by Nina Milne
‘But you can’t guarantee that.’
‘I can try. I take care to only date women who are not emotionally vulnerable. For example, I would not date someone who has recently been in a relationship.’
She waited until the waiter came and took their orders and then leaned forward. ‘But what if a woman wants something different from you?’
‘Then she shouldn’t date me. I am upfront from the beginning as to what I can offer and what I want in return. And I do my best to make sure any woman who I date truly wants the same.’
‘But how can you be sure of that? You seem to want a fun, low-maintenance woman with no emotional needs at all. Does that exist?’
‘Yes. There are women who are not interested in a happy ever after. I don’t want to get caught up in anyone’s desire for love—I won’t hold them back on their quest. Neither will I pretend or con them into believing I am something I’m not. That I’ll be there for them on a weekly or daily basis. Equally I don’t expect them to be there for me. It works and there are plenty of plus points. Enjoyable dates with no pressure, relaxed conversations, sharing a nice time.’
Worry etched Emily’s features. ‘Are you in one of those relationships now?’
‘No. If I was then I would not have kissed you.’ In truth he should not have kissed her anyway; she didn’t fit his criteria, was not a woman he had discussed his relationship rules with and yet it hadn’t stopped him. Even now as he looked at her across the table the desire to kiss her again simmered inside him and he clenched his jaw in frustration. With Emily he was breaking rules; worst of all they were his own rules. ‘My arrangements may lack emotion, but they involve fidelity.’ That was important. ‘I would never betray that trust.’
‘So what happened with your last arrangement?’
He sipped his beer. ‘Georgia worked for an international company—she got an assignment overseas.’
‘And you didn’t mind?’
‘Not at all. I was happy for her—it was a promotion she’d worked hard for and she deserved it. We said goodbye and wished each other well.’
‘How long had you been “together”?’
‘About eighteen months. But we’d probably only seen each other twenty times in total over that time. She travelled a lot for work.’
‘And before that?’
‘Marina broke it off—she met someone else.’
‘And that didn’t bother you?’
‘No, that’s the beauty of this. No one gets hurt.’
‘But it’s also sad. The idea of these women moving on and not having made enough of an impact on your life for you to even care.’
The comment jolted him; he’d never thought about it like that and for a moment he felt strangely diminished inside, as if he lacked something important. A notion he dismissed promptly. ‘But that’s way better than them moving on and I am left devastated.’ This he knew.
‘Has that happened to you? Have you been left devastated?’ she asked.
‘Just the once. It falls under the young and foolish category, so perhaps devastation is a bit of an exaggeration. I was twenty, I fell in love and Lydia moved on to someone richer and more successful.’ An echo of his father’s actions.
‘That sucks.’
‘It did, but I really only had myself to blame.’ He should never have lost control of his feelings, should never have let the feelings flourish and grow into love.
‘Had you been together long?’
‘Six months. I was working at Silvio’s and she used to come in for a cocktail. We got talking and it spiralled from there.’ He’d fallen and fallen hard, tried to resist but in the end he had succumbed, decided that he and Lydia were the exception to the rule, that happy ever afters were possible. ‘Unfortunately she didn’t feel the same way I did. I walked into work one day and she was kissing one of the customers. Harry Chisholm. His dad was a millionaire and he lived a way more exciting lifestyle than I did.’
He could still feel the raw pain he’d felt then, as he’d stood rooted to the spot, watching the kiss. It had been Lydia who had spotted him, who had broken away. She had taken Harry by the hand and they’d approached him.
‘I’m sorry you had to find out like this. I’ve been trying to work out how to tell you.’
Harry had left them alone and Lydia had continued to speak. Luca had been unable to say anything, the rawness of his pain new, yet all too familiar. There had been sadness in her voice.
‘I’m truly sorry, Luca. But you’re so serious, so focused on your business and your training and work. Harry is fun and exciting and—’
‘Rich.’
He’d managed the syllable, infused it with all the bitterness he’d felt.
‘And he’s charming...and he doesn’t take life so...personally.’
The words had cut him to the heart, a reminder of his childhood self. This was his fault—just as it had been his fault his dad had left. There was something wrong with him.
‘I’m sorry, Luca.’ Emily’s voice, gentle and full of compassion, pulled him to the present.
‘Don’t be. It’s an old story—it happens all the time to millions of people. It was no big deal, but I will admit it put me off love and romance.’
‘I understand why. But I think there is a different solution to your arrangements.’
‘Such as?’
Before she could reply the waiter approached their table.
CHAPTER NINE
AS THE WAITER put the aromatic plates in front of them Emily reflected on what Luca had shared; it might be an old story, but she sensed that eighteen-year-old boy would have been devastated by Lydia’s behaviour. Sensed too that he would rather walk on hot coals than admit it, and wanted to give him a bit of a time out to walk away from the memory of Lydia.
Emily looked down at her plate, inhaled the delicious scent of spices, garlic, fresh green chilli and cumin and couldn’t help but admire the presentation of her sadhya—a variety of curries and dals and pickles in small stainless-steel pots all arranged on a banana leaf. She looked across at Luca’s choice, a rice-flour pancake filled with a curry that emitted the waft of ginger and coconut.
‘Do you mind if I take a picture of yours as well as mine?’
‘No problem.’
A few minutes later, she gave a small sigh of satisfaction and took her first taste. ‘This is beyond amazing.’
He nodded. ‘Mine too. Do you want to try some?’
‘Yes, please.’ She waited whilst he sectioned off a bit of his and moved it onto her plate, ‘And help yourself.’ She tore of a piece of chapati and handed it over, watched as he dipped it into one of the pots and she revelled in the strange intimacy of sharing food.
For a few moments they savoured the dishes, and then he wiped his mouth on a napkin. ‘So what is your solution to relationships? You tried marriage so I assume you believe in the happy-ever-after theory. Or at least you did.’
‘Definitely past tense.’ There had been no happiness in the ending with Howard. Even now the sequence of events was a horrible blur. Her pregnancy had been a surprise but to Emily it had been a welcome one. To Howard it had not; and as her pregnancy had progressed his displeasure had only increased. His insistence she conceal it, his growing impatience, his disparaging remarks. All had culminated in her discovery that he was sleeping with someone else. The scale of her anger at his betrayal still shocked her, their confrontation a humdinger that she regretted with all her heart, because two weeks later she’d lost the baby and a part of her believed that somehow the sheer raw pain and exhaustion could have caused it.
Her pain must have shown on her face because Luca leaned forward and, oh, so gently took her hands in his. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring back memories or hurt you.’
‘It’s OK. Truly. It was a painful break-up but I have put Howard behind me no
w.’ Not her baby, she would never ever be able to do that, would never want to. ‘And I won’t repeat past mistakes, I’m done with love.’ She wouldn’t make the same mistakes as her mother. ‘But your type of arrangements wouldn’t work for me. If I am with someone I want to feel I am important enough that they would at least miss me if I were gone. Or at the very least notice—it doesn’t sound as though Georgia or Marina impacted on your life at all.’
He shook his head. ‘They didn’t in the sense that they had the power to hurt me. But I did like them, and they liked me—we did have good times together.’
‘But they didn’t matter.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘That was the point. Once a person matters to you then you open yourself to pain and hurt.’
‘Agreed.’ She’d seen her mother hurt time and again and after each disaster she’d got back up on her feet and entered the fray again, her quest for love undimmed. ‘It’s no secret that my mother has been married multiple times and it seems to me that she never learns; she opens herself up time and again to the same type of man in her search for love.’
When Emily had remonstrated, Marigold had simply pointed out that she wasn’t a quitter.
‘I’ll never give up on true love and my happy ending.’
‘But my father—he did learn from his marriage to my mother. His second marriage works perfectly. He and Neela do matter to each other but not too much.’ Rajiv Khatri had married Neela very soon after he split with Marigold and his second wife couldn’t be more different from his first.
‘How so?’
‘Their relationship works because it isn’t based on grand passion, or whirlwind romance. It’s practical and nice and comfortable—they care about each other but without the angst.’ There were no fights, no raised voices and a sense of calm politeness. ‘They like and respect each other and they are both happy doing their own separate things. Neela goes with him to some of the Bollywood parties but she doesn’t mind if he goes on his own. Neela is involved with charity work and Dad helps out with that if he can. But she spends a lot of time on that. And, of course, they have a family.’ The words were a reminder of what she had hoped for just months before, and what she’d lost—the chance of a family of her own. Not now. ‘That is definitely Neela’s priority. And Dad’s. They put their family first.’
As a child she had watched the loving, nurturing bond Neela had with her children, realised that she prioritised them, thought about them, planned for them. And it had been nearly impossible not to compare it with her own relationship with her mother. It would never occur to Marigold to put Emily first. At the start of each new relationship, throughout each marriage, Marigold put her man first, relegated Emily to second tier. There was the time she had been bundled off to boarding school, only to be taken back out to comfort Marigold when the marriage collapsed. The time a live-in nanny had been employed, until said nanny had an affair with husband number three.
‘What you are describing...in a way your father and Neela have found love.’
‘They have found affection. That would be enough for me.’ Along with a family. The beauty would be that she would be able to prioritise her children, put them before romantic love. Put them first in a way she never had been by either of her parents. In some ways, she hadn’t put her baby first—instead she had been swayed by her misplaced love for Howard.
‘So really you want an arrangement too. But with a bit more depth.’
Emily considered the words, then acknowledged the truth. ‘A lot more depth. I want to be with someone I like and respect and who will be a good father to our children. Will put them first. It would be a good arrangement. Maybe you should consider it.’ Belated realisation of how he might take her words hit her. ‘Not with me, obviously.’
Amusement glinted in his eyes. ‘So that’s not a proposition?’ The words were said with a smile that curled her toes and the mood morphed and suddenly the air seemed heavy with possibility.
‘Of course not!’ Yet scenarios triggered in her imagination—herself and Luca surrounded by a brood of children. A dark-haired boy with brown eyes, a dark-haired girl, hair in plaits, with Luca’s grey eyes. Emily sat holding a tiny baby in her arms, Luca looking down on them with a smile in his eyes.
Holy Moly. Where had all that come from? Yet as she looked at Luca, desperately tried to keep any vestige of her thoughts from her face, she saw something in his eyes and for a treacherous moment she wondered, hoped, that it was a mirror of her own stupid vision.
Enough. For the first time in twenty-four hours panic started to ripple in the deep dark pool of guilt. How could she sit here picturing a new family, a new baby, in such vivid detail? It was only a year since tragedy had struck. Since the miscarriage that had sent her spinning downward.
‘Emily.’ Now Luca’s voice was laced with concern. ‘I apologise—it was simply a joke and a bad one at that. I know you are not propositioning me.’
‘I know you know.’ Seeing the dawn of questions she didn’t want to answer, the flash of concern in his silver-grey eyes, she pulled her unravelled thoughts together, pushed back at the panic until it subsided, sank a little towards the depths. ‘I just thought maybe you should consider a different type of arrangement, one that allows you to have a family.’
‘Nope. It’s still too high risk. For me, as a man. If my wife were to leave the odds are that she would take the children, would have custody. And maybe I would not deeply love my wife, but I would love my children. That love would give any woman too much power over me. The power to take them away from me.’
Emily heard the depth of passion in his voice, knew he meant it. That this man would rather not have children at all than risk losing them. And how could she blame him? His father had abandoned his family; why wouldn’t his wife abandon him? And he was right. Her arrangement would work better for a woman; she would most likely have custody of any children.
So, ‘I get that.’ Her voice was quiet and he looked at her with raised brows.
‘You do?’
‘Yes. You don’t ever want to settle for being a part-time father.’ As her own father had been. In truth Emily knew she was a redundant child—he had five others and his interest in Emily was a duty only. ‘And you won’t risk the pain of having your kids taken away from you.’ She looked down at her empty plate. ‘I understand, but I think you’re wrong.’
‘Why?’
How to explain it? Explain that despite the pain, the misery, the gut-wrenching, soul-searing sense of loss she wouldn’t undo her baby, wouldn’t take away her pregnancy? She couldn’t explain that without telling Luca of her grief and she wasn’t ready to do that.
‘Because I believe the chance to be a parent is worth any risk. And because I believe, even if you were a part-time father, you’d make it work somehow. If you wanted to.’ This man would make anything work. If he wanted to.
There was a silence and then he shook his head. ‘I don’t want to and the best way to ensure that is not to start that sort of relationship. I think I’ll steer clear of love of any kind.’
‘I am not advocating love. Love is a chimera and an illusion, the holy grail that people chase, a word they bandy about when really it’s all about attraction, or money, or fame... I’ve always known that. But when I met Howard I forgot the rules, forgot what I know deep in my bones. I got conned by the illusion. Never again.’ She gave a sudden laugh. ‘Listen to me. In the most romantic place in the world, denouncing love.’
He raised his glass. ‘To non-romance.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’
Once they’d clinked she said, ‘Now how about we talk about something completely different? What’s the detailed itinerary for tomorrow? Cocoa-bean farm in the afternoon? And I was thinking about visiting the royal palace gardens in the morning.’
Luca’s reaction was palpable; his forehead creased into a frown and his lips thin
ned.
‘Unless that doesn’t work for you? There’s no need for you to come to the gardens.’
‘It’s not that. You simply reminded me of something.’ Something important, clearly. ‘Samar, the owner of the farm suggested I get royal endorsement for the chocolate.’
‘That’s a great idea.’ But it did not explain the reason for the grim set to his lips or the fierceness of his scowl.
‘I just need to work out the best person to approach.’ His frown intensified as he glanced at his watch. ‘If it’s OK with you I think I’ll call it a night. I’d better get on with some research and putting a proposal together for this endorsement.’
‘Sure.’ She tried not to feel hurt at the abruptness. ‘I’ve got work to do too.’
Ten minutes later she said goodbye to Luca and entered the cottage, looked round the clean, cool, uncluttered interior. Wicker furniture and white cushions, a sleek wooden desk and a sumptuous double bed.
But she wasn’t tired—a mix of jet lag and a reaction to the conversation she’d just had. Perhaps work would help; she could research tourist spots or finish putting together her Turin photos. As she booted up her computer and pulled up the images she paused, she hovered over a rare shot she had got of Luca. He’d been in the shot accidentally and in fact that made it way better than a posed one. He had been explaining something in the factory, the art of roasting a cocoa bean, and you could see passion and integrity and pride in his stance and features. It would be perfect for his website. Whatever he thought.
Emily frowned and quickly pulled up the website of Palazzo di Cioccolato to study it again, as an idea gathered in her mind.
* * *
Luca awoke the following morning, aware of a strange sense of anticipation. As he swung his legs out of bed he assured himself his mood had nothing to do with Emily Khatri and everything to do with having done something constructive about Jodi.
The previous night he had researched the royal family and the recent film festival. Nowhere had he found any mention of his sister, but he now understood two royal family trees. The Jalpuran one and that of the Mediterranean island of Talonos. The Royal Film Festival was held on each island biannually and covered both Bollywood and European films. The royals from Talonos fronted the European side.