by Maya Banks
“The scent of jasmine,” Matilda specified, as Dante shook his head. “That first day she lost her temper, the first day you called for a doctor, you told me you were on your way to the cemetery.”
“So?”
“Did you take flowers?” When he didn’t respond she pushed harder, her heart hammering in her chest, because if she’d got this bit mistaken then her whole theory fell apart. But as she spoke Dante blinked a couple of times, his scathing face swinging around in alarm as she asked her next question. “Did you take some jasmine from the garden?”
“Of course. But—”
“You sent flowers the day Jasmine died, Dante,” she said softly. “And Katrina told me you’d had every florist in Melbourne trying to find some jasmine. Alex was trapped in a car for two hours with her mother, calling out for her, desperate for reassurance, trapped with that smell...”
“But a scent cannot trigger such a reaction.” Dante shook his head in firm denial, absolutely refusing to believe it could be so simple. But at least he was listening, Matilda consoled herself as she carried on talking, her own conviction growing with each word she uttered, the hunch that had brought her to this point a matter of fact now.
“Alex’s trouble started in spring, Dante, when the jasmine was flowering, and when it became too much, when all she got was worse, you took her back to Italy...”
“Things were better for a while,” Dante argued. “She was fine until...” His hand was over his mouth, his eyes widening as Matilda said it for him.
“Until spring came again. Dante, she didn’t run away because she saw us in bed. Alex ran away because you opened the window. It was humid, the scent would have filled the room...”
“She was trying to get away from it?”
“I don’t know,” Matilda whispered. “I don’t know what she’s thinking. I just know that I’m right, Dante.”
“Suppose that you are.” His eyes were almost defiant. “What am I supposed to do? I can hardly rid the world of jasmine, ensure she never inhales that scent again...”
“Why do you always have to go to such extremes, Dante? Why does it always have to be black and white to you? Oh, this isn’t working so I’ll leave the country. She seems nice, so I’ll just be mean. Alex reacts to jasmine, so I’d better get rid of it. Just acknowledge it, Dante, and then find out how to work through it. Tell the experts, the doctors...” She gave a helpless shrug, then picked up her purse and put it firmly in her bag—hell, he could buy her a coffee at least.
“You’re going?” Dante frowned as she stood.
“That’s all I came here to say.”
“That’s all?” Dante scorned, clearly not believing a word. “You could have put that in a letter, rung me.”
“Would you have read it?” Matilda checked. “Would you have picked up the phone? And even if you had, would you really have believed it without seeing me?”
“Probably not,” Dante admitted.
“Well, there you go,” Matilda said, heading for the door and out into the cool morning. She stilled as he called out to her, his skeptical voice reaching her ears.
“You’re asking me to believe you flew to the other side of the world for a child you have seen four maybe five times.”
“I’m not asking you to believe anything, Dante.” The lid was off now, rivers of lava spewing over the edges as she turned round and walked smartly back to where he was standing, her pale face livid as she looked angrily up to him. “I’m telling you that I didn’t come here to discuss us. Get it into your head, I don’t need a grand closing speech from you, there’s no jury you have to sum up for here. You walked out without so much as a goodbye and that’s a clear enough message even for me. I’m certainly not going to hover on the edges of your emotions, either waiting for permission to enter or to be told again to leave.”
“I told you from the start that there could be no relationship,” Dante said through gritted teeth.
“Well, you were right.” Matilda nodded. “Because a relationship is about trusting and sharing and giving, and you’re incapable of all three.”
“Matilda, I have a child who is sick and getting worse by the day. I was doing you a favour by holding back. How could I ask you to turn your life around for us? It’s better this way...”
“Don’t you dare!” Matilda roared, startling Dante and everyone in earshot. Even if the Italians were used to uncensored passion, clearly eight-thirty on a weekday morning was a little early for them. But Matilda was operating on a different time clock. It was the middle of the night in her mind as her emotions finally erupted, oblivious of the gathering crowd as finally she let him have it. “Don’t you dare decide what’s best for me when you didn’t even have the manners to ask. I loved you and you didn’t want it. Well, fine, walk away, get on a plane and leave the country, walk out of my life without a goodbye, but don’t you dare tell me it’s for the best, don’t you dare stand there and tell me that you’re doing me a favour—when I never asked for one. I flew to the other side of the world because I care about your daughter and in time I’d have loved Alex, too. I’d have loved Alex because she was a part of you, and you know that, you know that, Dante.” She jabbed a finger into his chest, jabbed the words at him over and over, ramming the truth home to the motionless, rigid man. “You didn’t want my love—that’s the bottom line so don’t dress it up with excuses. You love Jasmine and you always will.”
“I loved Jasmine—” He started but she turned to walk away because she couldn’t bear to look at him. She pushed her way through the little gathered crowd and started to run because she couldn’t bear to be close to him and not have him, couldn’t be strong for even a second longer. She’d said all she had come to and way, way more, had told him her truth. There was nothing left to give and certainly nothing more to take. She didn’t want his crumbs of comfort, didn’t want to hear how in another place, another time, maybe they could have made it.
“Matilda.” He caught her wrist but she couldn’t take the contact, the shooting awareness that had propelled them on that first day even more acute, even more torturous. She tried to wrench it away, but he gripped it tighter, forced her to turn around and face him. “Senti,” he demanded. “Listen to me!” But she shook her head.
“No, because there’s nothing else to say.”
“Please?”
That one word stilled her, the one word she’d never heard him say, because he’d never had to ask politely for anything. Dante had never had to ask anyone for anything because it had all been there for the taking.
Till now.
“Please,” he said again, and she nodded tentatively. She felt his fingers loosen a touch round her wrist, grateful now for the contact as he led her away from the crowded streets and to the Villa Borghese, a green haven in the middle of the city. He led her through the park to a bench where they sat. Silent tears streaming down her face from her outpouring of emotion, she braced herself for the next onslaught of pain, biting on her lip as Dante implored her to listen, no doubt to tell her as he had in the first place why it could never, ever have worked.
“I loved Jasmine...” he said slowly, letting his hands warm hers. She was touching him for the last time, staring down at his long, manicured fingers entwined in hers and even managing a wan smile at the contrast, her hands certainly not her best feature. But it wasn’t her short nails or her prolonged misuse of moisturiser that had Matilda frowning. Eyes that were swimming with tears struggled to focus on
a gold band that was missing, a wedding band that to this day had always been there. Her confusion grew as Dante continued talking. “But not like this.”
“Like what?” Matilda croaked, still staring at his naked ring finger.
“Like this.” Dante’s voice was a hoarse whisper, but she could hear the passion and emotion behind it and something else that drew her eyes to his, recognition greeting her as Dante continued. “This love.”
He didn’t have to elaborate because she knew exactly what he meant—this love that was all-consuming, this love that was so overwhelming and intense it could surely only be experienced once in a lifetime. And she glimpsed his hellish guilt then, guessed a little of what was coming next as he pulled her into his arms as if he needed to feel her to go on.
“We were arguing the day she died—we were always arguing.” He paused but she didn’t fill it, knew Dante had to tell her his story himself. “When I met Jasmine she was a career-woman and had absolutely no intention of settling down or starting a family, and that suited me fine. We were good together. I didn’t have to explain the hours I put into my work and neither did she. It worked, Matilda, it really worked, until...” She felt him stiffen in her arms, felt him falter and held him just a touch tighter. “Jasmine found out she was pregnant. We were both stunned. We’d taken precautions, it just wasn’t part of the plan, wasn’t what either of us wanted, and yet...” He pulled her chin up and she stared up at him, stared as that pain-ravaged face broke into a ghost of a smile. “I was pleased, too, excited. I loved her and she was having my baby, and I thought that would be enough.”
“But it wasn’t?” Her voice was muffled by his embrace but Matilda already knew the answer.
“No.”
Or part of it.
“It wasn’t enough for Jasmine. We got married quickly and bought this house and for a few months things were OK, but as Jasmine got bigger as the birth came closer, she seemed to resent the impact her pregnancy was having on her career. She was determined to go straight back to work afterwards, to carry on as if nothing had happened, and that is when the arguments started, because our baby was coming, like it or not, and things had to change. I tried to stay quiet, hoped that once the baby came she’d see things differently, but she didn’t. She hired a top nanny and was back at work within six weeks, full time. She hardly saw Alex. I understand women work, I understand that, but not to the exclusion of their child, not when you don’t need the money. That is when the arguments escalated.”
“People argue Dante...” Matilda tried to comfort him, tried to say the right thing, but knew it was useless. Despite their closeness, she could feel the wall around him, knew the pain behind it and ached to reach him, ached for him.
“She felt trapped, I know that,” Dante said, his voice utterly bleak. “I know that, because so did I. Not that we ever said it, not that either of us had the courage to admit it. The morning of the accident, again she was going into the office. It was a Saturday and the nanny was off and again she wanted me to have Alex, only this time I said no. No. No. No...” He repeated the word like a torturous mantra. “No. You are her mother. No, for once you have her. No, I’m going out. I told her it was wrong, that Alex deserved a better mother. I told her so many things terrible things...” She heard the break in his voice and moved to help him.
“Dante, people say terrible things in an argument. You just didn’t get the chance to take them back.”
“I tried to—even as I was saying them I wanted it to stop, to put the genie back in the bottle and retract the things I had said. I did not want it to be over, I did not want Alex to come from a broken home. I rang the housekeeper and was told Jasmine had taken Alex to work with her. She wouldn’t pick up when I called and I had the florist send flowers over to her office. I told them to write that all I wanted was for her to come home... She never did.”
“Oh, God, Dante...” Matilda knew she was supposed to be strong now, to somehow magic up the right words, but all she could do was cry—for him, for Jasmine and for the stupid mess that was no one’s fault, for the pain, for both of them.
“She was coming home, Dante,” Matilda said finally, pressing her cheek against his, trying to instil warmth where there was none, her tears mingling with his. “She got the flowers, she knew you were sorry...”
“Not sorry enough, though.” He closed his eyes in bitter regret, self-loathing distorting his beautiful features. “Not sorry enough, because I was still angry. The problems were all still there and even if she hadn’t died, I know deep down that sooner or later our marriage would have.”
“You don’t know that, Dante, because you never got the chance to find out,” Matilda said softly. “Who knows what would have happened if Jasmine had come home that day? Maybe you would have talked, would have sorted things out...”
“Maybe...” Dante said, but she could tell he didn’t believe it, tell that he’d tried and failed to convince himself of the same thing. “You know what I hate the most? I hate the sympathy, I hate that people think I deserve it.”
“You do deserve it,” Matilda said. “Just because the two of you were having troubles, it doesn’t mean you were bad people.”
“Perhaps,” Dante sighed. “But I cannot burst Katrina and Hugh’s bubble, cannot tell them that their daughter’s last months were not happy ones...”
“You don’t have to tell them anything.” Matilda shook her head. “Tell them if you must that Jasmine made you so happy you want to do it all over again.” She cupped his proud face in her hand and forced him to look at her, smiled, not because it was funny but because it was so incredibly easy to help him, so incredibly right to lead him away from his pain. “You did nothing wrong.
“Nothing,” she reiterated.
“But suppose that you’d walked into that lift two years ago, Matilda?” Dante asked. “Suppose, after yet another row, the love of my life had appeared then? I punish Edward for what he did to you and yet...”
“Never.” Matilda shook her head, blew away his self-doubt with her utter conviction. “You’d never have done that to Jasmine and you know that as much as I do, Dante, because even if the feelings had been there, you’d never have acted on them. My God, you’re barely acting on them now, so surely you know that much about yourself.”
And he must have, because finally he nodded.
“Don’t beat yourself up with questions you can never answer,” Matilda said softly. “You and Jasmine did your best—just hold onto the fact that there was enough love to stop either of you walking away. You sent her flowers and asked her to come home and that’s exactly what she was doing. The truth is enough to hold onto.”
And she watched as the pain that had been there since she’d first met him literally melted away, dark, troubled eyes glimmering with new-found hope. But it faded into a frown as Matilda’s voice suddenly changed from understanding to angry, pulling back her hands and folding her arms, resting her chin on her chest and staring fixedly ahead. “You’re so bloody arrogant, Dante!”
“What the hell did I do now?” Dante asked, stunned at the sudden change in her.
“Sitting there and wondering whether or not you’d have had an affair with me! As if I had absolutely no say in the matter! Well, for your information, Dante Costello, I’d have slapped your damned cheek if you’d so much as laid a finger on me. I’d never get involved with a married man!”
“Unless he was your husband!” Dante said, uncoiling her rigid arms, kissi
ng her face all over in such a heavenly Italian way. “That was actually a proposal—just in case you were wondering.”
Matilda kissed him back with such passion and depth that if they had been in any city other than Rome, they’d no doubt have been arrested. It was Dante who pulled away, demanding a response from a grumbling Matilda, who wanted his kiss to go on for ever.
“That was actually a yes.” Matilda smiled, happy to go back to being ravished, to being kissed by the most difficult, complicated, beautiful man in the world. “Just in case you were wondering!”
Epilogue
“Are you OK?”
Standing in the garden—in Alex’s garden—Matilda hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks as Dante approached, determined that he wouldn’t see her cry. Today was surely hard enough for him without her tears making things worse.
“I’m fine,” Matilda answered, forcing a bright smile as she turned around. But watching him walk over, Alex running alongside him, Dante’s hand shielding their newborn son’s tiny face from the early morning sun with such tenderness, her reserve melted, the tears resuming as he joined her.
“It’s OK to be sad,” Dante said softly. “And you can’t argue, because you said it yourself.”
“I did,” Matilda gulped, but as the sound of the removal trucks pulling into the drive reached her, she gave in, letting him hold her as she wept. “I feel guilty for being upset at leaving when I know how much harder this is for you. I know this is your house...”
“Our house,” Dante corrected, but Matilda shook her head.
“It was yours and Jasmine’s first so, please, don’t try and tell me that you’re not hurting, too.”
“A bit,” Dante admitted, gazing down at Joe, tracing his cheek with his finger, “but I was giving Joe his bottle, thinking about our new home and Alex was running around, checking her dolls were all in her bag, laughing and talking, and I promise you, Matilda, all I felt was peace. I knew in my heart of hearts that Jasmine was happy for me, was finally able to admit...” He didn’t finish but gave a tiny wry smile and attempted to change the subject, but Matilda was having none of it.