Читать книгу Modern Romance November 2016 Books 1-4 - Линн Грэхем, Cathy Williams - Страница 21

CHAPTER ELEVEN

AFTER DANTE HAD gone Willow tried to keep herself busy—because it was in those quiet moments when he wasn’t around that doubts began to crowd into her mind like dark shadows. But she wasn’t going to think about the future, or wonder how his Manhattan meeting with his twin brother was going. She was trying to do something she’d been taught a long time ago. To live in the day. To realise that this day was all any of them knew for sure they had.

She set off for a long walk around the grounds, watching the light bouncing off the smooth surface of the lake. The leaves were already on the turn and the whispering canopies above her head hinted at the glorious shades of gold and bronze to come. She watched a squirrel bounding along a path ahead of her and she listened to the sound of birdsong, thinking how incredibly peaceful it was here and how unbelievable it was to think that the buzzing metropolis of the city was only a short distance away.

Later she went to the library and studied row upon row of beautifully bound books, wondering just how many of them had actually been read. She found a copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and settled down to read it, soon finding herself engrossed in the famous story and unable to believe that she’d never read it before.

The hours slid by and she watched the slanting sunlight melt into dusk and shadows fall across the manicured lawns. As evening approached, Alma came to find Willow to tell her that Giovanni was feeling well enough to join her downstairs for dinner.

It was strangely peaceful with just her and Dante’s grandfather sitting there in the candlelight, eating the delicious meal which had been brought to them. The old man ate very little, though he told Willow that the tagliatelle with truffle sauce was a meal he had enjoyed in his youth, long before he’d set foot on the shores of America.

They took coffee in one of the smaller reception rooms overlooking the darkened grounds, silhouetted with tall trees and plump bushes. Against the bruised darkness of the sky, the moon was high and it glittered a shining silver path over the surface of the lake. All around her, Willow could feel space and beauty—but she felt there was something unspoken simmering away too. Some deep sadness at Giovanni’s core. She wondered what was it with these Di Sione men who, despite all their wealth and very obvious success, had souls which seemed so troubled.

Quietly drinking her espresso, Willow perched on a small stool beside his chair, listening to the sweet strains of the music which he’d requested Alma put on for them. The haunting sound of violins shimmered through the air and Willow felt a glorious sense of happiness. As if there was no place in the world she’d rather be, though it would have been made perfect if Dante had returned home in time to join them.

She thought about the way he’d kissed her goodbye that morning and she could do absolutely nothing about the sudden leap of her heart. Because you could tell yourself over and over that nothing was ever going to come of this strange affair of theirs, but knowing something wasn’t always enough to kill off hope.

And once again she found herself wondering if she came clean and told Dante the truth about her situation, whether this affair of theirs might last beyond their flight back to Europe.

Giovanni’s accented voice filtered into her thoughts.

‘You are not saying very much this evening, Willow,’ he observed.

Willow looked up into his lined face, into eyes which were dull with age and lined with the struggle of sickness, but which must once have burned as brightly blue as Dante’s own.

And I will never know Dante as an old man like this, she thought. I will never see the passage of time leave its mark on his beautiful face.

Briefly, she felt the painful clench of her heart and it was a few seconds before she could bring herself to speak.

‘I thought you might be enjoying the music,’ she said. ‘And that you might prefer me not to chatter over something so beautiful.’

‘Indeed. Then I must applaud your consideration as well as your taste in music.’ He smiled as he put down his delicate coffee cup with a little clatter. ‘But time is of the essence, and I suspect that mine is fast running out. I am delighted that my grandson has at last found someone he wishes to marry, but as yet I know little about the woman he has chosen to be his bride.’

Somehow Willow kept her smile intact, hoping her face didn’t look clown-like as a result. She’d had been so busy having sex with Dante that she’d almost forgotten about the fake engagement which had brought them here in the first place. And while she didn’t want to deceive Giovanni, how could she possibly tell him the truth? She opened her mouth to try to change the subject, but it seemed Giovanni hadn’t finished.

‘I am something of an expert in the twists and complexities of a relationship between a man and a woman and I know that things are rarely as they seem,’ he continued, the slight waver in his voice taking on a stronger note of reflection. ‘But I do know one thing...’

Willow felt the punch of fear to her heart as she looked at him. ‘What?’ she whispered.

He smiled. ‘Which is to witness the way you are when you look at Dante or speak of him.’ He paused. ‘For I can see for myself that your heart is full of love.’

For a moment Willow felt so choked that she couldn’t speak. Yes, she’d once told her sister that she liked Dante and that had been true. But love? She thought about his anguish as he’d recounted the story of his childhood and her desire to protect him—weak as she was—from any further pain. She thought about the way he made her laugh. The way he made her feel good about herself, so that she seemed to have a permanently warm glow about her. He made her feel complete—even though, for her, such a feeling could never be more than an illusion.

So could those feelings be defined as love? Could they?

Yes.

The knowledge hit her like a rogue wave which had suddenly raced up out of the sea. Yes, they could.

And even if Dante never loved her back, surely they could still be a couple until he tired of her.

Couldn’t they?

‘Your grandson is very difficult to resist,’ she said with a smile. ‘But he is a very complex man.’

Giovanni laughed. ‘But of course he is. All Di Sione men are complex—it is written into our DNA. That complexity has been our attraction and our downfall—although pride has played a big part in our actions. Sometimes we make decisions which are the wrong decisions and that is part of life. We must accept the shadows in order to experience light.’ His voice suddenly hardened. ‘But I know as an old man who has seen much of the world that regret is one of the hardest things to live with. Don’t ever risk regret, Willow.’

She nodded as she leaned forward to tuck a corner of the blanket around his knees. ‘I’ll try not to.’

‘And let me tell you something else.’ His voice had softened now, shot through with a trace of something which sounded like wistfulness. ‘That I long to see the bloodline of my offspring continue before I die, and to know there is another generation of Di Siones on the way.’ He smiled. ‘I know deep down that Dante would make a wonderful father, even though he might not yet realise that himself. Don’t wait too long before giving him a baby, my dear.’

It felt like a knife ripping through her heart as Giovanni’s blessing brought all her secret fears bubbling to a head. Willow tried hard not to let her distress show, but she was grateful when the nurse came to help the patriarch to bed. And as she made her way back to the cottage, she couldn’t stop Giovanni’s unwittingly cruel words from echoing round and round in her head.

Don’t wait too long before giving him a baby, my dear.

Stumbling inside, it took a few moments before she could compose herself enough to get ready for bed and to register from the quick glance at her cell phone that there was no missed call or text from Dante. With trembling fingers she put on her silk nightdress, slithering beneath the duvet and staring sightlessly up at the ceiling, as she reminded herself that he hadn’t promised to ring.

She had to stop relying on him emotionally. She had to learn to separate from him.

This wasn’t going anywhere.

It couldn’t go anywhere, she reminded herself fiercely. And sooner or later she had to address that fact, instead of existing in la-la land.

She fell asleep—her sleep peppered with heartbreaking dreams of empty cribs—and when she awoke, the pale light of dawn was filtering through the windows, bringing Dante’s still and silhouetted form into stark relief.

Brushing the hair from her eyes, Willow sat up. ‘How long have you been there?’ she questioned sleepily.

He turned round slowly. So slowly that for a minute she was scared of what she might see in his face. Distress, perhaps—if his reconciliation with Dario had come to nothing.

But she couldn’t tell what he was thinking because his eyes gave nothing away. They were shadowed, yes, but there was no apparent joy or sorrow in their lapis lazuli depths.

‘I got back about an hour ago.’

‘You didn’t come to bed?’

She could have kicked herself for coming out with something so trite. Obviously he hadn’t come to bed, or he wouldn’t be standing at the window fully dressed, would he?

But he didn’t seem irritated as he walked towards her and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I thought if I came to bed, then I’d have sex with you, and...’

‘And you don’t want sex?’

He laughed. ‘I always want sex with you, Willow, but it’s very distracting and right now I don’t want any form of distraction.’

She nodded, staring very hard at the needlepoint bedspread before lifting her eyes to his. ‘Do you want to talk about what happened?’

Dante considered her question and thought that of all the women he’d ever known, no one else would have asked it in quite that way. It was curious, yes—but it wasn’t intrusive. She was making it plain that she could take it or leave it—it was entirely up to him what he chose to tell her. She didn’t want to give him a hard time, he realised. And wasn’t her kindness one of the things which kept drawing him back to her, time after time?

He sighed and the sound seemed to come from somewhere very deep in his lungs. It hadn’t been an easy meeting with his twin, but it had been necessary. And cathartic. The pain of his remorse had hurt, but not nearly as badly as the realisation of how badly he had hurt his brother. And now that it was over he was aware of feeling lighter as a result.

‘Not really. I’m done with talking about it,’ he said, taking her hand within the palm of his own and wrapping his fingers around it. ‘Would it be enough to tell you that Dario and I are no longer estranged?’

Willow nodded. ‘Of course it’s enough.’ Her fingertips strayed to his shadowed jaw, where she felt the rasp of new growth against her skin.

‘Willow, I need to talk to you.’

‘I thought you just said you were done with talking.’

‘That was about family rifts. This is something else.’

She bit her lip because now he sounded like she’d never heard him sound before. All serious and...different. Did he want to end it now? Already? ‘What is it?’ she questioned nervously.

Almost reflectively he began to trace a little circle over her palm before lifting his gaze to hers. And Willow didn’t know if it was the fact that the sun was higher in the sky, but suddenly his eyes seemed clearer and bluer than she’d ever seen them before, and that was saying something.

‘I’m in love with you,’ he said.

Willow froze.

‘With me?’ she whispered, her voice choking a little.

He reached out his other hand—the one which wasn’t holding hers—and touched her hair, as if he was testing how slowly he could slide his fingers over it.

‘Yes, with you,’ he said. ‘The woman who has me twisted up in knots. Who made me do what I told myself I didn’t want to do. Who gave herself to me—the sweetest gift I’ve ever had, as well as the best sex of my life. Who taught me how to forgive myself and to seek forgiveness in others, because that has helped me repair the bitter rift with my brother. You are the strongest and bravest woman I’ve ever met.’

‘Dante...’

‘Shh. Who has withstood more than the average person will ever know,’ he continued. ‘And then just shrugged it off, like the average person would shrug off rain from a shower. But you are not an average person, Willow. You’re the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met—and I want to marry you and have babies with you.’

Her voice was more urgent now. ‘Dante...’

‘No. Just let me finish, because I need to say this,’ he said, his fingers moving from their slow exploration of her hair to alight on her lips, to silence her. And when he next spoke, his words seemed to have taken on a deeper significance and his face had grown thoughtful—as if he’d just discovered something which had taken him by surprise. ‘I never thought I wanted marriage or a family because I didn’t know what a happy family was, and I wasn’t sure I could ever create one of my own. The only thing I did know was that I never wanted to exist in an unhappy family. Not ever again.’ His mouth twisted. ‘But somehow I believe I can do it with you, because I believe—with you—that anything is possible. And I want you by my side for the rest of my life, Miss Willow Anoushka Hamilton.’

Willow blinked her eyes, trying furiously to hold back the spring of tears as she tried to take in words she’d never expected to hear him say. Beautiful, heartfelt words which made her heart want to melt. Wasn’t it funny how you could long for something—even though you tried to tell yourself that it was the wrong thing to long for—and then when it happened, it didn’t feel quite real.

It seemed inconceivable that Dante Di Sione should be sitting there holding her hand, with all the restraint and decorum of an old-fashioned suitor and telling her he’d fallen in love with her and wanted her to have his babies. She should have been jumping up and down with excitement, like a child on Christmas morning. She should have been flinging her arms around his neck and whooping with joy, because wasn’t this the culmination of all the hopes and dreams which had been building inside her, despite all her efforts to keep them under control?

So why was she sitting there, her heart sinking with dismay as she looked into his beautiful eyes and a feeling of dread making her skin grow cold and clammy?

Because she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t. She could never be the woman he wanted.

She thought about something else his grandfather had said to her last night and the wistful expression on his face as he’d said them. Regret is one of the hardest things to live with. Don’t ever risk regret, Willow.

He was right. She couldn’t risk regret—not for her sake, but for Dante’s. Because if he married her, he would have a lifetime of regret.

Yet how could she possibly convey that? She didn’t want to disclose her own dark secret and have him kiss away her fears and tell her it didn’t matter. Because it did. Maybe not now, when they were in the first flush of this powerful feeling which seemed to have crept up on them both—but later, almost certainly it would matter. When the gloss and the lust had worn off and they were faced with the reality of looking at the future. Would Dante still want her then? Wouldn’t he long for his heart’s desire, knowing she could never give it to him?

She couldn’t give him the choice and have him decide to do something out of some misplaced sense of selflessness, or kindness. She had to make the choice for him, because it was easier this way. She drew in a deep breath and knew she had to dig deep into the past, to remember how best to do this. To recall the way she’d managed to convince her weeping parents that no, of course the treatment didn’t hurt. She’d worked hard on her acting ability when she’d been sick and realised it was the people around her who needed comfort more than she did. Because in a funny way, what she had been going through had been all-consuming. It was the people who had to stand and watch helplessly from the sidelines who suffered the most.

So use some of that acting talent now. Play the biggest part of your life by convincing Dante Di Sione that you don’t want to marry him.

‘I can’t marry you, Dante,’ she said, aware that his blue eyes had narrowed. Was that in surprise, or disbelief? Both, probably. He may have just made the most romantic declaration in the world but that hadn’t eradicated the natural arrogance which was so much a part of him.

He nodded, but not before she had seen that look of darkness cross over his face, and Willow had to concentrate very hard to tell herself it was better this way. That it might hurt him a bit now—and it would certainly wound his ego—but in the long run it would be better. Much better.

She knew he was waiting for an explanation and she knew she owed him one, but wouldn’t all the explanations in the world sound flimsy? She couldn’t say that she thought their lifestyles were incompatible, or that she’d never want to live in Paris, or even New York—because she suspected he would be able to talk her out of every single one.

There was only one way to guarantee Dante Di Sione’s permanent exit from her life and it was the hardest thing to say. Hard to say it like she really meant it, but she knew she had to try.

So she made her features grow wooden and her voice quiet. Because, for some reason, quiet always worked best. It made people strain towards you to listen. It made them believe what you said.

‘I can’t marry you because I don’t love you, Dante.’