“You always did think you knew me better than I knew myself.”
His mouth quirked at the corners in an echo of the mischievous smile she’d known years before. “And I was right.”
Before she could respond he’d dipped his head to hers and brushed her lips gently with his own. It was as if all the strength she’d spent years building had fled from her body and mind leaving only a clawing need. For an instant she shifted closer to him so their lips met once more but at the touch of his hands, running down the sides of her body, she was jolted back into awareness and pulled away.
She felt bereft—and humiliated. Within five minutes of being alone she’d made it plain that she was his for the taking. Had he come simply to do this? To show her up? To make a fool of her?
“Leave me be, Luca. I can’t do this. I don’t want this. You must go now. I have a meeting with my lawyer.” She dragged her gaze away, walked to the door opened it and waited for him to walk through.
He looked down at the bare floor for a long moment, before he turned to her, his eyes cool now. “So you have no regrets then, Isabella?”
“Why would I have?”
“Because we loved each other once; because you turned me away because I wasn’t good enough for you and your family; because you didn’t tell me about our child until it was too late. No regrets for any of that?”
He didn’t even sound bitter. Stated it as if he truly believed every single word.
She shook her head in confusion, unable to break through the barriers of guilt and grief and tell him the truth.
“None then. I see.”
He didn’t look at her as he walked out of the room. She heard his footfall on the spiral staircase, descending, moving away from her just as he had seven years before.
With one last glance around the beautiful room that had once witnessed the love affair that had changed her life, she closed the door.
The sharp click of her heels on the stone-flagged floor echoed around the great hall, now stripped of its priceless carpets and hangings. Numbly she passed through pools of grey twilight that crept in through arched windows, punctuating the darkness with a light that made the dark more sinister.
Part of her wanted to run away—leave immediately and go far away from here—from the memories seeing Luca again had unleashed. But the same impulse that had made her work hard at her interior design practice these past seven years to keep her sisters; the same impulse that controlled every aspect of how she appeared, of how she behaved, kept her walking toward the library. She had no choice but to carry on—to complete the paperwork on the castello and her new contract—because she still had responsibilities to her remaining family. She owed them.
She hesitated briefly outside the reception room where she heard the wine-fueled chatter and laughter of people sharing anecdotes of the past and hopes for the future as they continued to grieve for the old lady. Luca would be there. No doubt charming the villagers he’d been raised amongst with stories of his new life, lived among riches that most of them couldn’t even dream of. That was what he’d always wanted: a new life away from the old. And that’s what he’d got. Abruptly she turned and continued onto the library. Even if she had time she couldn’t risk seeing him again because she couldn’t face the memories that his presence unraveled in her.
As the heavy oak door to the library swung open, Isabella’s gaze was drawn to the lawyer, who sat to one side of the desk, his papers spread under the light of a lamp. He stood up as she entered and walked to greet her.
“Buona sera, Santino.”
“Contessa.”
She shook hands, increasingly puzzled by her lawyer’s uncharacteristic frown. Then, as he moved back to his seat, she saw Luca. He sat in the other chair in front of the desk, one foot nonchalantly resting on the other knee. Even as her body prickled with alarm, she felt the chill of control slide into place. It was habitual now; it was her only defense.
“What are you doing here?”
“Same as you. Business.”
She looked questioningly at the lawyer. He looked down, embarrassed, and nodded in agreement. “Signore Vittori is required to be here also.”
“Is that so?” She was reassured by the cool, smooth tone of her voice.
“Si, Contessa. Please be seated and we will proceed.” She hesitated but it was the lawyer’s look of deep sympathy and understanding that made her move behind the desk and take her seat. Something had shifted, changed, without her knowing.
The lawyer cleared his throat and began to speak. Isabella looked down at the papers that the lawyer nudged from side to side with his pen. She tried to focus on the words of legal jargon that fell from his lips like so many darts onto an open wound. But they began merging into one as Isabella’s mind refused to move beyond one name that kept recurring: Luca Vittori.
She held up her hand. “Please stop.” She felt sick to her stomach with the knowledge that she couldn’t yet accept. “Stop this. Just tell me in plain speech.”
“Si, Contessa. As you are aware,”—again the solicitous smile that made Isabella more fearful than anything else—“you sold the castle a year ago but now the owner requires vacant possession.”
Isabella nodded, her neck and head stiff with anticipation. “And as you are aware, Santino, the castle has been cleared of all possessions still belonging to my family. Those remaining have been purchased by the owner.”
“Indeed. And you have signed the requisite documents regarding the sale. And you have also agreed, informally, to work with the owner on the castle’s refurbishment.”
It was a statement but the lawyer looked at her expectantly. She nodded in agreement.
“Yes. For a period of three months. And I’m here to sign the paperwork for that contract. But what this has to do with Signore Vittori, I—”
“Isabella,” Luca’s voice was soft yet immediately she registered its impact and turned to him. “Don’t you understand yet? I am the owner. I bought the castle a year ago. It is me who hired you for your services.”
She knew; of course, she knew. The man who’d begun the fracturing of her family and its subsequent decline in fortune seven years before, the man who’d started all this, was now finishing it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I had my reasons.”
“I’m sure you did. You always have a reason for everything, don’t you? And I’m sure I know the reason. You needed to take revenge on my family. The boy who had nothing has now bought out the family who spurned him. It’s a reason. But it’s a pretty pathetic reason.”
The scrape of the lawyer’s chair alerted her to his presence. “If you can sign here, contessa, signore, I will leave.”
The harsh light of the lamp leached all the color and contours from Luca’s face. It was the face of a stranger, unreadable.
“You are mistaken, Isabella. I have no thirst for revenge. I assume you say this because you’re upset.” His voice was quiet and restrained.
“I say this because it is the only logical reason I can think of.”
“Perhaps in your world of snobbery and retribution. But in mine?” He shook his head. “No. The disdain your family showed me never made me feel less of a man then, or now. I have no need to hit out, to seek revenge.”
“Then why buy the castello?”
“I made a promise to someone.”
“I don’t believe you.”
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what you believe. Are you going to sign the contract or not? Santino is looking uncomfortable and wishes to leave.”
A flushed smile from the lawyer confirmed Luca’s observation. The truth was, she had no choice but to accept the contract. It would give her the money for her family to begin a new life. She leaned forward and signed her name.
Luca didn’t move immediately, he simply watched her through narrowed eyes. Slowly a small smile settled on his lips and lit up his eyes with what she assumed to be satisfaction. He thought he’d won.
<
br /> Anger pulsed through her veins, giving her the strength to fight back the memories his earlier tenderness had freed. Looking at him now—so sure of himself, so arrogant—the anger won and her memories receded like a low, spring tide, so distant they left no trace.
Her gaze rested easily on him now. Any lingering thought that he was there to see her—that he still felt something for her—had now vanished. He was out for revenge—whatever he might claim—and he’d achieved it. Knowing this she could face him and work for him. Her painful memories were in no danger of resurrection now.
Luca’s smile faded and he leaned forward and signed his name with a flourish, taking up twice the space of her signature.
The lawyer blotted the signatures, shuffled the papers together and made a rapid exit, leaving a chill silence between them that no longer held possibility, only distance.
CHAPTER TWO
Wearily Luca rose and walked over to the window. Lights from the village twinkled in the valley but all around them the dark mountains folded in on the castello. Dio, he needed a drink.
“May I?” He didn’t have to see Isabella to feel her tight fury, controlled but no less present for all that. It ground into his fatigue even further. He may have missed his grandmother’s funeral but her last request to him would haunt him for months to come.
“May you what?”
He sighed and turned to her then. Her grey gaze was direct and strong and cool and held no hint of the anger he felt from her.
“Pour myself a drink?” He gestured to the decanter and glasses on the cabinet. The library was obviously the last place to be packed away. Business. Of course, business over the personal any day.
Her cool gaze cracked as she glanced at the decanter, betraying some inward emotion which he had no chance to interpret as it was quickly replaced by the direct gaze once more. “If you must. As of now you own it anyway.”
His mouth watered at the sight of the rich amber of the whisky: it seemed his only comfort of late. He tossed back a large mouthful and turned to her. “Would you like one?”
“No. What I want is for you to tell me exactly what you require of me. I wish to be clear.”
He leaned against the window frame and studied her. How had such intimacy turned into such distance? He felt the chill in the atmosphere and he saw the chill in her pristine image. She had always been beautiful but now there was an edge that contained it. She looked closed. He pushed himself off the window and sighed. “Clarity is good.” He walked back over to her and sat down. “Well, Isabella, I want the castello refurbished.”
“That much, I’d gathered. Anyone could do that. Why me?”
“Because you know the place.” It was true but certainly not the main reason he’d employed her. “And knowing the place, with your eye, you’ll do a good job.”
“And how am I to refurbish my home exactly? What is wrong with it?”
He smiled at her instant prickling. “You know perfectly well what’s wrong with it. You’ve done your best with the family heirlooms but you’ve had no money to make it into the place you'd always envisaged it being.”
A spark of interest momentarily warmed her cool eyes, sweeping away the shadows like sunshine between clouds. She’d used to talk of how the castello could be transformed with color and fabrics and cutting-edge designer furniture. Then the clouds lowered once more.
“So presumably you want a stylish home to which you can bring your wealthy friends.” She stood up, her back ramrod straight, the smooth sweep of her brows framing her level gaze. “That’s fine. I’ll see you in the morning and show you some ideas.”
He noticed she had no difficulty in looking at him now. But now it emphasized the distance between them. He used to be able to read her like a book, but not any more.
“You have it wrong. I have no wish for a show home.”
“Come on,” her laugh was hollow. “That’s what you’ve bought the place for isn’t it? To impress your friends and enemies, to thumb your nose at me? Why pretend otherwise?”
He ground his teeth, willing himself not to rise to the bait. He placed his whisky glass on the table with deliberate precision.
“Again, you are mistaking your petty feelings for my own. An easy mistake to make when one lives such a narrow life. However, you are entirely incorrect. I will not be living here. I want you to turn it into a family home.”
He hadn’t thought about the effect of his words until he saw the hurt cut through her eyes, like the fracturing of a glaze. She turned away swiftly. It was only then that he thought that perhaps she did regret aborting their baby. She shuffled the papers together that lay spread before her and dropped them into a folder.
“And why is that? Easier to sell?”
“Certo. I’m a property developer. That’s what I do.”
Her fine, dark brows rose and fell with derision. “I thought it was cities you developed: Sydney office towers, commercial buildings.” She waved her hand dismissively.
Any sympathy at her hurt was swept away at her offhand referral to the business empire he’d created. “Money doesn’t sound so bad when you need it though, does it, Isabella?”
She walked to the door. “I’ll work on some plans and let you have them tomorrow.”
No-one else got to him like Isabella did. Not even his ex wife.
“Breakfast—at 7am. I want preliminary plans then.”
“I’ll have to work all night.”
“Si. I’m paying you enough, I expect you to be available to me twenty-four hours a day.”
“You haven’t bought all my time. I still have a private life.”
“No you don’t. I’ve bought you for the next three months. It’s my money that will fund the townhouse for you and your sisters; it’s my money that will ensure your sisters’ education. You owe me Isabella, and I suggest you begin to realize that.”
He took another swig of whisky, angry with himself for letting slip one of the confidences his grandmother had told him.
“How do you know about the townhouse?”
“I make it my business to know.”
“But this isn’t business is it? It’s personal. You do want to humiliate me. I just don’t know why you pretend otherwise.”
He shrugged. “You can think what you like.”
“If I’m wrong, tell me.”
He let the silence slip and lengthen between them. He’d promised his grandmother to look after Isabella. And he’d also promised her that he wouldn’t tell her. His grandmother had known if Isabella knew the truth her pride would force her to turn away from the contract that would ensure her and her sisters’ future.
“You can’t, can you? You never ran from the truth before. You’ve changed so much.”
“And you, too, Isabella.”
“Then there’s nothing further to say.”
She closed the door behind her, leaving a silence redolent with anger and betrayal. But who had betrayed whom? Luca didn’t know any more.
With his back to the window he finished his whisky and slid it along the table. But he didn’t leave. Instead, he remembered. Seven years before, he’d been in the same room at Isabella’s father’s insistence.
The large man’s handsome face had been almost purple with anger as he’s spat out his disdain for Luca and his father, warning him to leave Isabella alone, warning him to get out of the village. He felt the anger surge again, just as it had done then, just as it had when he’d grabbed the older man by his collar and held him there in a tight grasp and watched fear flicker across his face. He could have inflicted serious damage on him, but he didn’t. Instead he’d walked. Because part of him agreed with Isabella’s father. Luca wasn’t good enough; he had nothing to offer her.
He flicked off the lamp and listened to Isabella’s footsteps retreat to the guest wing where she’d be staying.
“Well, Nonna,” he looked up into the heavens, across the black valley, “I hope you’re pleased. Because this is going to be much, much
harder than I ever thought.”
The morning sun streamed across the desk as Luca punched out short email replies. He’d been working since before dawn, trying to catch up on the backlog of work that his absence had created.
He continued to work as the door opened and footsteps advanced toward him. He didn’t even look up when he heard Isabella clear her throat, merely indicated that she should sit. Aware that she was watching him, he let the minutes slide by as he finished his work, quietly closed the laptop and looked across the desk at her.
She was immaculately dressed, as usual, with her hair scraped back in a sleek French twist, gleaming pearls and a plain navy dress that fitted her like a glove and whose silk shimmered, iridescent, under the sun’s early morning rays.
“You said you wanted to see me.”
“Si. Do you have any ideas to show me?”
“Sure.” She pushed across the papers and, as she bent low over them, he noticed dark smudges of shadow under her eyes and a slight tremor of her hand as she held the papers.
He leaned forward and pressed a button on his phone, indicating to the maid when she appeared, that she should bring more coffee.
“You look tired.”
“Of course, I’ve been working.” She looked at him. “What’s your excuse?”
“Late nights. You know me, cara, after dark I prefer not to work. And early mornings, then I work.”
“Well it’s light and here are some ideas.” She pushed the plans across the vast, polished table, accepting the coffee from the maid and taking a sip of the thick dark liquid.
He didn’t pick up the papers immediately, simply took a bite out of a pastry and pushed his chair away. He walked to the French windows, opened them out and leaned against the door, inhaling the sweet warm mountain air. She had to twist in her chair to look at him. He was pleased to see she was discomfited. She glanced at the chair where he’d been sitting and pursed her lips. She wanted him back across the desk from her. He smiled to himself and didn’t move.
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