‘You need to be here for this.’
‘Si. Meet me by the lake. In fifteen minutes?’
Her laugh was nervous. ‘You’re being very mysterious.’
‘By the lake. I’ll see you there.’
She opened her mouth as if to speak and then nodded. ‘Okay. Fifteen minutes.’
Dante stood still and stared at her, drinking her in. Unable to stop himself, he reached out and ran one finger down her cheek, feeling the shiver that ran through her at his touch in his very core. Was he about to make the biggest mistake of his life? Setting his jaw, he stepped back, finding the right smile as he turned and greeted his mother, leading her towards the cake, and by the time he managed to look back Maddie had disappeared.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS A good ten-minute walk through the vast old castello and down the gardens to the lake, but Maddie was barely aware of her route, or who she spoke to on the way down. The terraces were almost deserted, most of the guests back in the ballroom for the toasts and cake, and she could slip down the steps unaccosted. All she could see was the curious expression in Dante’s eyes, a mixture of longing and regret.
The marquee by the lake was similarly empty, the jazz band taking a well-earned rest, the staff back up at the castello for the next half-hour. Maddie made her way to the bar and poured herself a glass of wine before curling up on one of the cushion-strewn benches which looked out over the lake, her heart hammering. What was so urgent Dante had to tell her tonight?
And why did she have the very clear feeling she wasn’t going to like what she heard?
‘Here.’ She jumped at the rough voice as Dante passed her a glass of wine and with a start she realised hers was empty. It was the first thing she had drunk all night. She had wanted to stay alert and in control in case anything went wrong. ‘The hall is emptying. I think quite a few people are headed here.’
‘Then let’s go.’ Maddie allowed Dante to pull her to her feet and lead her out of the marquee and along the same path they had trodden just a couple of weeks ago, when she had unburdened her soul for the first and only time. ‘Did your mother like her cake?’
‘Si, she’s loved the whole evening. Thank you for all that you’ve done.’
‘There’s no need to thank me. I’m just happy it all worked out.’
‘It all worked out because of you.’ Her treacherous heart warmed at the praise, reaching for it greedily. ‘You are part of the castello. Everywhere I go people sing your praises; they love you. No one wants you to leave.’
Maddie swallowed, her throat burning with suppressed tears. She loved Castello Falcone and all who lived and worked within it too. Walking away was going to be the hardest thing she had ever done, even harder than calling off her wedding. But just like her wedding she had no choice but to leave. She’d got too close, too involved, and for all it felt like home she knew she didn’t really belong here either. ‘It’s a very special place,’ she managed somehow, proud of how steady her voice sounded.
‘My family adore you, especially Arianna.’
What on earth was going on? Why had he pulled her away from the ball to tell her this? ‘Your family are amazing—and Arianna is a real credit to you. You’ve done a fabulous job with her, Dante. I hope you know that.’
He didn’t answer for a while, waiting until they reached a small cove. Maddie had arranged for seats to be put there in case any guests strayed this far down the path and Dante guided her towards them. Any faint hopes he’d simply lured her away to kiss her faded as he sat on the seat opposite, leaning back so that they weren’t even within touching distance. Maddie sipped her wine and waited, the blood rushing in her ears.
‘She is lonely,’ he said eventually, his voice emotionless. ‘She is too much alone and her cousins are so far away. Arianna needs a mother. I need a partner. Someone who can help me run the Falcone business interests. Someone who understands diplomacy, society, business.’
Maddie stilled as hope unfurled a tentative tendril. ‘That makes sense.’
‘I chose badly last time. Let my heart lead my head. I can’t afford to do that again. Can’t put my family, my daughter through that again. I always hoped that if I met someone I could trust, someone who understood my world then maybe I could contemplate marriage again, but I never thought it really possible. And then I met you.’
She watched him, the austere lines of his face softened by the moonlight and the lanterns strung around, and the realisation that had hit her in the ballroom returned in all its painful intensity. She loved him. Loved him in a defy-her-family-and-perish-in-a-tomb kind of way. Completely and utterly.
Earlier this evening she had vowed not to act on it, not to let him know. Was it possible she had got it all wrong? That there was a happy ending to the ball for her?
Say it, Dante, she begged him silently. Tell me you love me.
But he didn’t look like a man on the verge of a declaration, more statue than flesh and blood, a muscle beating in his jaw the only sign that he felt anything at all. ‘These last few weeks I’ve realised I can’t let the past hold me back, can’t let the past spoil my daughter’s future. Maddie, you have shown me that companionship needn’t be a war zone. That marrying again is probably the best thing I can do for my family, for my home.’
‘Oh.’ How was her voice so calm when inside she was more turbulent than a storm-tossed sea? Hope and joy and anger and disappointment and dull, dreary grief all jostling for prominence. Was this a proposal? A warning? A bid for her blessing? She couldn’t tell. And she didn’t know which of the answers was worse. What she did know was that a treacherous part of her was hoping that it was a proposal, blunt and prosaic as the words were. Not because of his title, not because of the castello or the fortune or any of the trappings that she had allowed to sway her before. But because she loved him.
Fool, she told herself fiercely. Someone threw her a few scraps, praised her and she was so grateful she just fell at their feet? Whatever Dante had just said to her, surely it couldn’t be a proposal? Because if it was that then it would break her. Surely Dante knew that. He knew what she yearned for. Had made her feel that maybe it was possible. That one day someone would see through the cool, poised, organised façade and love the girl within. She’d known Theo a lifetime but he had never seen that need in her and she hadn’t understood him in return. She’d only known Dante a month but already understood him all too well. Knew he was afraid. Afraid to feel. To love. The words he had just uttered a final proof, if one were needed.
Could she stay with him on that basis? Be part of this beautiful place? Help raise Arianna to become the exceptional young woman Maddie knew she could be? Marry the man she loved, knowing he would never be able to give her his heart, his soul? The part of Maddie who still felt she wasn’t worthy of a heart and soul, who just needed to be needed, who just wanted a home, was shouting loudly that of course she could.
It was so tempting.
But not tempting enough.
Besides...he hadn’t actually asked her.
The silence stretched out, long and uncomfortable, as Dante visibly searched for words. ‘I’m not looking for love, Maddie. Love is an illusion. A drug. It passes and when it’s gone it leaves nothing but hollowness and regret. Esteem, compatibility, respect? These are much better foundations to build a life together on.’
‘Are they? I’ve been there, Dante, and I don’t agree.’
‘I know you walked away from such a marriage before, but this is different. I’m different.’
Yes. It was different. It was worse. Theo wasn’t capable of breaking her heart, but the man next to her had infinite capacity to do so. And he was.
‘You deserve better, more. Arianna deserves more.’
But it was as if he hadn’t heard her. Instead he reached into his pocket. ‘I have something for you.’
Time froze, th
e air still, the faint sounds from the ball receding away to little but echoes. What was he doing? Was this a ring? If there was a ring and a bended knee, would she be able to walk away? What if he said those three words she’d waited her whole life to hear? But the package he pulled out was too big to be a ring, a rectangular package. He held it out to her wordlessly and she took it in trembling hands, folding back the silk it was wrapped in.
A book.
‘It’s a travel journal. For you to capture your memories.’ His eyes were on her, hunger and regret mingling in their blue depths. She turned the book over and over. It was handmade, illustrated, exquisite. It was almost the perfect present.
Almost...only it meant goodbye. This book was Dante’s way of sending her away. He was going to marry someone else, some perfect stranger he would never love. ‘It’s beautiful.’ Tears gathered in her eyes, hot and thick, spilling down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them. ‘Thoughtful and...’ She couldn’t finish. ‘Dante. Please. Don’t marry someone you don’t love.’
Carefully she wrapped the book back up and got to her feet, walking over to him and pulling him to his feet in turn. He didn’t resist, but nor did he touch her in return. The book was a goodbye and he had already retreated from her.
‘Don’t marry someone you don’t love,’ she repeated. ‘Not when we have this. It’s rare and wonderful. Don’t throw it away.’
She reached up and ran a hand along his jaw, searching his gaze as she did so. There was desire, yes. Heat. Resignation. And hope. Maddie knew, even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself, that part of him was begging her to take a chance on him, to thaw him out, to hang on in there and hope that one day he would be capable of loving her.
But that wasn’t enough. Maddie wanted someone who was capable of loving her now. Of needing her, not because of what she could do for them, but because of who she was.
‘Don’t give up on love,’ she begged him and, standing on her tiptoes, she pressed her mouth to his.
He didn’t stop her, didn’t step away; instead he kissed her back, fiercely and hard. This was no sweet farewell or romantic goodbye; it was hard and unyielding and raw and Maddie took every moment of it, digging her hands into his hair, sliding them down his back, remembering every muscle and sinew in his glorious body, allowing him to explore her with the same fervency and need. It would be so easy to base a marriage on this. So very easy, and if she suggested she stay, she suggested he marry her, she thought he would probably agree.
Instead she stepped away, instantly cold as she stood alone. ‘I’d rather be alone my whole life than settle, Dante.’
‘You won’t need to. One day someone will come along who deserves you.’
‘Maybe. But I need you to know,’ she summoned up all the courage she had, ‘I need you to know that if you had been able to tell me that you loved me tonight and asked me to stay then I would have said yes. That if you allowed yourself to love me I would stay. I’m not Violetta. And you’re not the boy you were back then. We’re two adults who could have made each other very happy, I think.’
She stepped closer again, allowing her body to thrill to the sensation of his nearness one last time as she pressed a final kiss to his cold cheek. ‘Goodbye, Dante.’
And she turned and walked away.
* * *
The next few days passed in a merciful blur. Somehow Dante had managed to get back to the party, thrown himself into being the consummate host, the dutiful son, convincing everyone that he was having a fantastic time. But as he laughed and danced and entertained the remaining guests he was numb inside. It was as if his body had been taken over by someone who knew what to say, what to do, while Dante had shut down.
Maddie loved him.
And he had stood there and allowed her to walk away. What had he thought would happen? That she would listen to his plans for a sedate, sensible life and offer to be part of it? That wasn’t what he wanted anyway. There was nothing sedate about Madeleine Fitzroy.
Besides, he knew who she was, what she wanted, and he would only have been able to offer her a pale facsimile of that. What had she said in Verona? ‘If anyone ever proposes to me again I want romance and heart.’ He had no romance and his heart was closed.
But if his heart was closed, then why were her words, her absence haunting him like this? If a business deal fell through then sure, it stung, but he didn’t dwell on it. Learned any lessons needed and moved on. Didn’t wallow in failure.
Dante sat back in his chair and allowed his glance to focus on the picture of Arianna framed above his desk. She looked so like her mother in that picture. The same mischievous expression, the same glossy hair and pointed chin. Only her eyes, a dark, long-lashed blue, came from him. And for once the resemblance to her mother didn’t invoke the same old sickening guilt.
The truth was he had really, truly thought he was in love with Violetta. He’d been captivated by her. Infatuation, maybe, but it had felt more real at the time than anything he had ever experienced. He knew, then, just why Romeo had come hotfoot back to Verona, poison in hand, to die by the side of his love, because, then, the thought of life without Violetta had been unbearable. She had consumed him, subsumed him and he had fallen gratefully at her feet. Looking back, he could see why. It wasn’t just her opulent beauty, her sensuality, her capricious sweetness—he had been lost, searching for a sense of who he was. His father’s death had been so sudden, so unexpected, leaving Dante with responsibilities he hadn’t expected to shoulder for another twenty years. Luciana was leaving Italy for good, and his mother, heartbroken, had retired to Lucerne, so she could build a life free of constant reminders of her beloved husband.
There Dante had been, just twenty-two, unsure of who he was, how he would cope, and Violetta had given him a path. He’d seen himself through her eyes—or so he thought—and a powerful, attractive man had stared back at him. He’d wanted to be that man so badly and, rather than grow into him, learn to be him, he’d taken a shortcut and allowed his relationship with Violetta to define him. Ironically, in the end, it had been the birth of Arianna which had both made him into the man he had wanted to be and signalled the end of his marriage. The moment he’d held his daughter everything made sense. She came first. For her he threw himself into work, building on his father’s legacy, safeguarding and growing the Falcone business and investments. But as his life had fallen into place, as his way became clear, Violetta’s had begun to fall apart. Without his besotted admiration she didn’t know who she was, motherhood bored her and she had no interest in working beside him.
He saw it all so clearly now. But back then he had been at the mercy of his emotions, and they had led him badly astray, not just at the beginning, but also all the way through his marriage. He hadn’t had the maturity or the common sense to handle his wife.
He wasn’t responsible for her death. Only Violetta had made the choice to get into that car, to take those drugs. But he carried responsibility for the death of his marriage. His love hadn’t grown as he matured; rather it had withered away and he had blamed Violetta for that. To be fair to Violetta, she had always been true to herself; she hadn’t changed. He had.
But what if Arianna had been in that car?
The thought still kept him awake at night, haunted him. He could have lost his daughter that day. She had to come first. And that meant ensuring he didn’t allow his emotions to influence his decision-making. Not even—especially—where his relationships were concerned.
Arianna was hurting now. But she would understand one day that everything he did, he did for her. Wouldn’t she?
He sure as hell hoped so. Because right now he was struggling to understand himself. That insistent feeling that maybe he was making the biggest mistake of his life. That he was holding himself back through fear. Through stubbornness.
Dante turned back to his computer, staring at the spreadsheet awaiting his comment as
if it might have the answers, his mind unable to focus on the numbers.
He and Arianna had returned to Rome two days before and were installed back in the luxurious villa he had bought five years ago. It had been decorated and furnished by one of the city’s top interior designers to fit his brief of a comfortable family home and yet somehow it never really felt like home. He’d always liked the Eternal City, but living there full-time, even with the benefit of extensive private gardens, was just too much. So much traffic, so much noise, so much hustling and busyness. A world away from the tranquillity of San Tomo and Castello Falcone. He’d wanted that contrast then. Now every car horn, every shout, just reminded him of everything he didn’t have.
He glanced at his watch. Noon. Maddie would be on her way to the airport, if she hadn’t arrived there already. Her flight to New York left at three. She was spending three nights in the city before taking the train down the East Coast all the way to Florida, stopping at several destinations along the way, before flying down to Costa Rica and beginning her travels proper. He could see her, her travel bag on her back, hair scooped back into a no-nonsense ponytail, her eyes determined.
He knew every step of those first two weeks of her travels. From the moment she booked into the five-star hotel in New York he had insisted on treating her to, to the day she set foot in the nature reserve in Costa Rica. Had planned it with her, advised and commented. The truth was, it hadn’t felt real. More like they were planning an imaginary journey than a real one, one which would carry Maddie irrevocably away from him, probably for ever. The summer in San Tomo had been a moment out of time, an idyll. Not real life.
Which it was. Wasn’t it?
What would have happened if he had dared to look further into his heart on the night of the ball? What if he hadn’t made a sudden decision to tell Maddie that thanks to her he was ready to move on, but had taken her on that same walk along the river and told her he loved her and wanted to be with her for ever? What if she had said yes, as she’d indicated she would have? Would he and Arianna have stayed in San Tomo and they all lived happily ever after?
Summer Romance with the Italian Tycoon Page 14