by Sarah Morgan
Somehow Laurel made her lips move. ‘I left.’
‘Yes, but why?’ Dani took her hands and hesitated. ‘Cristiano told me that you had a miscarriage. Don’t be mad at him for telling me. I made him tell me what had happened. I just wish you’d called me.’
‘There was nothing you could have done.’
‘I could have listened. You must have been devastated.’
Devastated. Did that word begin to describe what she’d felt that day?
Dani’s hands tightened on hers. ‘You must have felt dreadful. But I can’t believe you walked out because of that. I just can’t. Did he say something? Do something?’
He’d done nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Not even interrupted his meeting.
It was typical of sweet, sensitive Dani to guess that her brother wasn’t blameless but the last thing Laurel needed or wanted was reconciliation.
She wasn’t punishing him or sulking. She was protecting herself.
And she’d carry on protecting herself because that was what she had always done.
‘I know what men are like.’ Dani refused to give up, as stubborn as her brother in many ways. ‘Mostly insensitive, with a huge streak of ego. They invariably say the wrong thing and if we get upset about it they accuse us of overreacting or being hormonal. Sometimes I could strangle Raimondo.’
‘You’re marrying him tomorrow.’
‘Because I love him and I’m training him to not be an insufferable jerk. Cristiano is my brother but that doesn’t make me blind to his faults. Maybe we’re all to blame because we depend on him so much.’ Dani let go of Laurel’s hands. ‘When Dad died it was a hideous time. Mum was a mess—I was just eleven, Santo was still at school. Cristiano flew home from the States and took charge. And we all leaned on him—’ she pulled a face ‘—and we’ve been doing it ever since. Because he turned Dad’s dream into reality, this hugely successful global business employing thousands, everyone thinks he walks on water, but I do see how stubborn and arrogant he can be. Tell me what he did to you, Laurie. Was it the whole “taking charge” thing? That always drives me mad.’
Laurel’s heart was hammering. ‘I appreciate what you’re trying to do here, Dani, but it isn’t going to change anything. It’s finished. We can’t go back. And I wouldn’t want to.’
‘You were perfect together. So perfect it was actually a bit sickening to watch, to be honest. But it gave the rest of us faith that love really does exist. Even cynical Santo was shocked by the change in Cristiano. We’d never heard him laugh so much.’
Feeling like a fish on a hook, Laurel glared at her friend. ‘We barely knew each other when we got married.’ But she’d taken that chance. Allowed herself to live for the moment. ‘It’s no good you trying to turn this into a fairy tale, Dani. There is no fairy tale. I can’t help that you want it to be something different. Not every episode of hot sex ends in a happy ever after.’
Daniela’s dark eyes brimmed with tears of distress and frustration. ‘You and Cristiano should be together.’
‘Is that why you refused to meet me at the airport? So that we’d be thrown together? You don’t know what you’re doing.’ Laurel felt cornered. ‘You have to stop meddling. A lot of people could end up hurt.’
‘People are hurt, Laurel! My brother is in agony and I have to stand by and watch him being all strong, and I know you’re hurting too—’ tears slid down her face and Dani swore softly as she wiped them away with the palm of her hand ‘—and now I’m going to ruin my make-up. We’re not going to be able to have photographs at the wedding at this rate. Laurel, for God’s sake, whatever the hell happened, just forgive each other and move on.’
‘I am moving on. I’ve moved on.’
‘I mean with him, not without him.’
Laurel was tired of fighting. ‘It was wrong of you to interfere. Wrong of you to put us in the same villa—cruel—’
‘When you were together before, the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other—’ Dani blew her nose. ‘I thought maybe if you were trapped together you might be able to sort it out.’
‘Well, we can’t.’ She should have known this couldn’t work. The Ferrara family were like chain mail—all intertwined and linked together into a strong whole. ‘I’ll leave first thing tomorrow. I shouldn’t have come.’
‘You’re my maid of honour! I want you here for my wedding.’
Laurel looked at her in frustration. ‘My being here is tearing this family apart.’ And it was tearing her apart. Being this close to Cristiano was far, far more painful than she ever could have imagined possible. The pain of it was a dull, throbbing ache that nothing would ease.
‘Don’t leave!’
‘We’re not eighteen any more. A lot has changed.’ Laurel stood rigidly, wondering when her friend had become so selfish that she only thought about her own needs. Being here was killing her. ‘You have your little cousins as attendants.’ Four dark-haired minxes who were running round creating havoc beneath them, enchanting everyone with their unselfconscious enjoyment of the party.
‘I want you, and I want you and Cristiano back together.’
Some might have called Dani shallow, but Laurel envied the fact that her polished view of the world had never been tarnished. That she still believed good things happened to good people.
‘There’s a party in your honour going on downstairs. We should go down.’ She eased herself out of her friend’s embrace and this time Dani didn’t resist.
Laurel remembered all the times they’d giggled together in their student rooms and had a sudden yearning for the simplicity of those days.
Some people thought it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
Laurel thought they were mad.
CHAPTER THREE
EXHAUSTED from the emotional bombardment, Laurel wondered whether she’d survive an entire evening within touching distance of Cristiano. It had been so long since she’d spent time with him she felt like an addict starved of a fix.
From across the terrace she heard him laugh and she turned her head, drawn by the sound. She’d never laughed as much as she had when they were together. Life had felt light and full of hope. Now he was laughing with another woman.
And she was beautiful.
There was an intimacy in the way they communicated, an ease that suggested a relationship deeper than friendship.
Torturing herself, Laurel was unable to drag her eyes away. As she watched, one of the little cousins dressed in a froth of blue danced across to him and tugged at his leg. With an indulgent smile, Cristiano scooped her up and gave her his full attention. Laurel couldn’t hear what he was saying but, judging from the child’s expression, it was something amusing.
His interaction with the child was enough to unlock everything trapped inside her.
Laurel turned away, wondering if anyone would notice if she slipped away.
It didn’t matter where she stood, she was aware of him. Even with her back to him she could sense him. The feeling crept over her skin and took control of her mind, making it impossible to concentrate on a conversation. Her neck ached with the need to turn and look. For once she was grateful for the crowd of people and the constraints of social behaviour that prevented her from rushing across to his side and undoing everything she’d done.
‘You should eat something.’ He appeared by her side, cool and commanding as he gestured towards one of the waitresses circulating with a tray of canapés.
‘I’m not hungry.’
Cristiano took a small piece of chicken from the plate. ‘Unless you’re trying to draw attention to yourself, I suggest you eat. It’s marinated in local lemon juice and herbs. Your favourite.’
She wondered if he was doing it on purpose, conjuring up shared memories of the night they’d raided the kitchen like children and taken food down to the beach.
That decadent moonlit picnic was one of her happiest memories of their time together.
She looked away from the cynical curve of his mouth, shaken by the impulse that washed over her. Standing as close as they were, it would take no effort to press her lips to his. She would melt into him and then his hands would be in her hair, his mouth devouring hers with a skill that would leave her head spinning. No one kissed like Cristiano. He had an innate understanding of what a woman needed and his repertoire ranged from hot and out of control to slow and sensuous. He’d introduced her to a whole world she’d never known about.
The scent of the sea mingled with the sweetness of Mediterranean flowers and from all around them came the clink of glasses and the hum of conversation. The terrace was crowded with people and yet it might as well have been just the two of them.
His eyes darkened under the veil of those thick lashes and the atmosphere between them shifted. To the casual onlooker they were just two people in the middle of a polite conversation, but Laurel felt the sudden change as clearly as he did. The fact that it was subtle made it no less dangerous.
It was as if she were in a tiny boat being drawn by the current towards a lethal waterfall. Frantic, she tried to pull back mentally—to save herself before she plunged.
‘I heard that you and Santo have finally found a prime piece of land in Sardinia.’ Her carefully chosen reminder of his unwavering commitment to the business had the desired effect.
His beautiful eyes narrowed warily. ‘We’re negotiating a deal on the land now. Developing in Sardinia isn’t easy.’ But he’d find a way.
This was what he did. He relished the challenge, if only to prove that he could outsmart and outwit the opposition.
That was why he was so angry with her, she mused. It wasn’t just that she’d left. It was because she hadn’t given him the opportunity to fight and win a victory. She’d just retreated.
‘Congratulations. I know how much you wanted to expand there.’
‘The deal isn’t done yet.’ But it would be. She had no doubt about that.
The silence sizzled with undercurrents but the presence of so many guests meant that their interaction could be nothing but civilized. She was aware of the curiosity of the crowd but Cristiano wielded too much power and influence for anyone to dare to stare or openly speculate.
Suddenly she wondered if their separation had been hard for him, this man who had lived such a gilded existence. His life was an upward trajectory, soaring higher and higher. Until she’d walked out, his ambitions for the future had continued unimpeded.
‘This is where you’ve been hiding, Cristiano.’ The scent of flowers surrendered to the stronger smell of perfume as another beautiful girl approached, this one with sloe eyes and a wide, sensuous mouth. That mouth curved into a smile that was unmistakably flirtatious and she didn’t glance once in Laurel’s direction as she placed a proprietorial hand on his arm.
Laurel was shocked by the flash of jealousy that consumed her.
She stared at that hand, consumed by a sick feeling that came with witnessing such a blatant act of possession. The long red nails reminded her of splashes of blood. It couldn’t have hurt more if the girl had dug them straight into Laurel’s heart.
Jealousy became a fizz of anger.
They never left him alone. Wherever they went, women elbowed each other to get closer, to flirt, to attract his attention, to try and take a piece of him. And he didn’t consider it strange because this had been his experience for all of his adult life.
She still remembered the shock on his face when he’d asked her out and she’d turned him down.
Almost as great as his shock when she’d walked out on their marriage.
Driven to the edge of her tolerance by those long red nails and that look of promise, Laurel turned to walk away but Cristiano was faster. With a smooth, decisive movement, his hand shot out and he closed his fingers around her wrist, preventing her escape with a grip as secure as any handcuff. ‘Adele, I don’t believe you’ve met Laurel.’
‘Oh.’ The girl’s smile slipped slightly, her cool response revealing just where Laurel ranked in her list of influential social contacts. ‘Hi.’
‘My wife,’ Cristiano said in a firm voice and the smile vanished altogether.
Laurel stood still, aware only of the blood pounding in her ears and his iron hold on her wrist.
It was too little, too late and she didn’t understand it.
Why would he emphasize a relationship that was over?
The girl’s eyes narrowed slightly and her hand slipped from Cristiano’s arm. ‘Ah. I’m sure you two have lots to talk about.’ With a smile at Laurel that clearly said, I can wait until you’re off the scene, the girl sashayed away to talk to Santo, who was laughing at the far end of the terrace.
‘You see?’ His voice was harsh. ‘I can be sensitive.’ It was a blatant reference to the occasion when she’d lost her cool, upset by the continuous stream of women who seemed to consider a wife no impediment to flirtation. She’d accused him of insensitivity. He’d accused her of overreacting.
For him to finally acknowledge her feelings on the subject only when they were this close to divorce bordered on the insensitive, she thought numbly. All he’d done was prove that he could have made the effort if he’d wanted to.
‘I no longer care who flirts with you.’ She wanted that to be true, but her mind had other ideas and tortured her with questions about which of the girls Cristiano was seeing. Because of course he had to be seeing someone. It had been two years. A man like him wasn’t going to be on his own for long once word got around that his wife had left him.
‘Do you expect me to believe that?’ He took absolutely no notice of the women glancing at him across the sunlit terrace. Soon the sun would fade and the twinkling bulbs wound around the trees would send sparkles of light across the water. It was a breathtakingly romantic setting, the beauty of the surroundings a cruel backdrop for playing out the final scenes of a dying marriage.
‘I don’t really care if you believe it. I’m not saying it to challenge you.’ Did he realise that he was still holding her wrist? And why wasn’t she pulling her arm away? Across the terrace the dark-haired girl was holding court, every exaggerated toss of her head designed to draw the attention of the only man who interested her. ‘I really don’t care if you have yourself a harem.’
‘Would it make you feel better if I had? Ease your conscience?’ They were standing close to each other, his hand still locked on her arm in a proprietorial gesture that made no sense.
‘I have nothing on my conscience.’
She knew from the sudden defensive flash in his eyes that he’d picked up her implication that his own conscience was the one that should be hurting. No one could accuse Cristiano Ferrara of being slow. His mind was as sharp as a blade.
Which made his refusal to apologise all the more hurtful.
He breathed deeply and she wondered whether this was the moment he’d finally admit his contribution to their break up. ‘We stood together in the little chapel that has been part of my family’s estate for generations, and I made you a promise. For better, for worse. In sickness and in health.’ His anger was no less dangerous for the fact that it was so ruthlessly contained. ‘You made the same promises. You were wearing a pretty white dress at the time—lace at the neck and my grandmother’s antique veil. Remember? Is this ringing any bells in that messed up head of yours?’