One-Click Buy: September Harlequin Presents

by Penny Jordan

  ‘Thank God for Lazzaro…’ Bonita said in a strangled whisper. ‘Alberto is forgetting names, slurring his words sometimes—I did not want him to look a fool, or for people to think he was drunk, so I asked Lazzaro to stick by him…to cover for his memory lapses…’ She dabbed at her cheek with a handkerchief, then saw Caitlyn’s shocked expression, and for a second it was Bonita consoling Caitlyn.

  ‘You really didn’t know? Lazzaro never told you?’

  ‘I thought…’ Caitlyn winced in misery, but Bonita actually laughed.

  ‘What must you have thought? Oh, but you are new—you would not know what a wonderful man he is just yet.’

  Oh, but she was starting to.

  ‘Alberto is sick,’ Bonita explained, her voice brave, but her hand slipping into Caitlyn’s again, and clinging onto it as she spoke. ‘He is to start treatment as soon as possible, but we want to wait—his daughter gets married soon. Just two more weeks is all we are asking,’ Bonita rasped. ‘If we can just hold it together for two weeks, till his daughter gets married—then we can tell everyone.’

  Just for a second Caitlyn met Lazzaro’s gaze—guilt and regret were washing over her for her harsh assumptions—for thinking the very worst of him. And she was proud too—proud that even last night, with his back to the wall, he hadn’t betrayed his friend’s trust.

  Hadn’t told her the truth when it would surely have been so much easier for him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘I WISH you’d told me,’ Caitlyn said, wondering how the sky could be so blue and the sun could be out, yet it was so cold as they emerged from the hotel. Finally she was to be treated to a real glimpse of the Eternal City…

  ‘It wasn’t my place to tell.’

  ‘So you let me think the worst?’

  ‘You chose to think the worst,’ Lazzaro pointed out.

  ‘So do you…’ It was the hardest thing she’d ever said, offering a fact that was only based on her feeling. ‘Lazzaro, surely it’s something we should talk about—?’

  ‘Not today.’ He silenced her with a kiss. ‘Let’s just enjoy today.’

  There were only a few hours till they headed back to Australia—and though she’d braced herself for coldness, for distance between them, it was anything but. And once breakfast was over, he’d suggested they spend the day wandering Rome.

  They stopped in tiny cafés, where Caitlyn practised her appalling Italian and Lazzaro winced in apology at the waiters. She took her camera out at every turn. She ate chestnuts out of the bag, and, even though they were possibly the most disgusting thing she had ever tasted, somehow she finished the lot.

  ‘You should get a memento…’ Lazzaro was steering her towards shops with names that were more likely to be represented by fakes in her wardrobe. But even though she’d probably rue it later, even though her friends would never understand, and even though they were the most glamorous she’d ever seen, the boutiques around Piazza di Spagna held little interest for Caitlyn—even when Lazzaro prompted her to choose a bag, ‘or shoes, or whatever it is that women like.’

  ‘I like walking.’

  So they did—moving away from the shops to the Spanish Steps themselves, where Caitlyn, just a little bit shy, pulled out her camera again and asked Lazzaro to take her photo. Blushing, she shook her head when a cheerful tourist offered to take the camera and take a photo of the two of them.

  ‘Thank you, but no…’

  ‘Why not?’ Lazzaro laughed at her blush as they walked on. ‘Don’t you want to remember us together today?’

  She would always remember today—with or without a photo—would always remember walking around the most stunning of cities with the most stunning of men. Would always remember the thrill of the feel of his hand slipping into hers. For a little while they were just another couple—another pair of lovers wandering the streets talking about nothing and everything, watching the world go by—and for today at least it was a nicer world with the other there.

  She didn’t need her tourist guide to know they were at the Trevi Fountain—didn’t need to ask what Lazzaro was doing when he rummaged in his pocket and offered her a coin.

  ‘You know the saying…’ His hand was absolutely steady as he offered her the coin. ‘If you throw in a coin, it is guaranteed you will be back—take it.’

  Only she didn’t know if she wanted to.

  No matter how beautiful the city was, it could never be as beautiful as it was today—and Caitlyn truly didn’t know if she wanted to come back if it wasn’t with him. She wanted to remember it just as it was.

  Oh, today they were fine, between the sheets they were fine—when it was just them, just the two of them and nothing else came close, then there was nothing better—only somehow she knew it couldn’t last. Their world was a fragile bubble that somehow couldn’t survive the elements.

  ‘Take it.’

  And finally she did—watched as it sank to the bottom and joined a million other wishes—closed her eyes as he put his arm around her—leant on him for just a little while longer—tried to convince herself they were really okay—that the little bit they had was enough to sustain them in the real world….

  CHAPTER TEN

  THEYdid have enough to sustain them.

  As long as they were careful—as they long as they weren’t greedy and lived solely in the moment—didn’t look at the past or glimpse the future. As long as he made love to her at night and kissed her in the morning—as long as they didn’t address the issues—then they were okay.

  ‘Hi, Mum!’ Sitting at her desk a week after they returned, Caitlyn couldn’t keep the happiness from her voice. But she checked it a touch as the thought of her mother’s problems brought her rapidly back down to earth. ‘How are things?’

  ‘Great!’ Her unusually effusive responsive had Caitlyn frowning.

  ‘Great?’ Caitlyn checked.

  ‘The lawyer just called—we’ve won!’ Her voice broke then, laughter turning to tears. ‘We can keep the house.’

  And even though their lawyer had said over and over that Cheryl had no case, that her grandfather’s wishes had been clear, that her mother’s contribution to the home had been documented, to have it confirmed, to know that it was finally over brought such a sweet flood of release that only then did Caitlyn actually realise the strain she had been under.

  ‘Thank you…’ Helen cried into the phone. ‘I know what I’ve put you through. I know it wasn’t fair to ask you to take on such a huge mortgage…’

  ‘I didn’t have to, though!’ Caitlyn smiled.

  ‘But you would have,’ her mother pointed out.

  ‘And you did,’ Caitlyn said softly. ‘You did it for your dad, remember?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t they have a bridal registry?’ Lazzaro was utterly perplexed as, smiling, she walked into his office. ‘Of all the stupid things…What are you looking so happy about?’

  ‘I just am.’

  She’d never told him about her problems. The sum of money that was so huge to her was a drop in the ocean to Lazzaro, and worse for Caitlyn than him not understanding would have been the prospect of him sorting it out—the idea of somehow being beholden to him. As she took Alberto Mancini’s daughter’s wedding invitation from him, her smile widened. ‘I actually think it’s nice that they don’t have a registry! It means that people like you can’t just click their mouse and have their gift dispatched—it means pompous, arrogant people like you actually have to stop and think about what their friends might want for a wedding gift.’

  ‘They are not my friends.’ Lazzaro flicked his hands skywards in exasperation. ‘She is the daughter of a friend of mine—a daughter I have not seen for five years, and I have never even met her fiancé. How could I possibly know what they want?’

  ‘Well, you’d better think fast,’ Caitlyn said cheekily. ‘You fly out on Thursday.’

  ‘Come with me.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Caitlyn groaned. ‘I know you’re used to it, Lazzaro, and I know we
’ll be travelling first-class and I can sleep all the way there—I know all that—but honestly…’

  ‘Okay—I get it…’ he relented. ‘You need your weekend off.’

  ‘I do.’

  And, oh, she did. Just needed a weekend to catch up with friends, to sleep in, to see her mum, to read…Lazzaro had said the job would be demanding, and it was, but add to the most demanding of jobs the most demanding of lovers, and Caitlyn was actually looking forward to a weekend of…nothing.

  ‘So you’re definitely not coming.’ He gave a regretful smile, then shot her a look that had her in flames. ‘Which means I won’t be either.’

  ‘You’ll survive!’ Caitlyn gave a saucy wink.

  ‘I guess I’ll have to—but for your sins you can choose the gift.’ He waved away her protest. ‘That is why us pompous, arrogant people have assistants—off you go.’

  What did you get someone who had everything? Someone you’d never met, someone who…Racking her brains, Caitlyn trailed the shops, wishing she knew enough to come back with something fabulous and meaningful…Why the hell didn’t they have a bridal registry? Caitlyn thought as she trudged back a couple of hours later to the hotel—defeated and empty-handed, but still smiling. She’d splurged on a bottle of champagne—she would bung it in the fridge at work and open it the second she got home tonight…

  ‘Ms Bell?’ Caught unawares, Caitlyn started at the sound of her name, swinging around and frowning at the woman who promptly thrust a microphone under her nose. ‘What do you have to say about the rumours that Lazzaro Ranaldi is dating his rival’s wife?’

  ‘Pardon…?’ Like a rabbit in headlights, Caitlyn froze as she saw the television camera zooming in on her.

  ‘We have it from a reliable source that Mr Ranaldi has been seeing rather a lot of Bonita Mancini—we have photos of them at lunch, and we have heard that he spent the afternoon of Mr Mancini’s sixtieth birthday with her. And that night he put him to bed drunk and then consoled his wife—’

  ‘No!’ Caitlyn’s denial was immediate, her mind whirring. It was just a week to the wedding—all Bonita had wanted was for her stepdaughter to marry before hearing the news that her father was terminally ill—and now somehow the press had twisted what few facts they had into something sordid.

  ‘But Mrs Mancini did spend the afternoon in Mr Ranaldi’s suite…?’

  Caitlyn didn’t answer. Two spots of colour were burning on her cheeks, and she wished she was better prepared for this. She knew, as Lazzaro’s assistant, that she should have just walked away at the outset, should have said nothing, should neither have confirmed or denied.

  ‘And she did spend the night with Mr Ranaldi?’

  ‘No.’ Caitlyn was adamant now. ‘She didn’t.’

  ‘How can you be sure? My sources state that—’

  ‘I’m quite sure Mr Ranaldi didn’t spend the night with Mrs Mancini.’ She knew even as she said it that she would regret it, but knew she had no choice. She had to quash the rumours now.

  ‘And you’re sure because…?’

  And even if it was a rushed decision it wasn’t blind—Caitlyn could still feel Bonita’s hand in hers, feel the love that everyone denied she had for her husband, and she knew that even if it wasn’t what was wanted, it was something she had to do.

  ‘I’m sure he wasn’t with Mrs Mancini, because Lazzaro Ranaldi spent the night with me.’

  Turning, she walked away—away from the hotel—disappearing into the crowds, wondering how she would face him, wondering what Lazzaro’s reaction would be when he heard what she’d done…

  Never for a second did she imagine the truth.

  The frown on his face as he watched after his sister rang him on his mobile and told him to turn on the news, the black anger as he heard the reporter’s allegations.

  His hand jerked to his desk phone, to ring Bonita and warn her, but his grim face broke into a smile as he heard her blurt out her admission—as Caitlyn Bell dragged them out to face the world.

  ‘She’s lovely…’a forgotten Antonia said down his mobile.

  ‘Not exactly discreet, though!’ Lazzaro pointed out, but he was still smiling.

  ‘So what are you going to do about it, brother?’

  He didn’t answer straight away, just stared out of his vast window down to the city streets below, knowing she was down there—imagining her embarrassment, her horror at what she had done, and wanting to soothe it.

  To tell her it was okay.

  To tell her that they were okay.

  For the first time in the longest time he breathed without pain. For just a moment or two Lazzaro felt peace creep somewhere into his soul—glimpsed a future that was bearable.

  ‘Lazzaro?’ Antonia pushed excitedly, smiling herself when her brother spoke again, then hung up the phone.

  ‘We’ll let you know.’

  But numbing a toothache didn’t make the rot go away. Even if the pain was deadened for a while, still the damage went on inside—weakening the roots, prolonging the inevitable, till it erupted in an agony that couldn’t be escaped. And then extraction was preferable to treatment.

  As Lazzaro clicked off the phone, as he wondered if he should just ring her now and tell her to stop hiding, the door opened and his smile faded—as the one woman on God’s earth he’d hoped never to see again walked into his office and plunged him out of his momentary oasis and straight back into hell.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘WHAT the hell do you want?’ Lazzaro sneered out the words, contempt blazing in his eyes as he stared at the person he hated most in the world. ‘Who let you in?’

  ‘Audrey let me up—she still remembers me.’ Roxanne flicked back her dark curls, strode across his office as if she owned it. ‘ I thought we should clear the air…’

  ‘Clear the air?’ Lazzaro spat. ‘The air stinks when you’re here. The stench of you makes me—’

  ‘Better out than in!’ Roxanne’s red lips smiled sweetly at him. ‘I saw Caitlyn on the news—she’s good, I have to admit that. When she sets her mind on something she always gives it her best.’

  ‘What?’ Lazzaro snapped, then shook his head—because he didn’t want to hear it, didn’t need to hear, didn’t want to be in the same room as Roxanne for even a second. ‘Get out, Roxanne—you make me sick.’

  ‘Did you fund her lawyers, Lazzaro?’

  ‘Lawyers?’ Narrowed eyes watched his smudge of a frown appear. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You mean she didn’t tell you? Did sweet little Caitlyn forget to mention when she had her legs wrapped around you that, even though her mother had freeloaded off my grandfather for years, not satisfied with living there, because Helen Bell couldn’t afford to raise her bastard child herself, even after he died they refused to move out, that they’re refusing to give my mother her fair share?’

  ‘You’re full of it,’ Lazzaro sneered. ‘You couldn’t tell the truth on your deathbed.’ A thud of papers on his desk held his gaze for a second. Legal letters. He pointedly pushed them away, but he was rattled now—and she knew it.

  ‘Why would I lie?’ Roxanne stared at him, those blue eyes the same as Caitlyn’s, but utterly, utterly steady—not even a hint of a flicker as they pinned him—and at that moment Lazzaro truly didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t. Whether it was Roxanne looking him in the eye and lying, or Caitlyn who couldn’t.

  ‘Knowing Caitlyn, you were probably her plan B.’

  ‘What do you want, Roxanne?’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘As if I didn’t already know.’

  ‘I want what my mother’s entitled to.’

  ‘If she’s so entitled the courts would have seen it that way.’

  ‘Unlike Caitlyn, I don’t have access to limitless funds to pay lawyers—unlike my cousin, I’m not screwing a Ranaldi!’ Her face twisted with bitterness. ‘You really think she’s all sweetness and light, don’t you? You’re so bloody quick to make out I’m the bitch here.’


  ‘That goes without saying.’

  ‘You know, she always said she’d get you in the end…’ Roxanne watched his jaw tighten, but he shook his head.

  ‘You’re a liar, Roxanne,’ Lazzaro hissed. ‘You’re just rotten to the core.’

  ‘I can still see her the day before Luca died, with that stupid photo of you she carried around, rattling on about how you’d given her a lift home and how she was already a shoe-in.’ Watching his face pale, watching as a muscle pounded in his cheek, Roxanne was sure that she had him. ‘Anyway I’m tired of playing with lawyers. Journalists are far more fun—they actually pay to listen—and I’m sure they’d be delighted to hear the full story about Luca!’

  ‘How much do you want?’ Pulling out his chequebook, somehow Lazzaro’s hands were steady—but his face was as white and as cold as marble.

  ‘My mother’s share.’ Roxanne spat out the figure, her blue eyes boring into his as he wrote not the sum she quoted, but two very choice little words. He watched her greedy hand snatch the cheque from his, watched her mouth twist in rage as she read his none too polite request for her to leave.

  ‘Talk to your journalist,’ Lazzaro jeered as she screwed it up and hurled it at him. ‘But, as you pointed out, I have limitless funds—and if you do talk I will spend whatever it takes to ensure you never see a single cent. I tell you now that I will devote the rest of my life to making yours hell. Never threaten me again, Roxanne, and never try to bribe me. I don’t deal with dirt!’

  ‘Oh, but you do, Lazzaro—and, just like your brother, you’re too foolish to realise!’ She turned at the door, excising her jealousy, her venom, her hatred, with every spiteful word. ‘The only difference between Caitlyn and me is that she chose more wisely. My cousin happened to hitch her star to the right wagon!’

  Her smell lingered long after she’d left—a sickly-sweet perfume that seeped into his pores, the same sickly scent she’d had on that day…here, right here. Sinking into his seat, he closed his eyes, waited for the nausea to recede—only it didn’t.