Latin Lovers: Italian Playboys

by MELANIE MILBURNE

  Gritting his teeth, he ground the key into the lock of his front door and threw it open, then slammed it shut behind him

  When denial didn’t work there was always anger.

  Shaking the rain from his hair, he went along the passageway to the kitchen and filled a jug with water for the coffee machine. It was the only item in the gleaming kitchen that looked even vaguely used. Signora Arrigo, Raphael’s cleaner, worried endlessly about him, and lately had even taken to leaving portions of her home-made pasta or soup in the fridge. Today a small loaf of focaccia rested under a linen towel on the worktop.

  Smiling wanly at her kindness, he opened the cupboard to get coffee, then paused. At the very back something caught his eye, and he reached in and pulled it out.

  English breakfast tea.

  How utterly pitiful he had become. Ridiculous enough that he’d brought it back to Florence in the first place—but as for keeping it for the past six desperate months. That was just deluded. What was he thinking? That one day she would turn up on his doorstep out of the blue? Offer to give him another chance over a cup of decent tea?

  There was a loud crash as the packet of tea hit the wall and met its target in the sleek metal bin.

  Snatching up a bottle of red wine, Raphael left the kitchen, all thoughts of food and coffee forgotten. His sitting room was on the first floor, and without bothering to switch the light on he went to stand at the window.

  Outside, the rain looked like shoals of tiny silver fishes in the streetlights. Raphael took a long mouthful of wine, determinedly driving out the memories that crowded around the edges of his mind, insistent and enticing. Eve’s head on his knee as they drove on the street down there. The softness of her hair under his hand. The warmth of her breath on his thigh.

  It was the details that haunted him.

  Giving a groan of despair, he turned away from the window and reached for the television remote control. News. Football. Anything so long as it offered some blissful respite from the endless torment of his own thoughts.

  The screen showed a bare stage, with a Japanese-style paper screen as its backdrop. Raphael froze, rigid with disbelief, as the soprano began to sing and the hair-raisingly beautiful, spine-chillingly lonely aria filled the darkened room.

  Madame Butterfly.

  Pouring the remainder of the wine into his glass, he leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. The pale light from the window showed exquisite agony on his stricken face.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  FLORENCE in February was an entirely different city from the one Eve had left in August. A slick of rain darkened the elegant streets. Tourists huddled in waterproofed groups as they consulted their guidebooks, oblivious to the majesty of the buildings that towered above them.

  Sitting behind the uncommunicative driver sent by Marco to take her from her hotel to the courtroom, Eve stared unseeingly out at the headlamps of the passing cars and tried not to think about Raphael.

  She was shaking. Even the remote possibility of seeing him again was making her heart do things that didn’t feel healthy, and she could imagine what her midwife would say if she took her blood pressure right now. For the sake of her sanity, and the health of her baby, she tried to keep her mind focused on Luca.

  She was here to close the grim chapter that had started three years ago with Ellie’s death. Her own small tragedy was incidental.

  The car pulled up in front of a forbidding-looking building, and the driver got out and put up an umbrella before opening the door for her. For a moment he stood impassively, waiting for her to get out, but then, seeing the tears sliding down her pale cheeks, and noticing how much she was trembling, he quickly stepped forward and offered her his arm. He was younger than she’d realised, but his voice, when he spoke, was deep and comforting.

  ‘Don’t worry. Please don’t cry.’

  Gently he held her arm as she got out of the car, and helped her up the steps to the building. Eve felt that without his support her legs would simply give way beneath her.

  Speaking in abrupt Italian into a small, hand-held radio, he guided her to a long marble-pillared corridor with benches on both sides, and motioned to her to take a seat.

  Eve shook her head. Her back ached from sitting so tensely in the car, and she placed both hands at the base of her spine and flexed it slightly.

  ‘Caffe, signorina?’

  ‘No, grazie. I’m …’

  The words died on her lips as she looked up. Footsteps were approaching from the other end of the corridor, brisk and businesslike, and adrenalin crashed through her like water through a burst dam as she found herself looking straight into the eyes that had haunted her dreams for six tortuous months.

  Raphael’s face was ghostly pale in the gloom, and the hollows beneath his cheekbones were as dark as if they had been painted on. But it was his eyes that held her attention. In the few brief moments before he disappeared ahead of her into the court room they burned into her with a ferocity that felt like hatred.

  ‘Could you confirm your full name, please?’

  Gianni Orseolo’s voice was gentle, but still Eve could not suppress her violent trembling, nor look up and meet the eyes of the man seated beside the suave lawyer.

  ‘Eve Maria Middlemiss.’ Her voice was a cracked whisper in the sudden silence of the courtroom. She was aware of Luca, seated opposite her, with uniformed police on either side of him and stole a quick glance at him. His air of glossy, laughing insouciance had completely disappeared, and he was grey and tense. His face looked different too, though she couldn’t work out why.

  ‘Signorina Middlemiss—you are English, yes?’ Eve gave a small nod. ‘Can you tell the court when was the first time you travelled to Italy?’

  ‘Last summer. In August.’

  Gianni risked a gentle smile. ‘Not, perhaps, a good time to catch Florence at its quietest,’ he said gravely, and a ripple of laughter ran through the court. Then he was serious again. ‘What was the purpose of your visit, signorina?’

  ‘I was commissioned by a magazine to write an article on the Lazaro fashion retrospective. It was supposed to be a sort of behind-the-scenes kind of thing. I was shadowing one of the models and had a small part in the show myself.’

  ‘I can see why,’ said Gianni smoothly. ‘And this was where you met Luca Di Lazaro for the first time?’

  Eve squeezed her eyes shut for a second, summoning every ounce of self-control she possessed to prevent her gaze straying to Raphael. It was where I met Raphael di Lazaro for the first time, she wanted to shout. Slumped beside Gianni, he was unsmiling, but more brutally handsome than ever.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you, signorina.’ Gianni spoke with quiet dignity, then allowed a small pause before continuing in a more upbeat tone. ‘You say you were commissioned to write this article for—’ He paused, looking down at his notes. ‘Glitterati magazine. You are a journalist, then?’

  ‘Not exactly. A friend put my name forward for the job.’

  Gianni Orseolo’s perfectly arched eyebrows shot up dramatically. ‘I see. And what is your real job, Signorina Middlemiss?’

  ‘I’m a research assistant for a professor in Renaissance Poetry at a British university.’

  Her heart plummeted to the pit of her stomach as she saw Raphael put his head in his hands in an attitude of utter disbelief.

  ‘Some might say,’ Gianni continued thoughtfully, ‘that you were somewhat overqualified—academically—for writing a piece of lightweight fashion journalism. Why did your friend put your name forward?’

  ‘Because she knew I had a particular interest in Lazaro.’

  ‘What was that interest, Signorina Middlemiss?’

  The musty air of the courtroom was heavy with a sense of expectation. Glancing nervously across at Luca, Eve suddenly realised what was different about his face. It was his nose. A large bump, evidence of a recent break, distorted its once perfect line.

  Eve took a deep breath bef
ore answering, aware that this was the moment she had been waiting for all these years, but feeling curiously empty now it was here.

  ‘My sister had been spotted by a modelling scout when she was travelling in Florence …’ she began hesitantly. ‘Someone from Lazaro picked up on this and showed a lot of interest in using her for their shows. She was always quite sure it was just about to happen, but as far as I know nothing came of the modelling thing. But she certainly became quite involved with the people, and went to a lot of the Lazaro parties.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Three and a half years ago.’

  Gianni turned away suddenly, and again a tense silence fell upon the waiting court.

  Eve couldn’t help herself. Inexorably, irresistibly, her gaze found Raphael and her heart gave an almighty lurch.

  It was hopeless trying to hate him, or even trying to forget him.

  She loved him. And it was a life sentence.

  Gianni prowled forward to the witness box and handed her a photograph. His eyes bored into hers, willing her to be strong, and unseen by the jury he gave her a swift smile of encouragement. Behind him, Raphael’s gaunt face was a mask of icy self-control.

  ‘Signorina Middlemiss, if I may ask you to look at this photograph.

  I’m afraid its subject matter is a little … intimate, and for that I apologise most sincerely.’

  Eve looked down and felt her world tilt slightly. Gripping the brass rail of the witness box she steadied herself, taking a deep gasp of air.

  ‘Eve. You’re doing well.’ Gianni spoke quietly, so only she could hear, and she looked at him in mute distress. ‘Take a moment or two to collect yourself.’

  ‘I’m OK,’ she muttered through frozen lips.

  ‘Could you tell the court who the person in the photograph is.’

  Eve closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, and struggled to keep her voice steady.

  ‘It’s Ellie,’ she whispered.

  Gianni’s eyes beamed encouragement into hers. ‘I’m sorry, signorina, could you speak up? Who did you say it was?’

  With her head held high and tears streaming down her face Eve spoke clearly.

  ‘Ellie.’

  There was a sudden noise as Raphael stumbled to his feet. All eyes focused on him as he and Gianni had a swift whispered consultation, after which Gianni faced the bench again and cleared his throat gravely.

  ‘My client informs me that the defendant, Luca Di Lazaro, claims the lady in the photograph is, in fact, you, Signorina Middlemiss, and that you and he enjoyed—how can I put this delicately?—a sexual liaison at his flat before your return to England.’

  ‘No!’

  Eve leapt to her feet, the word ringing out through the courtroom, but she was oblivious to the curiosity on the faces of everyone around her. She was aware only of Raphael, and the taut, invisible wires of tension that stretched between them.

  ‘She bears a striking resemblance to you, signorina,’ said Gianni thoughtfully.

  Eve didn’t take her eyes off Raphael. A muscle was flickering in his cheek, and his eyes were dark pools of despair. ‘She was my twin.’

  ‘Was?’ prompted Gianni smoothly. Perfectly controlled, he was like some demonic conductor bringing his orchestra to its rousing climax.

  ‘She died of a heroin overdose. In Florence. Three years ago.’

  There was an almost audible sigh as all eyes turned on Luca, but Gianni hadn’t finished hammering home his point.

  ‘Hence your interest in Lazaro, Signorina Middlemiss, and your visit to Italy last August. You intended to find the man who had killed your sister.’

  But it was as if she hadn’t heard him. Staring straight at Raphael, she said, ‘I would never have slept with him. I was in love with someone else.’

  ‘I see,’ said Gianni.

  Beside him, Raphael furiously scribbled something on a sheet of paper on the table in front of them.

  Gianni glanced down. ‘In that case, signorina, may I ask why you left Venice?’

  ‘I found out he didn’t love me.’

  Gianni’s eyes flickered back to Raphael, who was bent over the paper again.

  ‘Er … and what made you think that?’

  Eve looked down at her hands, still gripping the railing. Her knuckles were pearl-white beneath the skin.

  ‘He told me he had a business meeting. But I saw him in a café with another woman. He was holding her hands.’

  Raphael tried to rise to his feet, but Gianni very firmly pushed him down into his seat and calmly turned back to Eve.

  ‘The lady in question was Catalina Di Souza. Signorina Di Souza has already testified, under oath, that the meeting you witnessed was indeed on a matter of business. She was the person with whom your twin sister shared a flat, and the meeting was to discuss the possibility of bringing Luca di Lazaro to trial for—amongst other things, her death. Signorina Di Souza is still very much affected by it, and the apparent intimacy you witnessed was simply an act of comfort and support.’

  Eve had gone very pale. ‘I see,’ she whispered, through bloodless lips.

  Slumped in his chair, Raphael thrust another sheet of paper in front of Gianni, who hesitated for a moment, as if weighing up how to proceed. As he paced thoughtfully towards the witness box Raphael seemed to hold his breath.

  ‘I see that you are expecting a child, signorina. When is it due?’

  ‘Obiezione!’ Luca’s solicitor leapt to his feet. ‘This has nothing to do with my client!’

  Raphael’s eyes burned into her like lasers. Above the commotion from the other bench she spoke directly to him.

  ‘April.’

  The elderly judge roused himself with a sigh. ‘Objection upheld. Keep your questions to the point, Signor Orseolo, per favore.’

  Gianni gave him a swift nod, then, seeing the agony on Raphael’s face, turned back to Eve. His tone was extremely gentle. ‘Who is the father?’

  ‘Obiezione! I must protest …!’

  ‘Signor Orseolo! You have been warned to keep your questions relevant to the purpose of the court. This is utterly irrelevant.’ ‘No, it’s not!’ Raphael’s voice was like the crack of a whip. ‘You are.’

  A ripple of excitement ran through the court as people craned to catch a glimpse of Raphael’s face. Dramatic to the last, Gianni turned his back on the furiously protesting defence team and faced the judge.

  ‘May I ask for a short adjournment? I will continue questioning the witness afterwards.’

  The judge eyed him over his small glasses. ‘Your witness is distressed. Si, we will adjourn for an hour. But please, Signor Orseolo, rethink your line of questioning.’

  The room erupted into noise and chaos as people rose to their feet and filed out. Eve was led from the witness box and taken out into the corridor.

  In an instant her kindly police escort was at her side, but Raphael was even quicker. She’d forgotten how tall he was, and how the aura of power and self-control he gave off was both incredibly reassuring and at the same time deeply unsettling. He moved between her and the policeman, his fury thinly disguised behind a veil of courtesy.

  ‘Scusi, signore. We have things to discuss.’

  Eve lowered her eyes and gave the policeman a small nod. ‘Please. We just need a few minutes.’

  Raphael leaned back against the wall in a posture that was hauntingly similar to the one in which he’d been standing when she’d first set eyes on him. His eyes had a dangerous, ferocious glitter, and his mouth curled into a sarcastic grimace.

  ‘A few minutes? Is that all it will take, Eve?’

  She looked down at her hands. Without thinking she had folded them protectively over her bump. Raphael followed her gaze.

  ‘So. When were you going to tell me?’

  Her throat seemed to have constricted so that it was hard to breathe. Or speak.

  ‘I wasn’t.’

  He let out a sharp hiss and thrust a hand through his hair in that heartbreakingly
familiar gesture of exasperation. ‘I see. You didn’t think that the fact that I am going to be a father was something I might be interested in knowing?’

  ‘By the time I found out I thought you would be happily settled with the girl I saw you kissing! So, no, Raphael, I didn’t think it was a piece of news you would greet with unbridled joy.’

  ‘How could you trust me so little?’ he spat, springing forward and gripping both her arms in steely fingers. Then he let out a short, bitter laugh. ‘Oh, God, how ironic. I spent all the time we were together refusing to allow myself to trust you because I thought you were some sleazy tabloid journalist …’ He let go of her arms abruptly and looked away. ‘What a bloody mess.’

  Eve’s hands moved over her stomach, instinctively stroking it. Quietly, imploringly, she said, ‘Not completely.’ It sounded more like a question than a statement.

  For a long moment their gazes held, before Raphael turned away, disgust and despair flooding his face.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ His voice was hollow.

  She gave a small shrug, as if the pain caused by his words didn’t matter and the small issue of raising a child entirely alone was of no consequence to her whatsoever.

  ‘Manage. Survive.’

  He drew in breath sharply and raised clenched fists to his temples. ‘Dio, Eve! What kind of a life is that to bring a child into? Survive? How? As a single parent? Going out to work and abandoning the baby—my baby—in some awful daycare?’

  She took a step backwards and eyed him coldly. ‘Why not? Plenty of people do it.’

  ‘Not with a child of mine.’

  Anger surged through her, as hot and energising as a shot of brandy. ‘Oh, no. I forgot. Di Lazaros abandon their children in very exclusive daycares called public schools. Is that what you’re suggesting, Raphael?’

  His head jerked back as if she’d slapped him, but he recovered his composure quickly and spoke with icy calm. ‘No.’ He took a deep breath, looking at her measuringly through narrowed eyes. ‘No. The last thing I want is for this child to have the same miserable, screwed-up childhood that I had.’ He paused. ‘That’s why I’m suggesting you come and live here.’