Her chest swirled with hurt and shame. He didn’t even remember her name? Did he remember her? His look showed no. Her stomach swooped, dropping right out of her body, leaving her with a clawing sense of pain and… embarrassment. A sense of being stupid and naïve.
“Bella.” The word was just a breath. She swallowed, knowing she needed to get a grip on herself.
“Of course.” His frown deepened. “We met… on the yacht? At the Hammerstein benefit?”
Oh, God. It was going from bad to worse. “No,” she shook her head, her face draining of all colour, her knees feeling incredibly weak. How many women did he sleep with? Who did he take home after the damned Hammerstein benefit? She cleared her throat. “My mother’s wedding. Kat Howard.”
“Ah,” he nodded, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly. “That’s right. The virgin.”
She spun away from him on the pretense of shrugging out of her jacket. It was November and when she’d flown out of Edinburgh that morning, it had been bitterly cold, but here in Athens, in his glass monolith, under the lackluster glow of his non-concern, she felt hot. And cold. She felt a thousand things and none of them good.
The virgin. As though he had a trite little phrase for each of the women he took to bed. Hell, he probably did.
“Yes, the virgin.”
“I believe I told you that night was a one-time thing. I’m not quite sure what you’re doing here in my office…” he let the words drift into nothing and each syllable slipped inside her nervous system, making her body tremble.
“Not for a do-over, believe me,” she snapped, lifting a hand to her hair and toying with the ends before realizing it was a nervous gesture. She dropped her hand to her side and turned to face him, and the coldness of his expression almost knocked her sideways.
She knew enough of secret babies to know it wasn’t a good idea to keep such a thing from a man, and yet, as she stared at him and he looked at her as though he was still trying to remember a thing about her, the words she’d come prepared to speak sunk inside of her.
“Then?” He prompted, and cast a look at his watch, his impatience the nail in the coffin of the confession she’d wanted to make.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, compressing her lips. “I shouldn’t have come.”
For a second he frowned, and she thought he might be going to urge her to stay, to wait with him, but then, he nodded.
“Probably not.” He walked towards the door, curving his hand over the knob, his eyes latched to hers with bland curiosity. “You used the name Salbatore just now. Why?”
Bella frowned. “It’s my legal name. I’m used to it.”
“You don’t use your parents’ name?”
“It’s my married name,” she said with a small shrug. “I never thought to change it.”
And his eyes flared wide and his surprise was evident. How could the innocent woman he’d taken to bed have been a virgin? It made very little sense and she could see that he was filled with a dozen questions on the matter.
But he apparently fought the urge to ask even a single one. “I see.” He drew the door inwards, waiting for her to step out of his office. The lack of ceremony and civility were shocking; nerves that had been jangling all morning were numb now, or slayed, possibly for good.
She looked into his eyes, the eyes of the man who’d taken her virginity, the man who would be the father to her child, and she felt frozen to her very core.
“I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
* * *
He wasn’t in the mood for company. He scooped a tennis ball from his pocket and pitched it in the air, catching it with his racket and slamming it against his practice wall, hard. It made a satisfying thwomp as it connected with the concrete surface. He moved to intercept its return, volleying it back, and again, and then the doorbell rang once more.
He cursed into the basement, dropping his racket to the floor, uncaring for the noise, stalking towards the wall and unhooking a towel. He wiped his face then lifted the intercom from its cradle. “Yes?” He barked in his native tongue.
It had been two weeks since Bella had come to his office. Two weeks in which he saw her hurt every time he blinked and wanted to slap himself for what he’d done to her. Not just a woman – Andrew’s daughter. Kat’s daughter.
Familiar guilt burned him alive.
He’d acted as though he hadn’t remembered her and God, how he wished he hadn’t. How he wished he hadn’t been obsessing over the dark act he’d committed and the implications.
How he wished he’d never met her.
How he wished he’d not gone to the wedding.
“Vit? It’s me.”
His chest tightened. He’d know those husky tones anywhere. Kat.
He swore inwardly, sweeping his eyes shut, seeing Bella’s face and wishing he could push both women from his mind.
He wanted to send Kat away, but their relationship wasn’t like that. He’d promised Andrew he’d look after Kat and he’d done so, even when it had meant ignoring every impulse, in those early days, needing to stay true to his loyalty to his friend.
He sighed heavily, throwing the towel onto the counter. “Just a sec.”
He took the stairs rather than his lift, bypassing the kitchen and moving straight to the door. When he reached it, he realized he was wearing only his training shorts, nothing else, and wished he’d thought to grab a shirt before going to her.
He pulled the door inwards and Kat, beautiful Kat, stepped into his house, bringing with her the fragrance of lavender and loyalty.
“Oh, Vit,” she said, her lip trembling, her eyes huge. “I need a hug and a drink. In that order.”
Before he could respond, she threw herself against him, her diamond wedding ring catching his eye as she wrapped her arms around his waist, her body tight to his.
He’d gone to bed with Bella not knowing who she was, but hoping the sex could obliterate Kat from his mind. For one night, at least. And instead, it appeared the other woman had cured him, because Kat’s closeness did nothing for him now. She stroked his bare back and he felt nothing – only a need to put some physical distance between them.
He pulled away from her as soon as he could politely do so, finding it almost impossible to meet her eyes, surprised to discover he wanted her to simply go away again.
“Scotch?” He offered.
“Champagne,” she corrected, pulling a face. “And a shoulder to cry on.” Her eyes dropped, lingering on his shoulders and his gut twisted.
Bella flashed into his mind and he wanted to rail against something.
“Sure.” He concealed his inner-turmoil, striding through to his kitchen and reefing a bottle of Veuve from the fridge. He popped the top and filled a glass for Kat, passing it to her without meeting her eyes. “I’ll be right back.”
He took the steps of his home two at a time, turning into his bedroom and pulling a shirt from the wardrobe and ripping it over his head.
Fortifying himself for the briefest moment, he returned downstairs to find Kat’s glass empty and her hands reaching for the bottle.
He took it from her, and now he looked at her, the fragile beauty in her face sad and wistful and captivating all at once. He poured her another glass of champagne, his chest pounding. He resisted his own desire for a drink. Alcohol wasn’t a good idea in this instance. He needed his wits about him, every single one of them.
“What’s happened?”
She rolled her eyes. “Everything.”
He laughed, despite himself. “Your flare for the dramatic aside, Kat, why don’t we start with specifics.”
“It’s Lorenzo,” she said, drinking half of her glass before placing it on the bench and standing, her slender body wrapped in a white trench coat, belted at her waist.
“Your new husband,” Vitalo drawled, staying where he was, one hip propped against the counter, his eyes following Kat’s progress.
“We argued.” She blinked across at Vitalo and shook her head. �
��Don’t look at me like that. I know you don’t approve of him but he makes me happy. I thought he made me happy…”
“You knew him precisely three seconds before you agreed to marry him,” Vitalo pointed out sagely. “And anyone with half a brain can see he’s using you.”
“Gee, thanks,” Kat drawled, biting down on her lower lip that immediately reminded him of Bella. Nausea surfed his insides and he had never, until that moment, been more grateful, that not once had he given into any temptation to kiss nor touch Kat. He was grateful that loyalty to Andrew had kept every single one of those boundaries in place even when, years earlier, he’d ached to comfort the widow the only way he knew how.
But friendship was all he could ever offer Kat, despite what she’d wanted from him, and Vitalo had been determined to be her friend, even when that friendship was complicated. And now?
“I have always been honest with you,” he said quietly.
“Lorenzo is poor,” she said quietly. “I know he likes my money and the lifestyle I can offer. But I do also believe he loves me.” Her eyes were huge when they lifted to Vitalo’s. “And he makes me happy.”
Vitalo was surprised he didn’t feel anything at that pronouncement. “Then what is it?”
“He wants to have a baby.”
“You’re what, forty eight?”
Her cheeks flushed. “I’m forty four.”
Vitalo laughed. “Sure, in OK! Magazine, you’re forty four, but I know you, Katerina Howard, and I happen to know you are forty eight.”
She reached for her champagne, sipping it once more, her lips flattened with distaste at his honesty. “There are options. IVF, surrogacy. There are ways I can do this. But I’m not sure. I didn’t enjoy being a mother the first time around,” she said flatly. “I don’t know if I want to sign up for it all over again.”
“And you fought over this?”
“He thinks I’ve misled him.” Kat spoke so quietly Vitalo almost didn’t hear. “That I haven’t been honest with him. He was furious when I told him I wasn’t sure about having a child.”
“Have you discussed it before?”
“Yes.” Kat had the goodness to look sheepish.
“And what did you promise him, Kat?”
She shifted her gaze away, sipping her champagne until the glass was empty.
“Kat?”
“Fine. I told him we’d talk about it after the wedding.”
Vitalo groaned. “But you led him to believe you wanted another baby?”
“No! Never!”
“At least, then, that it wasn’t off the table?”
She stared at Vitalo for several seconds and then, finally, nodded.
“Christós, Kat, no wonder he’s angry. Why did you lie to him?”
“I didn’t want him to… I wanted to get married.” She put the flute down on the table purposefully, crossing to Vitalo and undoing her trench coat as she walked. “I’m so sick of being lonely, Vit.”
Vitalo was very still, watching her from hooded eyes as she removed her jacket to reveal a fitted white shirt and skinny jeans. She was in incredibly shape for any age, and he’d spent years fantasizing about her.
But Bella had cured him – thank God. He was relieved to learn he wasn’t the kind of man who could bounce from daughter to mother.
“I’m so sick of being lonely,” she repeated, lifting a hand to his chest and pressing it to his heart. “First with Andrew, and how much he travelled. Then with you, refusing to give into this, to admit you want me. And now, Lorenzo, who’s put me out in the cold just because I won’t… I don’t know. Another baby is… I’m forty four.”
Vitalo let the lie pass, and stepped backwards, reaching for the champagne bottle and filling Kat’s glass up once more.
“Lots of women are having children later in life. Is age so important?”
She looked briefly placated by this, but then her face dropped again. “My daughters are in their twenties. The ‘baby stage’ feels like a long time ago.”
“Lorenzo is younger, surely you realized there were going to be issues of this sort to navigate?”
She lifted her shoulders. “Our lifestyle is… I thought he’d be happy. I thought I’d be enough.”
There might have been a time when he’d have pulled her into his arms to offer comfort, to hug her and reassure her with his proximity, telling himself it was an innocent gesture of friendship, that it didn’t mean anything. But not now. “You have to talk to your husband, Kat. If he loves you, he will understand your feelings.”
“He’s furious with me,” she whispered. “He won’t listen to reason. He’s taken himself off to Milano to lick his wounds.”
Vitalo ignored the flicker of disgust at the other man’s antics. He wasn’t sure he was in any position to judge. “Presumably he needs some time to make sense of this development. I am sure he will calm down in a day or two.”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head, and then sighed heavily, before lifting her huge blue eyes to his face. “I just needed to see a friend. Do you mind if I crash here the night?”
At his pause, she added, “I won’t be any trouble. I promise.” Her smile was slow to spread over her face and he saw it for what it was: an invitation.
Just like all the other invitations she’d extended, and he’d refused.
In the past, he’d struggled to say ‘no’ to her. He’d fought a battle inside of himself that had been almost deadly.
Now?
It wasn’t hard to resist Kat. He simply wanted her gone.
But the bonds of friendship had him nodding, if only to prevent her from getting behind the wheel of her car after three hastily consumed champagnes.
“Of course. You know where the guest room is.”
“I know where your room is, too,” she purred, the invitation impossible to miss now.
He blamed the champagne.
“My room’s taken,” he said simply, side-stepping her and moving towards the door. “There’s a selection of female clothing in the wardrobe of the guest suite. Toiletries in the ensuite. I’ll order dinner soon. Any favourites?”
At his business-like response, she was momentarily miffed and then shrugged. “No. Whatever you want is fine with me.”
Feeling as though he’d dodged a bullet, he moved towards the door, but she stilled him with a final remark.
“How can I possibly have another baby, at forty four? I’m about to become a Goddamned grandmother, Vit. A grandmother. Me!”
Chapter 3
SNOW HAD BEGUN TO fall, and it was one of Bella’s favourite sights in all the world. Despite the time she and Sophia spent in Aspen together every year, snow never became old to her. She never tired of the sight, of the magic involved in such a beautiful display.
She put a hand out, her fingers cupped together to give her the best chance of catching a flake, and she stood perfectly still, smiling when one landed on her fingertips, before bringing it closer to her face to inspect. It was just a tiny chip of cloud, a little breath of heaven. She rubbed it between her forefinger and thumb and then kept walking the few steps to the front door of her townhouse.
It would be Christmas in a little over a month, and the streets were already lined with decorations. Swathes of dark green ornamental ivy ran from one lamppost to the next, with huge red and gold baubles strung in the very centre. She thought of Xavier and Ellie’s children with another smile, wondering how much they’d grown since she’d last visited, and resolving to see them again as soon as she could, after Christmas. In the meantime, she’d send gifts. All the gifts.
She looked down at the bags she held, her expression one of wry acceptance.
Ellie would chastise Bella for being so extravagant, but how could she resist? They were truly the sweetest children in the world.
Would her own be as adorable?
She stopped, midway to her front door, her expression shifting slightly as she thought of Vitalo Katrakis, and she saw him as he’d been two wee
ks earlier in his office, his manner so cold, so ice-like, that it had killed something inside of her.
The father of her child barely remembered her. How would he feel when she told him about the baby they’d conceived? And when, precisely, would she get around to doing that?
When the baby was born, she thought with a nod of resolve. Once there was a living, breathing reality to face, she would face it, but for now, she could hide her head in the sand a little longer. And allow him to do the same.
Her fingers were icy-cold and she fumbled the keys a little as she pulled them from her handbag. She slid the big old brass key into the door and then it dropped to the ground. “Shoot,” she murmured, crouching down to collect it. Only when she stood did she become cognizant of the fact she was no longer alone.
A pair of very shiny shoes and dark grey trousers led to a narrow waist and a crisp white shirt beneath a thick grey jacket. Before she’d even reached his shoulders, she knew who it was and braced herself for visual impact.
Sure enough, as she looked higher, her eyes latched to Vitalo’s and all the wind seemed to thwomp from her lungs, rushing out of her and leaving her struggling for air.
“What are you doing here?” She asked, thinking back two weeks to the way he’d showed her from his office, his obvious lack of concern something she’d never forget.
“We need to speak,” he said, the words flattened of any emotion.
But he’d made it obvious he couldn’t be bothered with her and pride had her shaking her head. “We have nothing to speak about.”
“Haven’t we?” His eyes bore into hers as though he could see all the fragments of her soul, and because she knew she was being dishonest, she hesitated for a moment, long enough for him to take the keys from her and open the door. Long enough for him to scoop up her shopping bags and precede her into the hallway of her home.
But every second that passed gave her a chance to fight for her sense of control, so that when she stepped into the corridor and flicked the lights on, she was able to meet him with at least an expression of equanimity.
The Evermore Series II: Books 4, 5 and 6 Page 3