heavy breath.
‘What? What could be worse than this?’
Roberto stared at Sofia despairingly, shaking his head as though too afraid to speak.
‘Please,’ she pleaded. ‘Just tell me.’
Roberto’s shoulders slackened as his gaze fell to the floor. ‘After Matteo died, your mother was back in Turin working for De Costa Cioccolato, you were a baby.’ A brief smile flashed across his face as he glanced up at Sofia. ‘She’d heard the news of his death and remembered us from Baraldo. She knew my mother had gone, that we needed help. So she came to Conti. She didn’t tell De Costa, knowing they’d forbid her helping their competitor. And then—’
‘Your father seduced her.’ Sofia sniffed, impatiently wiping away her tears on the back of her hand.
‘He loved my mother but he also loved yours, Sofia. I saw it. Everyone knew. It was humiliating for my mother.’
‘And for mine. When Umberto betrayed her to the press it ruined her.’ A surge of anger fired Sofia, remembering her mother’s tear ravaged face when she’d recounted the shame she’d suffered at the hand of Roberto’s father.
‘No, that’s not what happened. Your mother thought that because...’ Roberto exhaled loudly, rubbing his eyes as he arched back towards the ceiling.
‘Because what?’
‘Before Rachel came, it was me by my father’s side, hoping to impress him one day.’ Roberto dropped his hands, returning his focus to Sofia. ‘He barely acknowledged my existence, unable to even look me in the eye. But with Rachel, he came alive. When they made chocolate together his face would transform with pure pleasure and admiration. I prayed for him to look at me like that.’
Roberto shook his head as he picked up one of his chocolates, turning it over in his hands, seemingly transfixed by its shiny surface.
‘You were jealous.’ Sofia bristled at the sneer in her voice but she refused to feel sympathy for him. Not again.
Roberto tossed the chocolate back on the tray, snapping out of his daze to face her. ‘Si. Jealous. And afraid.’
‘Afraid?’
‘I overheard them arguing. Rachel screamed at my father that she’d tell my mother everything. Her words were like venom. I had to protect my mother.’
‘What did you do?’ Sofia shot out the words despite knowing his answer would only feed her heartache.
‘My father begged her to leave. Rachel accused him of using her, that he’d stolen her recipe journal. Of course he denied it...’ Roberto’s eyes gleamed with anguish. ‘He hadn’t taken anything.’
‘But you had,’ Sofia said softly, energy fleeing her body as she swayed against the Bonaparte’s table behind her.
‘I told Rachel my father had her journal,’ Roberto continued quietly. ‘And he would tell the press she’d given him De Costa’s secrets. I thought she’d leave us alone. When she didn’t I went to my uncle. Suddenly their affair was all over the tabloids, it was out our control.’
Sofia gripped the edge of the table, hope seeping out her pores as she absorbed Roberto’s confession. ‘All these years we blamed your father for stealing her recipes,’ she began slowly. ‘But it was you? My mother’s career destroyed, her life ruined, because of you?’
‘Si.’ Roberto’s gaze dropped to the floor like a chastised child with no defence.
‘But why use me?’ she asked, her voice shaking. Roberto jerked his head up, his shadowed eyes locking with hers. ‘You had the ornella recipe, why did you need me?’
‘Your mother used symbols for some of her ingredients. I couldn’t decipher them. When you told me you were going to Baraldo, where she’d lived, I thought you might unlock her secrets.’
‘The ornella nectar.’
‘Si.’
‘You must have thought you hit the jackpot when you found out I still had anosmia. What better way to get me to work with you. Trust you,’ she spat.
‘No, Sofia.’ Roberto’s posture stiffened. ‘My heart ached for you.’
‘But it made it so much easier didn’t it? How else would you have found out about the nectar?’
‘There are ways. Baraldo’s a small town.’
Sofia remembered the familiar way the locals had welcomed Roberto. ‘They already knew you. When we arrived in Baraldo.’
‘Si. I’ve been many times since my brother died. I funded the restoration project. It was Matteo’s vision to resurrect the artist colony and establish the gallery at Villa Castello.’
‘I went there. They were Matteo’s paintings?’ Sofia glanced at Roberto’s colourful chocolates on the table behind him, their floral motif now vaguely familiar.
‘Si, some.’
‘You own half the town. No wonder everyone was so friendly to you.’ She breathed heavily, her heart co
ntinuing its frantic crescendo. ‘You’re their benefactor.’
‘I’m their friend.’
‘Right. They’d probably do whatever you asked.’ She glared at Roberto wanting to drain each morsel of truth from him, like a masochist unable to resist the pain. ‘Like tell a gullible fool like me there’d been an avalanche.’
‘I needed to spend time with you. I never planned to hurt you Sofia.’
‘No, just steal from me, humiliate me,’ she hissed through gritted teeth. ‘You and your friends had me completely fooled.’ A fresh surge of heat boiled her blood.
‘I’m sorry.’ Roberto’s eyes glistened. ‘I’ve been blinded by guilt for so long. Your ornella chocolate changed my world; I thought if I gave it to my mother maybe... I couldn’t see another way. But you believed in me. I made the l’artista because I longed to be the man you thought I could be.’
‘I’m so glad I helped you see the light.’ Sofia’s voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘But you still made the ornella chocolate. I saw it.’
‘Si.’ Roberto hung his head as he nodded. ‘Vittorio had the recipe. When we were in Baraldo I arranged for the nectar to be sent to the Conti kitchen. They started production immediately.’ He looked across at Sofia, his face creased with torment. ‘But when I returned to Conti I ordered my staff to replace the ornella cioccolato with the l’artista. And they did.’
‘Except for the tray Vittorio saved especially for me? How thoughtful.’
‘He was furious with me for ignoring his advice. He was worried for my mother.’
‘Well, you can assure them both Lucia won’t lose another Conti man to a Bonaparte woman.’
‘Please Sofia...’ Roberto leapt forward. ‘Can’t we—’
‘It’s too late.’ Sofia forced herself to meet his aching eyes. ‘I can forgive the mistakes of a fourteen-year-old boy, grieving for his brother, desperate for his parents’ forgiveness.’ She swallowed, refusing to let the whirlwind of emotion steal her voice. ‘But you’re not a boy anymore. You’re so afraid to drop your guard, you’d prefer to lie than risk letting yourself be loved.’
‘After everything I’ve done?’ Roberto’s voice cracked. ‘Who could love me?’
‘I loved you!’ Sofia blurted, the words ripped from her heart. ‘When I thought I could never love again, I loved you.’ She held Roberto’s gaze, the sincerity of her words so vulnerable in the heavy silence, feeding the widening gulf between them.
‘Sofia—’ Roberto raised his arms towards her.
She didn’t move, grounded by self-preservation. ‘You said go big or go home. But that’s not how you live your life. If you did you would’ve taken a risk on me. Instead, you chose to betray me.’ Sofia gasped as her worst fear engulfed her, like a malicious I told you so.
Roberto dropped his arms helplessly by his sides. ‘I don’t want to lose you Sofia.’
‘But it was all a lie.’ Hope plunged like a dead weight to the pit of Sofia’s stomach, seizing her heart on its way down. ‘I was never yours to lose.’
They stared at each other, the short distance between them an insurmountable chasm that no words could bridge. The burden of their past forever drowning their hopes of a future together.
‘After tonight,’ Sofia straightened with pragmatic acceptance, surrendering to the truth that no words could change, ‘I never want to see you again.’
She flicked her eyes from Roberto’s grief-stricken face to pick up her mask and tie it around her head, hiding the evidence of her tears. For the final time she’d paint on a smile for the cameras waiting outside Palazzo Borghese, disguising the pain that obliterated her heart. The thought of never seeing Roberto again plunged Sofia into a world of darkness. Despair matched only by his deceit.
* * *
‘Caffe, Mamma.’ Roberto placed an espresso cup and saucer on the coffee table in front of his mother, cradling his own as he eased into the armchair beside her. His head pounded from insomnia and a torturous night fuelled with grappa. Both preferable to the relentless stabbing pain in his chest.
His mother looked foreign, sitting in his living room for the first time. Perched straight-backed on the edge of the emerald velvet sofa, she tucked her ankles daintily under her slender frame as though she wanted to take up as little space as possible.
‘Grazie, Berto.’ Lucia stared at the small cup for a long moment before turning to her son. ‘I was at the gala last night. I arrived late but I was hoping to see you there. A surprise.’ Her mouth curved shyly at the corners.
‘Si. We saw you when we were leaving.’ Roberto sipped his caffe, swallowing hard as Sofia’s heart-breaking words echoed in his mind. I never want to see you again.
‘Why didn’t you—’
‘Sofia recognised the ornella flower on your mask.’ Roberto searched his mother’s face for a sign of recognition. ‘I had to tell her the truth about everything.’
‘My mask? Vittorio arranged for me to collect it at the gala. It was so busy, I just... put it on.’ She looked at Roberto hopelessly. ‘I didn’t realise.’
The tension in Roberto’s shoulders softened slightly. ‘It’s my fault. It was my idea to use the recipe. To betray Sofia.’ He downed the rest of his espresso, longing for something stronger that would numb his pain. His guilt.
‘But the pictures in the paper this morning showed you leaving the gala, Sofia looked so happy, I thought—’
‘She was smiling because of our contract. Last night was our final appearance together. She never wants to see me again.’ Roberto cleared his throat, finding the words he had to ask. ‘Is that what you wanted?’
‘No.’ Lucia sat forward shaking her head, her face lined with sympathy. ‘Of course not.’
‘I thought maybe you wore the mask because you didn’t approve. Zio Vittorio said—’
‘That stupido mask!’ Lucia clenched her small fists together. ‘You wait until I talk to my brother. I know he’s trying to protect me but it’s... stifling.’ She sniffed tugging at the top button of her silk blouse. ‘He can’t let go of the past, of his mistakes. But I have to Berto, I’ve been away too long.’
‘You didn’t agree? That we should release the ornella cioccolato?’
‘No.’ Lucia leant across and grasped Roberto’s hands, the gesture so out of character he almost recoiled. ‘Your cioccolato, the l’artista, it’s the best product Conti has released since your father died. Even before then. When Vittorio came to me, I told him I wanted it to replace the ornella. I went last night to tell you how proud I am.’
Roberto’s heart lifted at the words he’d longed to hear since he was a boy. He’d dreamed of this moment. His mother’s loving caress, visiting his home, proud of him. But the memory of Sofia’s tear stricken face overshadowed any sense of joy. Haunted by her soul-destroying expression that she should have known better than to trust him.
‘Did you see the papers this morning?’ Lucia’s eyes glimmered at him hopefully.
Roberto nodded. Unable to resist the lure of seeing Sofia again, he’d scoured the papers as soon as they’d arrived under his door. They’d dominated the headlines. Images of them lost in each other’s eyes, embracing under the magnificent chandelier in the Galleria Monumentale. When Sofia loved him. Had she really said those words? Why hadn’t he said them back?
‘The reviews are better than we could have hoped,’ Lucia continued. ‘Everyone was talking about Roberto Conti’s great comeback. Vittorio said the board are thrilled with you. And you looked so happy with Sofia... I want you to be happy Berto.’
‘I don’t deserve her Mamma.’
‘Don’t say that.’ She squeezed his hands tightly, the aching tenderness in her voice bringing them closer.
‘I’d worried the l’artista would bring back memories of Matteo you’d rather forget.’
Lucia’s smile faded as she dropped her gaze, studying Roberto’s large hands cupped in hers. ‘That’s one of the reasons I loved it so much,’ she said quietly. ‘Remembering my two boys
so happy together. I never want to forget that.’
She let go of Roberto’s hands, reaching into her handbag beside the sofa to take out a tissue. ‘I should have believed in you Berto, you and Matteo when you came to us.’ She sniffed into the tissue, her hands visibly shaking. ‘I should have stood up to your father that day. Then maybe—’
‘No Mamma, I shouldn’t have run. I should have stopped when Matteo called out to me.’ Roberto bit down on the rip of emotion that sprang through his core, burning his eyes.
‘You were just a child. My baby boy.’ Lucia’s voice cracked, her eyes fixing on Roberto, raw with helplessness. ‘I couldn’t see a way out of my grief to be a good mother. It was my responsibility to look after you. Both of you. Don’t ever say you don’t deserve love because I failed to give it to you when you needed it most.’ She squeezed her eyes closed, her chin quivering as though desperate to resist her tears.
Roberto got up from his chair and tentatively sat beside his mother’s fragile frame on the sofa. Her musk rose scent awakened childhood memories of when she used to comfort him. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d sat so close.
‘I’m so sorry Berto.’ Lucia dropped her head in her hands, rocking gently as she wept.
‘It’s okay Mamma, it’s all over now.’ The finality of Roberto’s words marked his own despair at losing Sofia. He embraced his mother for the first time in over twenty years. She sobbed into his chest, wrapping her arms around him as they consoled each other for a lifetime of regret.
* * *
‘I was so nervous, Ann.’ Sofia slumped back on the Bonaparte’s chaise, her spirits lifting slightly seeing her sister’s cheerful face on her phone. If it wasn’t for the hospital bed in the background, Annabella looked the picture of health.
‘You don’t get nervous, Sof.’
‘Seriously, I nearly vomited before they arrived.’ Ever since the gala, Sofia’s already dwindling appetite had been replaced by constant nausea. She’d been a wreck preparing for her interview with Gourmet Cioccolato magazine that morning.
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