He sat back again in his chair. Lifted his glass, sipped a little water. ‘You took my breath away, Coral. You still do.’
‘You took mine away when you threw me off this island,’ she said, turning to look at him.
It still burned and she wouldn’t forgive him so easily.
Slowly he replaced the glass on the table. ‘I’ll regret that moment for ever. But we are amazing lovers. You must admit if it hadn’t been for circumstances we’d have had a very good chance of making a proper go of things.’
‘Circumstances which you’re just about to reintroduce. I don’t need any kind of reconciliation with Salvatore to know that he’s my half-brother.’
‘As soon as we get a DNA sample from him we can start to put the rest of our lives in order,’ he said, not taking the bait.
Nothing seemed to induce him to retaliate.
‘I was putting my life in order before I met you, Raffa. I was starting my career. And I’ll be doing so again. That’s not up for debate.’
He smiled and leaned further back, putting his hands on the table in a gesture of openness. She looked at the breadth of his palms, at his fingers splayed wide. Lover’s hands. Protector’s hands. Chairman of the Board’s hands.
‘I want the best for you. You’re going to be the mother of my child. I will look after you. It’s the right thing to do.’
‘I don’t need a man to look after me. I wasn’t brought up that way.’
She felt her anger return, felt her spine straighten. She wasn’t going to rely on any man for her happiness. She was independent, and that wasn’t going to change just because she was going to have Raffaele Rossini’s baby.
He nodded. ‘I know. It was unforgivable, what happened to you. And it is something we will work through together. Whatever it takes, I promise. But tonight, Coral, let’s just be us again. Let’s properly learn to know one another.’
‘What is there that you don’t already know, Raffa? I won’t be steamrollered by you. I’m too independent. And having a baby with you isn’t going to change that. If anything, it’s made me feel even more determined. I’m going to be a working single mother. It’s no big deal. It’s been done before—loads of times.’
He raised an eyebrow and fixed her with his bright blue gaze. She should look away indignantly. But she couldn’t. She found herself staring back, ensnared by the brilliance.
‘No one will ever treat you better than I will. No one will care for you and keep you safe.’
He sat up and reached for her hands. She felt herself deliver them over to him.
‘I want us to be married, Coral. In fact, I can’t think of anything I want more.’
‘Married?’ she gasped. ‘Married?’
‘Indeed. A marriage contract. Rossini and Di Visconti. The two families should be aligned in law. It’s the right thing to do, Coral.’
His gaze never wavered as he slipped one hand below the table for a moment and then produced a ring. A beautiful square-cut yellow diamond, flanked by two clear stones. Its brilliance and beauty stunned her.
Her eyes dropped as he slid the ring on her finger.
‘In one move we will sort this whole thing out. You. Our son. Me. It’s the only possible way forward.’
She stared at the beautiful ring on her hand. Her heart thudded in her chest. He was asking her to marry him—but not in the way every girl dreamed it would happen. She had hoped that one day a prince would come for her, just as her mother had said. A prince who would fall on his knees and confess that he wanted to live with her and her alone. Who would promise to cherish her and share his world with her. Only her, and only because of their love.
Raffaele was proposing a contract. Because she was part of la famiglia—just another commodity to be guarded. It was business—family business—and the only two families that counted were the Di Viscontis and the Rossinis.
A contract.
But contracts could be broken.
Marriages could be annulled.
The underground stream whispered by. The chandelier swayed slightly. Over Raffaele’s shoulder a light blinked out on the rolling sea. Once, twice. Her eyes flickered. She felt as alone and vulnerable as that solitary boat.
He drew her fingers to his lips and kissed them.
‘Sleep on it, cara.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
RAFFA SCRAPED BACK his chair and went out onto the terrace, filling his lungs with the fresh clean air and gazing up at the inky black sky that he desperately hoped would give him some perspective on what had just happened.
He took the steps two at a time and struck off along the path, the dogs at his heel. The moon was huge and bare of clouds, and the path to the bay was etched out for him as clearly as it was in his memory.
He reached the rocks and vaulted them easily, trotting onto the sand. The tide was out and he jogged onto hard-packed sand, feeling the tension slip away as each passing wave rolled up to his trousers and shoes, soaking them.
How could he have called it so badly wrong? He’d been so sure that this was the right way. The only way. Was she really so against it? Or was it just her way always to be so damned difficult? Didn’t she know that asking her to marry him was the biggest thing he had ever done in his life? It was the ultimate decision and he had chosen her. Out of all those women who had flung themselves at him over the years, she was the one.
The look on her face had been one of horror, not joy, and that hurt him. It did. She was the mother of his child. All that talk of being an independent single mother... There was no need for that. They should be together, for God’s sake. He had already known the baby was his, but hearing the results had cemented his resolve to do the very best for them all. He would not permit anything to go wrong.
He had fully expected that as the baby’s mother she would want to be with him too. She had to feel their chemistry the same way he did. It bubbled under the surface of every exchange they had. They were explosive together. He ached for her. He’d pleasured himself thinking about her all those weeks when he’d tried to forget her. Her. Only her.
Damn, but this was an impossible situation!
She couldn’t really think there was going to be another way, could she? That he would get the test results then fire up the jet and drop her back in London to take orders for tea and coffee? And, when the bambino was born, did she really think that he would agree to have contact every other weekend? While she lived God knew where and did God knew what. With God knew whom...
Their son was heir to a global business—Romano Publishing. He had to learn about his world from birth, from his father. He had to know about his family and his responsibilities. He had to have everything he would need to grow up happy and healthy. And safe.
How could he look after his son if he wasn’t fully part of his world? It was insane. It was not going to happen. He would have to make her see sense, one way or another.
He turned around to face the house. Lamps had been dimmed along its length, leaving only the kitchen and his suite lit. He stood as the sea rolled in its might behind his back, watching. Finally all the lights were extinguished and the house was in darkness.
Everything was as it should be.
Coral was where she should be.
He hadn’t imagined for a moment that she would reject him, but he should have realised that a woman like her wasn’t going to roll over. She’d proved that spectacularly enough already. He was going to have to be much more careful or she might reject him outright. And that was a situation he was not prepared to endure for a single moment.
He checked his phone. Twelve-thirty. He had a satellite meeting with his west coast team in half an hour, and briefings scheduled with the Argento office in Shanghai. Then he would catch some sleep for an hour or two.
After that he’d figure ou
t his next move with Coral...
* * *
By the time he was finished working, daylight’s grey-blue tones were spreading all through the house. The staff were already busy going about their tasks. The world was slowly waking up to a typical Adriatic December day. He hadn’t slept, he needed coffee, and he hadn’t cleared his head. Salvatore would be landing in a few hours and that situation was going to take a lot of skill to manage.
He opened the dining room door, bleary-eyed, looking for the coffee pot and at least a half-hour of solitary meditation. He needed this time every day—watching the sun rise and the birds wake up, the tide’s ebb and flow. No matter where he was in the world, he needed this time. It stilled his mind, gave him perspective. He’d always treasured these moments alone even as a child—before Salvatore woke up and started needling him.
But there, sitting at the head of the table, framed by the gauzy seascape, sat Coral.
She dabbed her mouth with a napkin and set it down on the table. ‘Good morning. Sleep well?’
He frowned and walked towards the coffee pot. ‘Fine, thanks. And you?’
‘Really well, thanks. I woke with such an appetite.’
‘Well, you must make yourself at home. Have what you want.’
He poured a long coffee, never taking his eyes from her as she lifted cutlery and started to eat what seemed to be a full English breakfast with eggs and bacon.
‘Oh, I have already, thanks. Chef’s been great. We had a chat and he managed to produce this. He says he’s delighted to have something more to do of a morning than heat up your porridge.’
‘Is that right?’ he said, slowly pacing towards her with his cup. She was seated on his chair, so he pulled out another and sat.
‘Shall I tell him you’re ready for it now?’
‘No, I have a couple of these before I eat. But thank you.’
She smiled, then forked up a piece of egg and began to eat again. ‘No problem.’
For a few moments he watched her, mesmerised, trying to figure out what was going on. She looked utterly radiant, with no trace of the anxiety he’d seen last night. She was wearing a dressing gown—his dressing gown—and it looked like a mink coat around her shoulders. Her skin was perfect—she glowed with health.
He stared at her as if she was a work of art.
‘When do you want to talk about the wedding?’ she said, suddenly.
The coffee caught in his throat and he spluttered a startled response. ‘What?’
‘The wedding?’ she said, calmly continuing to eat her breakfast. ‘You wanted my answer today.’
She put down the cutlery and stared at him. Yellow flashed at him. She was wearing the ring.
‘Let’s not waste any more time, Raffaele. The wedding—I’ve decided it’s on. But the choices of venue are a bit limited, due to my condition, and time’s marching on. I think your house in Rome would be fine, and it’s not too far for my mother and my friends to travel there. I’m not so bothered about the rest of the guest list. I suppose there are people you’ll need to invite. You can sort that. But I won’t get married without my mother. As for the dress—off the peg is fine. I’ve shortlisted a few that I can check out when we get back to London.’
She placed her cup down with a sigh of contentment and pushed herself back from the table.
‘Then there’s you, of course. I know you’ll not want to lose your place on the Best Dressed List, so I’m quite happy to leave you to choose your own clothes. The menu is all sorted—Chef and I have already discussed it—and we’ll go with a very simple theme for the decorations. Probably unimaginative white. We don’t want to raise any expectations.’
‘Expectations?’ he heard himself say stupidly.
‘You know—that this is a big romantic moment. Though I suppose we’ll need some sort of party...’ she said, almost absentmindedly.
‘A party—’ he began, but instantly she interrupted.
‘Getting a photographer might be tricky. But Mariella says she’s sure she can get Markowitz. He’s your favourite, isn’t he?’
‘You’ve been in touch with Mariella? What did you say?’
She’d turned to stare out at the birds that had already started to arrive in the garden. Her fingers coiled around a lock of glossy auburn hair—round and round she twisted it, hypnotically.
Then she turned to stare at him with a slight look of condescension. He’d never been condescended to in his entire life.
‘What? We talked about the wedding, of course. Coverage will sell millions. “Wedding of the Year”, as Mariella’s already dubbed it. I’m thinking about selling the rights to the Hope Alliance, as they’ve helped Mum so much over the years with her mental health issues. I thought that was the right thing to do. Under the circumstances.’
‘Just stop right there.’
She narrowed her eyes and leaned towards him.
‘No, you stop right there! Before we go any further we’ll work out the ground rules. Like, you don’t ever talk to me like that. And stop assuming you can make decisions for me.’
A maid had come in. He heard her movements behind him. The coffee pot being replaced, lids on the serving dishes being opened and closed. Suddenly a bowl appeared in front of him.
‘What is that?’
‘Your porridge, of course. I thought you might like some fruit chopped up in it. Oatmeal alone is so dull.’
He pushed the bowl away.
‘What is it you think you are doing here, Coral? Trying to irritate your way out of this?’
‘On the contrary, Raffaele. My only interest now is securing the best possible terms and conditions for our contract. A businessman like you can surely understand that?’
Not for the first time he looked at her and saw her father. Shrewd, intelligent and determined. She was Giancarlo’s daughter, all right. This could get...interesting.
‘All right, Coral,’ he said. ‘I’m ready to listen. What is it you want?’
She sat back in the chair, placed her arms on the armrests and looked him square in the face. The yellow diamond sparkled traitorously on its new owner’s finger.
‘I’ve decided that you’re right. Why am I fighting for the right to dress in second-hand clothes when I should have been enjoying this view all my life?’
She drew her hand in the air and looked out at the sea, her chin held high.
‘So, yes, I have thought it through from every angle, Raffa. I could refuse your offer and go back to London. Whether or not we get married, morally you’d still have to put us up in a house, pay for staff and school fees. We’d share contact and do what loads of other couples do and everything would be fine. I know you’d do the right thing by us. I’m not saying that you’d stick around for ever—there are loads of dads who slip up when a shiny new family comes along—but I don’t think you’d ever “do a Giancarlo”, so to speak.’
She turned to face him. Her face was utterly calm, but her eyes were clouded with something that tugged at his heart.
‘I thought I’d made that clear,’ he said.
‘You have. But I don’t think you fully understand what you’ve offered. It’s not just marriage, Raffa. It’s bringing me face to face with a world I was never meant to see. All of this.’
She reached for her cup, laid her fingers around it as if for warmth.
‘It’s already cost me so much. Yesterday morning, down there on the beach, I looked around and all I saw were the ghosts of someone else’s childhood. My father didn’t want me because he had something better here.’
‘I’m so sorry you feel like that, but it wasn’t—’ he began, but she shook her head.
‘You don’t know what it was like for me—what it is li—just as I don’t know what you went through being orphaned. We’re both damaged goods.
’
Her eyes flicked from the cup to him and she delivered him a look layered with pain and shame and sorrow. A slight sad smile curled at her lips before she crushed them together.
‘But I have to be optimistic. I have to assume that I’m not going to choke to death with jealousy every time I see a cruise ship or eat an olive. I’m not so bitter that I’m going to let it spoil the rest of my life. Because it’s not really about me any more.’
She folded her napkin carefully and ran her finger along its edges, smoothing each crease. He got the sense that she was waiting for a reply—some sort of affirmation of her plan. He reached for her hand, gripped it, squeezing it in solidarity.
‘No, you’re right. It’s got to be about our son.’
She didn’t withdraw her hand for a moment, and he used the pause to rub little circles over the back of her hand, smoothing and soothing and trying to telegraph how much he wanted to care for her. But her head remained bowed and a deep, lonely sadness seemed to settle over her.
Finally she withdrew her hand and looked at him, a ghost of a smile on her face. ‘That’s what I thought. And that’s what everything must be about from now on. We’ll plan our lives around him. I’ll be the best mother I can possibly be. And that includes being the best person I can be. So when I say that I want to work, it’s because there’s a creative part of me that I need to feed in order to feel whole. For him as well as me. Don’t fight me on any of this, Raffa.’
‘Of course not.’
When he looked now, the sadness was gone. Only the sure and steady certainty that he knew so well from her father remained.
‘I’m not going to return to London to work in a café, or beg you for a job,’ she cut in. ‘I haven’t figured everything out yet, Raffa. One thing at a time. But to be a good mother I need to be a whole person. I need my career.’
‘I would never fight you on having a career. I’m as much of a feminist as you are, cara. I’ll support you in whatever you want to do.’
What they could achieve together would be immense, whether she stayed in photography or branched into other creative areas. She could hold court in any board meeting—it was surely only a matter of time before she realised that potential too.
The Consequence She Cannot Deny Page 13