‘Roxanne too?’ Caitlyn checked, and he nodded.
‘Antonia called her. She didn’t know at that point what had happened.’
‘But you told her?’
‘Roxanne did.’ Lazzaro let out a long breath. ‘She was hysterical. She said that we’d as good as killed him, that if I hadn’t come on to her, that if he hadn’t caught us …’ His skin was grey, the lines around his eyes so dark they looked as if they might have been pencilled in. ‘He came back, Caitlyn. God, he came back—and maybe he was going to get help. Maybe if we hadn’t been—’
‘Maybe he’d forgotten his car keys,’ Caitlyn snapped back, surprising even herself with her bitterness. But she was cross—cross with Luca, the Saint Luca Ranaldi he had somehow become, the man who in death had been excused his mistakes, exempted by his brother, by his family, for his appalling leading role in all of this—who’d had so much and been so careless, not just with himself, but with the happiness of those who’d loved him. ‘Maybe he’d come back to borrow some more money, or to tell you where to get off.’
‘Get off?’ Lazzaro frowned. Even if his English was excellent, sometimes he missed a point—but not this time, because Caitlyn wouldn’t let him.
‘I could put it far less politely—but I think you know what I mean. So, what did your family say?’
‘A lot. My mother was hysterical—she hit me …’ His voice was void of emotion now—detached, even. ‘She actually tore some of the stitches I had just had … Antonia vomited, told me she would hate me for ever, would hate Roxanne too—I told them it wasn’t her fault …’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘There are a lot of people who will hate me for ever … hell isn’t going to be lonely.’
‘I don’t hate you, Lazzaro.’ She looked at him for just an atom of time, saw the dart in his eyes, the tiny flicker of relief on his tired face. ‘Maybe I did at the time, or maybe I just said it to hurt you, but I don’t actually hate you now.’
‘Thank you.’
Which led to another tear—but only one. What she had to say, what she had to hear, was just too important to lose to emotion. ‘That’s why you and Roxanne didn’t carry on seeing each other afterwards?’ Caitlyn continued, watching him, watching every flicker of his reaction. ‘Just too much guilt?’
‘Of course.’
‘Of course,’ Caitlyn repeated in a clipped voice, watching again as he frowned at her response. ‘I don’t believe you, Lazzaro.’
‘What are you talking about?’
And for the first time since she’d sat down she did manage to look him in the eye and hold it—was able to stare into those dark liquid pools. Because, unlike Lazzaro, she had nothing more to hide now—nothing she couldn’t or wouldn’t reveal. Hell, she’d already told him she loved him, and had accepted his rejection. Funny, though, that through it all, dignity prevailed—that she, Caitlyn Bell, was actually incredibly strong.
‘You’re lying.’
‘Lying!’ His mouth opened incredulously. ‘I’ve been more honest with you than I’ve ever been. I’ve told you, told you what happened, and you have the gall to sit there and tell me—’
‘That you’re lying!’ Caitlyn finished for him, shouting the words almost, not caring who was watching, who was listening.
‘I spoke to Roxanne.’ She hurled the words at him. ‘I went to the woman I hate more than anyone in the world and I asked her what happened that day.’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘The same as you.’
She watched his frown, saw the confusion in his tired eyes.
‘Roxanne’s a liar—we both know that,’ Caitlyn spat, furious not with him, but for him. No, she conceded, her mind racing at a million miles an hour, furious with him too—for the agony, for the self-infliction of such pain, such guilt. ‘And you’re a bloody liar, Lazzaro, and you’re still making excuses for Luca, still cleaning up the mess he made.’
She stood up, hardly able to believe what she was doing—that she was walking out, walking out when perhaps he needed her the most, that she was furious when perhaps he needed calm. But she couldn’t help it—couldn’t contain what she was feeling within the parameters that might better fit.
‘After everything that’s happened, after all I’ve been through—with you, for you—you can sit there and look me in the eye and bloody well lie to me. If, after all that, you can still hold back the most essential piece of yourself, then—you know what? I don’t actually want the rest.’
‘Caitlyn!’
His voice barked at her to come back, ordered her to turn around and not walk out. But she did walk out, and she did what you’re not supposed to—Caitlyn looked back, just once, and she was actually glad that she had. She saw him sitting there, set in stone, frozen, immutable, and by choice completely alone, by choice refusing to get angry, refusing to see his brother for what he was, refusing to grab at life and move on. It was all the impetus she needed to walk faster—to shake her head in contempt and get the hell out of there. She was walking so fast she was almost running.
She could hear the frantic clipping of her shoes on the polished marble as she dashed through the foyer crying, not in pain but in anger, and she heard him run behind her, tempted, so tempted, to slap him as he grabbed her wrist and spun her around.
‘How?’ His eyes were livid, his question a howl. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because I know you.’ She jabbed the fingers on her free hand into his chest. ‘I know you’re a callous bastard, and I know that you’ve got a few scruples missing, but I know, I know, that you’d never, ever have stooped that low.’
‘How?’ He said it again, not livid now, more bewildered. ‘How could you know that?’
‘You already know that I love you …’ Tears were coursing down her face. ‘What you’ve consistently failed to see, though, is that I’m actually a nice person—and I happen to have very good taste …’ She even managed a smile as she said it—could smile because he actually smiled a bit. ‘And I have my standards, and I trust myself, and I just don’t think I’d have fallen so hard for someone I couldn’t trust. Someone who wouldn’t do it to a friend leads me to believe that he would never, ever have done it to his own brother.’
‘Not here …’ His voice was urgent as he glanced around at the lobby—the lobby where they’d started this journey and should probably end it.
Only she couldn’t. She conceded one final demand and nodded as he gestured to the lift, joined him as they headed towards the office—and it actually didn’t bother her as much as she’d thought it would. Lazzaro’s issues were somehow overriding hers.
‘Roxanne did come on to me—and I was pushing her off.’ He spoke even as the lift took them skywards. They were standing at either side, staring at the door rather than looking at each other. ‘I told her to get off—and I am using your polite expression here.’ She did look over to him then, and even if it wasn’t a big one, there was a small smile as somehow they slipped into their own world, their own language, the bit that was just about them. ‘She was all over me—saying she’d always wanted me—she dated Malvolio too, you know …’
The lift door sliding open went unnoticed. Caitlyn was stunned at this revelation, yet as they walked into his office she knew it somehow made sense.
‘That was how she met Luca?’ Caitlyn asked.
‘Malvolio was her ticket to Luca.’
‘Unlike me.’ She gave a tight shrug. ‘I just went straight to the top.’
‘Never,’ Lazzaro said seriously. ‘Never again will I compare you to her.’
‘She was even a horrible little girl …’ Caitlyn rolled her eyes and let out an angry breath. ‘Always messing up my things, breaking my toys—anything I had she wanted. You know, I’m not excusing Malvolio …’ Caitlyn was thinking more than talking, thinking out loud. ‘But you can see now why he’d hate you so—hate me too …’
‘I don’t want to think of him at all,’ Lazzaro interrupted. ‘I don’t even want to try and u
nderstand his twisted mind.’
And she didn’t want to think about him either. She wanted to think about Lazzaro, wanted to try and finally understand.
‘Why didn’t you tell your family what really happened?’
‘So I could humiliate Luca all over again?’ Lazzaro shook his head. ‘How, with his body still warm, could I tell my family that he had nothing? That the one good thing he thought he had in his life—?’
‘So you took the blame for him?’ Caitlyn said. ‘You let them think that it was you coming on to Roxanne instead of the other way around?’
‘Luca said that I took everything from him—maybe I did. I just couldn’t take that last piece.’
‘Luca blamed you because that’s what he did best—blamed you for his mess because it was easier than blaming himself, easier than admitting he had a problem, easier than facing up that his life was a mess. Luca knew what had happened as much as I know what happened,’ Caitlyn responded firmly, nodding her head as he shook his. ‘Hell, yes, he was jealous, and he probably wanted to think it was you, but he knew—he knew exactly what happened that day. He just didn’t want to face it—the same way he didn’t want to face anything …’
‘You really think he knew?’
‘Absolutely.’ And she watched as her words sank in, watched him blink as he opened his eyes to the truth, and it was like watching the clock go back, as if a great, filthy weight was being lifted.
‘Oh, Caitlyn …’
He was holding her, holding her so tight, kissing her face, kissing her tears, his hands everywhere—and even if he didn’t love her, would never love her, even if she should just push him off, she couldn’t. She would rather end it like this than the way it had ended before—would give him this because she needed it too, needed to feel him one more time.
Urgent, frantic sex was a great balm. His hands were pushing up her skirt even as hers grappled with his buckle. His mouth was hot on her neck, biting, bruising, thrilling. Lowering her to the floor, he was pushing her, but somehow supporting her, tearing at her stockings, her panties, and Caitlyn’s want was as prevalent as his. Pushing down his trousers, feeling his taut buttocks, she was holding him, holding the bit of him that she needed, wanted, adored—and it was beautiful—and it belonged inside her.
With each delicious thrust he called out her name, and somehow he was kissing her too, kissing her, licking her. His shoulders were over her and she was watching him, watching him and trying to capture him, to remember this for ever—and he had held back before, because even if the sex had been wonderful, this was it—this wasn’t him and her, it was them, one person almost. And maybe she had held back too, Caitlyn realised. He was so deep inside her, his hips grinding into hers, his body filled with a delicious tension that begged release. Perhaps she had held back, but there was no need to now. He knew she loved him; there were no secrets any more.
‘Oh, God, Caitlyn.’
He was calling out her name, and she was calling his, until she couldn’t, her throat closing on his name before she screamed it out, every muscle in her body tensing, her legs wrapped around him, her thighs dragging him in as he groaned his gift into her, as she accepted it, breathless, dizzy, but amazingly calm.
Afterwards they lay there—holding each other, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the world to come back.
‘Every time I look at this room now, instead of thinking about …’ He gave a laugh. But it wasn’t funny, and it wasn’t sad, it was just better.
‘You’ll remember me, then?’
‘Remember you?’ He propped himself up on his elbow, stared down at her. And she wasn’t crying, she was able to stare right back, to look at him and love him simply because she did. ‘I don’t have to remember you—I see you every day.’
‘You won’t be seeing me every day, Lazzaro. It can’t work …’
‘What was that, then?’
‘Sex.’ Caitlyn stared bravely back at him. ‘Fabulous, wonderful, and much-needed sex.’
‘That wasn’t sex; that was making love.’
‘For me it was.’ She gave a tight smile. ‘But we all know that you don’t need to love a woman to—’
‘I need to love a woman to make love to her like that …’ He frowned down at her. ‘You were really going to walk away—after that?’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘You know, you’re a strange girl, Caitlyn …’ He kissed the tip of her nose. ‘A very good girl who is actually a very bad girl too.’
‘But in a good way?’ Caitlyn sniffed. She wasn’t actually thinking about that now. Her mind was trying to concentrate, to focus on what he’d just said, and her heart that had just slowed down was tripping into tachycardia again as she wrestled with the impossible. ‘What you said about loving …?’
‘I meant it.’
‘Meant what?’ Caitlyn asked gingerly, nibbling on her bottom lip, scared to check, scared to ask, in case she didn’t like the answer, scared to even hope.
‘That I love you.’
‘Oh.’
‘I love you,’ he said again.
‘Me?’
‘Yes, you.’
‘Say it again.’
‘I love you.’
‘So, what does that mean?’
He smiled down at her, massaging her raw and bruised ego with his eyes and words, and she let him. She needed to hear it. ‘That I don’t want to be without you—ever.’
‘And?’
‘That I want to wake up to you in the morning. I want you to annoy the hell out of me. I want you to confuse me—I don’t ever want to know you—’
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ Caitlyn interrupted. ‘What you meant to say was that you want to know me …’
‘I know exactly what I am saying. I want to spend the rest of my life trying to work you out. I love that you confuse me.’
‘Oh.’ Caitlyn smiled, closing her eyes—because she could now, because she knew that when she opened them he’d still be there.
‘In fact I fell in love with you a long time ago.’
‘When?’ Her eyes were still closed, and she was smiling, his words like the warm sun on her face. ‘At the hotel? Or was it in Rome …?’
‘Shut up and let me talk.’
So she did just that. And she was so, so glad that she did, or she might never have heard his amazing answer.
‘On the stroke of midnight the night we first met.’
‘It wasn’t midnight.’ She opened her eyes and her heart to him. She couldn’t be quiet, just couldn’t contain it. Because it was just so wonderful, so amazing, that he’d felt it too—that love, their love, had always been real, that the torch she’d carried for him had had heavy-duty batteries for a very good reason. ‘It was ten to twelve. Because I specifically remember looking at the clock. It was at ten minutes to twelve that we fell in love.’
‘Just because you move fast, it doesn’t mean that I have to … I like to take my time and think about these things.’ He kissed her, kissed her between sentences—like a gorgeous long meal, like a wonderful smorgasbord, where you didn’t have to rush, could just pick and choose the good bits and go back for more whenever you wanted. You could start and finish with dessert if you wanted, or just get full on a thousand prawns. ‘I went into the ballroom and everyone was talking. I had friends around me, a good malt whisky in my hand and a beautiful woman on my arm, and I looked at my watch, and I looked at the closed door, and I wanted to be on the other side of it. I had everything a man could want—only it didn’t feel right because you weren’t there.’
‘I’m here now,’ Caitlyn said softly.
‘So am I …’ He rained her face with butterfly kisses, and she rained them back, kissing away all the hurt and the grief, chasing away all the horrible, scary shadows till there was only light left. ‘I’m here, where I belong.’
EPILOGUE
‘DO YOU want me to say something?’ Caitlyn offered as Lazzaro called for the bill.
‘The food was fantastic,’ Lazzar
o said. ‘Let’s not make a fuss.’
‘But every time we come here they get it wrong! I specifically ordered the mushroom risotto, and we got vegetarian arranchini.’
Lazzaro peeled off another note and added it to his already generous tip. They were sitting in one of the smartest cafés in Rome, and the waiter had in fact done an amazing job—deciphering somehow, from Caitlyn’s truly appalling Italian, that they wanted rice and vegetables.
It was bad.
Even after a year of flying between two amazing cities—even after having a son who had been born here in Rome—Caitlyn’s mastery of the language was poor, to say the least. But her Italian was delivered with such flair, such passion and enthusiasm, and such a warm, generous smile, that no one—not the doctors, nor the midwives, nor the hotel staff or even a waiter—had the heart to tell her.
‘Che era meraviglioso—grazie.’ Caitlyn beamed at the bemused waiter as she clipped little Dante into his pram and wheeled him out of the restaurant.
‘That was wonderful—thank you …’ Lazzaro loosely translated, rolling his eyes and mouthing another thank-you to the waiter, then joining his wife and new son on the street outside.
‘You’d think they’d never seen a blond baby.’ Caitlyn smiled as everyone who passed cooed into the stroller. ‘Mind you—he is gorgeous.’
And the image of Caitlyn.
Blond, already lifting his head and taking in the world, smiling and cooing at six weeks and refusing to sleep, he was a carbon copy of his mother—and Lazzaro, just as he was with his wife, was completely smitten.
‘Right—time to look for a gift. I still don’t get why some people don’t have a bridal registry,’ Lazzaro said as they wandered the streets.
‘We didn’t …’ Caitlyn pointed out.
‘Because you refused to—and just look at the pile of rubbish we ended up with.’ Lazzaro stared moodily into a gallery. ‘She’s been married already—she got everything she wanted the first time around …’
Celebration: Italian Boss, Ruthless RevengeOne Magical ChristmasHired: The Italian’s Convenient Mistress Page 14