Читать книгу Modern Romance January Books 5-8 - Heidi Rice - Страница 19

‘WELL?’ FRANCESCA LOOKED up from a mountain of flour the second Gracie walked into the café.

‘Well, what?’

‘How big is this party?’ Francesca sounded amazed to have to explain. ‘You didn’t give me anywhere near enough information in your text message last night. Are you sure we can handle it? We can’t even make enough pastries to last till closing each day.’

Gracie flushed and quickly turned to hang up her bag. She’d forgotten all about the party. ‘Large but not impossible. It should be fairly straightforward as long as we start early. It’s having enough stock here at the same time for those couple of days leading up to it that’s the problem.’

‘Well, I can always close early then if we have to,’ Francesca mused. ‘Often those clients prefer to get catering in from Milan or even further, I want to show them local is better.’

Which, now she thought about it, had been Rafe’s point when they’d discussed it more late last night. He knew exactly how to play them. He knew how to win. Not that Gracie was complaining.

She worked swiftly. While several trays were baking she organised the small outside tables, putting one of Alex’s roses in each of the small vases. Turning to go back inside, she was startled to see an elderly man staring at the table nearest him. She frowned in surprise—it was very early, there was almost no one else even moving in the village yet. And this old man hadn’t shaved and looked dishevelled. He looked lost.

‘I’m sorry, we’re not open yet,’ she said apologetically. But he didn’t answer. He didn’t stop staring at the rose she’d just put in the vase.

‘Are you okay, sir? Can I help you?’ she tried again.

Again, no reply. But his hands were trembling. He was clearly disoriented.

‘Why don’t you take a seat and I’ll get you a drink?’ Gracie said gently, lightly putting her hand on his shoulder to guide him. At her touch he looked at her and smiled.

‘Thank you,’ he said very formally with a crisp American accent.

‘Something cool.’ She smiled at him and gestured for him to take a seat. Even though it was early, the morning was warming quickly.

She quickly fetched a glass of the lemonade that Alex favoured and put a pastry on a plate for him as well. ‘It’s a beautiful rose, isn’t it?’ She set the refreshment in front of where he was sitting.

He nodded jerkily, lifting the glass to sip a small amount.

As she turned to go back inside, she saw another man striding along in the distance, looking down the narrow streets, concern carving the lines more deeply into his face.

She stepped forward to intercept him. ‘Excuse me, are you looking—’

Gracie stopped and drew a steadying breath because she suddenly recognised this man. He was from that party the other night. Rafael had said he was his nephew. His much, much older nephew.

‘Oh, there you are, Dad.’ The man brushed past Gracie.

Dad? Gracie stared. If the elder man was the nephew’s father, then he must be Rafael’s half-brother. Her heart pounded. But she saw the confusion in the elder man’s eyes. The lack of awareness, of recognition.

‘I’m sorry he troubled you,’ the nephew said briskly. ‘He gets confused and wanders and I should have...’

He breathed out a harsh sigh and apologised again.

‘It’s okay.’ Gracie smiled to put him at ease. ‘It must be worrying.’ She could see the stress he was under and she truly did understand.

‘What do I owe you for the drink?’

‘Nothing.’ She smiled again. ‘I’m just glad he’s reunited with you.’

The man breathed out and relaxed fractionally. Then he leaned forward to focus on the flower as well. ‘Is that from the Villa Rosetta? They’re famous for roses that colour.’

‘Actually, no.’ Gracie almost lost the strength in her legs. ‘But it is one that’s been grown by the villa’s head gardener. He’s very talented.’

‘Right.’ He nodded and helped his father to his feet. ‘Thanks again.’

She watched them leave with a heaviness weighing down her chest. He’d reminded her of her own grandfather and that same confusion in his eyes. Aging wasn’t easy.

‘Is that man okay?’ Francesca interrupted her thoughts as she went back into the small shop.

‘Yes, he’s fine now.’ Gracie rolled her shoulders back, fretting over what had happened. She should tell Rafe. She just wasn’t sure what she was going to say. ‘Back to it.’

Hours later she looked out the window and saw Rafe pull in across the road. She grabbed the bags she’d prepared and dashed across to meet him.

‘You’ve packed some clothes?’ He grinned as he lifted them into the car for her.

‘No, some ingredients.’

‘Food?’ He glanced again at the bags. ‘You didn’t pack any clothes?’

‘I didn’t think I’d need any.’ She laughed and fastened her seatbelt.

‘But you need ingredients?’

‘I said I was going to try out your oven.’

‘You can’t be serious. You’ve been working all day and you have to be back at the bakery at stupid o’clock in the morning.’ He drove them back to the villa.

‘It’s a stress release.’ She giggled.

‘I can help with that.’ He sent her a look.

‘You can, by telling me which of my pastries you prefer for your party. I need to get it organised.’

‘And you’re going to bake naked, right? Seeing as you didn’t bring any clothes.’

‘I’m not—’ She broke off as music suddenly blasted from her phone. Her heart skidded—she’d saved that song for her mother. ‘I’m sorry.’ She glanced at Rafe. ‘I need to get this.’ She quickly swiped the screen. ‘Mum, are you okay?’

‘New brioche for breakfast.’

Gracie’s heart sank at the code sentence her mother had always used for when they had to pack up quickly. ‘You’re moving again? Where to?’ Why? There was no need for her to live such a nomadic existence any more.

‘Portugal, I think,’ her mother replied. ‘I’m still deciding.’

‘You could come and visit me,’ Gracie invited softly.

‘You know I can’t return to Italy. Too many messy memories there. Look, I’ll call again soon with my new details. I just wanted you to know so you didn’t worry if you tried this number.’

‘Okay,’ Gracie answered, her heart sinking.

‘Bye, darling. I love you.’

‘Sure.’ Gracie hung up and then scrolled through her phone, deleting her mother’s contact details. Again.

‘Your mother’s moving?’ Rafe quietly queried.

‘Yes.’ She tried to smile to cover that old ache. ‘She never lasts more than a year in any one place.’

‘But she’s no longer in danger from the police because of hiding you, right?’

‘Right,’ Gracie answered. ‘But she runs away from any kind of conflict. I mean, any kind. She just can’t seem to settle.’ And Gracie hated that. Her mother never stopped long enough to learn to trust anyone or any place. She never returned. She just kept on running. Never faced what it was that she feared most.

‘How does she get by?’

‘Oh, she’s the best short-order cook you’ll ever meet,’ she said with a hiNt of pride. ‘No one can cook meals in minutes like my mum.’

But Rafe didn’t smile back, he looked concerned. ‘You miss her.’

‘Yeah.’ Sadness bloomed again in the light of his perception. ‘She was never present. She was always worried, always working to make the next buck. Not that she ever cooked for me,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘She was too tired when she got home.’

‘Is that why you learned to cook?’

‘I only ever baked—it was only about the pastry. I liked the science and taking the time to get it right. I spent hours in our little apartments, with all those crappy ovens, trying all different doughs.’

‘Alone?’

She caught his inflection and smiled.

‘But it was like therapy for you,’ he said. ‘That stress release.’

‘Exactly. And you have a really nice kitchen, Rafe.’ She got out of the car and headed into the villa with her bags to set up her space.

‘You’re not seriously about to make pastry now?’ He followed her into the room.

‘Actually, I am. Lots of little pastry cakes.’ Because she needed time to clear her head and working soothed her. But then she glanced at him, because she wasn’t alone now. ‘Is that okay?’

‘Of course. You know you’re free to do what you want.’ He lifted up the last of her heavy bags onto the bench. ‘But do you mind if I watch?’

‘You want to watch?’ She frowned. ‘I can’t make small talk, Rafe, I need to concentrate.’

‘I won’t distract you.’

At that she finally smiled. Did the man not know he distracted her round the clock?

Ninety minutes later she presented five petite pastries on a plate for him—all gilded differently. She’d used glossy sabayon, smooth ganache, gold leaf, poached pear crisps...and so much more. She’d gone with miniature, intense works of art. True to his word, he hadn’t distracted her—at least, not intentionally. He’d asked a few questions—to explain her methods—but otherwise he’d been quiet. And she’d relaxed into it. Now she saw the look on his face and pride licked. She was very good at what she did.

‘You really like to present perfection, don’t you? How am I supposed to choose?’ He groaned and selected one while studying the others with gleaming eyes. ‘You shouldn’t be working for anyone. You should have your own bakery.’

She laughed. ‘Thank you for that compliment.’

‘I mean it.’ He watched her, the curiosity in his eyes now professional as well as personal. ‘I talked with a couple of local tourism leaders the other day. They said Bar Pasticceria Zullo has undergone a transformation in the last few months. It offers a far greater selection of sweets and is much more popular. Apparently the change coincides with your arrival.’

‘Perhaps it coincides with the tourist season,’ she muttered, her face heating. ‘More people in town buying stuff.’

‘You know that’s not it.’ He sent her a droll look. ‘Why do you hide your light under a bushel?’

She wasn’t. She was happy doing her thing with the people she’d found. ‘Francesca has been really supportive of my ideas. I like working for her.’

‘But why not work for yourself? You’re doing all this work turning her business around for her. You should get the benefit.’

‘Speaks the guy who likes to own everything in sight, even when he doesn’t need it.’ She laughed. She truly liked Francesca and she liked being part of the village. ‘She’s a good friend.’

‘So you don’t want your own bakery? You have an amazing product, you have good ideas. You know you have a head for marketing the business.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Is it the start-up cost? You don’t want to go into debt?’

‘Are you about to make me an offer?’ She smiled at the way he’d morphed into spot-the-deal CEO mode. ‘Don’t. My father offered to pay to set up my own bakery, and if I didn’t take it from him, I’m not about to take it from you.’

‘Why didn’t you take it from him?’ He looked up sharply, taking a moment to search her expression. ‘There were strings?’

She sighed reluctantly, the guy was very perceptive. ‘He wanted it to be in London.’

‘And you didn’t want to stay there?’

‘I’d lived there with him for a while,’ she said quietly, refusing to think too deeply about that time. ‘That way Mum didn’t get punished more harshly when she came back into the country. She just had to pay a fine and do some community service and he left her alone.’ She caught his frown. ‘I was eighteen—no longer a child. It was my choice.’

‘To protect your mother from repercussions?’

‘Of course. She’s my mother, Rafe. But he’s my father and he and I both missed out. He wanted time with me and I wanted time with him.’

His expression tightened but he nodded slowly. ‘How did it work out?’

‘It was odd, initially,’ she admitted. ‘He’d remarried a few years back and I have a couple of half-brothers. I got on with them okay.’ She sent him a quick sorry smile. ‘They’re cute.’

‘But?’

She bit her lip. ‘They’re a family.’

‘That you didn’t feel part of?’

‘It’s complicated.’ She shrugged it off and put on her smile. ‘But I did my training when I was there. A really good culinary arts school, I did every extra course I could. Then I worked. Got great experience.’

‘Evidently.’ He nodded at the plate. ‘So you kept busy.’

‘Yes, and it was good. It was a great time. I was lucky that they all welcomed me.’

‘Lucky,’ he echoed.

‘Yeah.’ But she heard the suggestion of disbelief in his voice.

He studied her for a long moment and then took the plate of pastries from her and put it on the table. ‘We have more in common than I’d thought.’

She laughed. ‘No, we don’t.’

‘Sure we do.’ He leaned in and tugged her towards him. ‘Insatiable appetites, for a start.’

Rafe drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove her to the pasticceria. The sky was barely beginning to lighten, but he felt sunny, warm and satisfied. Three days had passed since she’d first agreed to stay with him. Still not anywhere near enough time. Last night he’d woken her twice and then—to his supreme satisfaction—she’d woken him. Half an hour before her alarm, she’d roused him with her soft, hot mouth and her strong, silky-smooth thighs and that intoxicating, addictive passion.

He knew exactly how his day would play out and he couldn’t be happier about it. He’d drop her at work, then return to the villa to get ahead of business so he could steal more time for himself later. In a few hours, when famished, he’d go back to the bakery, buy coffee and pastries and steal kisses.

While the café was closed for the early afternoon he’d walk with her while she checked on Alex. She always saved the old guy a pastry, even though they’d sold out to the paying customers. Alex waited in his chair in the shade, a carafe of his favourite lemonade on the table and two glasses. In the last couple of days there’d been three glasses waiting.

Rafael talked to him about the roses and the history of the villa, but he’d not asked Alex if he’d met his father when he’d stayed there all those years ago. Some things were better off untouched. But he enjoyed the banter between Alex and Gracie. She’d tell him stories of the tourists and who from the village had been into the café, while he asked questions and made acerbic comments. He saw the appreciation in the old guy’s eyes and he was almost not jealous.

After visiting Alex, he’d take her to the villa for a lazy swim and sex. She didn’t have to work the late shift tonight and he was looking forward to having the entire evening with her. But when he pulled up at the pasticceria, Gracie got out of the car and sent him a sparkling smile through the open window. ‘I can’t stay with you tonight. I’m having dinner with Alex, so I’ll sleep at home.’

At home? He blinked at her. Did she mean her apartment?

‘You have lunch with him every day.’ Stupidly strong disappointment forced his immediate argument. The suggestion sucked the sweet wind right out of his sails. She hadn’t even left and he’d already been looking forward to her returning. Frankly, he didn’t want her to leave at all and that fact bothered him too. In an instant he was bothered by everything—unreasonably irritated at the thought of not seeing her for an entire day.

‘Are you jealous?’ She smiled at him.

‘Yes.’ She was going to be smiling at Alex tonight. While the villa was going to be quiet and his bed cold.

‘You’ll get over it. It’ll pass.’ She smiled at him triumphantly and turned to walk away.

Rafe watched her go. She’d waited until she’d got out of the car before telling him. Why? Because she’d known he’d have tried to convince her otherwise and they both knew he would have succeeded. That soothed his irritation somewhat, but he wouldn’t go back to the bakery for coffee later. He couldn’t see her in public when it was going to be an entire day and night until he was alone with her again. But by evening he was bored out of his brain. He didn’t want to rattle around the villa alone without her.

He went for a drive, telling himself he’d go to the next village along from Bellezzo. Except Pasticceria Zullo had the best food and the best atmosphere. He couldn’t resist walking past just to see how busy it was. He approached it by the side alley. The rear entrance was open to let the heat of the kitchen out. He paused some distance away because he could see a woman working over a mountain of dough. Not just any woman. Her face was flushed as she kneaded. He could see the tiredness in her stance but worse was the droop of her mouth. He knew Gracie—he knew her smile. And right now he knew she was sad. But he was furious. She was working?

He watched from the alley a while longer. Why had she lied to him? He’d have understood if she’d needed to work. He’d happily have waited and given her a lift back home to his place. It seemed so unusual for her to lie, especially when she’d said she never wanted to do that any more. He walked to the front of the bar and came to another halt.

Alex was sitting at one of the tables outside, a younger man and woman sitting on either side of him, and there was no spare chair waiting for Gracie.

Rafe frowned and walked straight over. ‘I thought Gracie was having dinner with you tonight, Alex.’

Alex looked up. ‘Rafael—’

But Rafe was watching the others and caught the awkward look between what was clearly Alex’s son and his wife.

‘She decided to let us have time, just us family,’ the son interjected before Alex could say anything more.

Just us family.

And they didn’t consider Gracie family? When she had been the one looking after Alex when he’d been ill? When she’d been the one checking on him every single day? When she was the one who wanted nothing more than a family of her own?

The irritation that had been smouldering within him all day sparked to a full flame of anger.

‘She said she was tired,’ Alex said unhappily. ‘I asked her to stay.’

‘She doesn’t want to stay with you all the time, Father,’ Alex’s son said. ‘Most young women don’t want to hang around old men.’

It sounded like he was the one who didn’t want her around. Rafe glanced at the man, fury slicing through him. ‘Why? You think she’s targeting your father like some gold-digger hunting a sugar daddy?’ He grimaced at the shock that flashed on the man’s face. Damn it, not everyone had the history he did. He drew a breath and backtracked with truth. ‘Gracie cares for Alex. She does everything she can for him every day. Just as she does for anyone who asks her. She likes to help people.’

And thanks to their thoughtlessness, she was now alone. Again.

‘Rafe?’

He froze. Gracie was standing behind him, wearing a flour-sprinkled apron, and she was as pale as that flour, save for two red spots blooming high on her cheekbones.

‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered, glancing around at all the other people who’d just heard what he’d said.

He didn’t care about the other customers, he cared about her.

And that realisation made him flounder. ‘You...’ He swallowed, then swiftly stepped forward. ‘You said you were having dinner with Alex.’

‘That was the original plan, but his family turned up for a surprise visit,’ she answered, her soft eyes full of emotion.

And she’d been dispatched. ‘So now you’re working again?’ he asked.

A chair scraped on the cobbles as Alex stood. ‘Gracie—’

‘Please, sit down, Alex, and enjoy your meal with your family.’ She leaned past Rafe to offer the old man a smile, her flush steadily growing. ‘It’s fine. Rafe just got confused about...things. I’ll take him away.’

Because he was misbehaving? He followed her into the pasticceria. She picked up a large slice of pizza and offered it to him, her eyes not quite meeting his. ‘Would you like some?’

Oh, no, she wasn’t going to take care of him now.

‘What about you? Have you eaten?’ he demanded.

Surprise flashed on her face, then she averted her eyes again.

Of course she hadn’t eaten. He stalked behind the counter and took the pizza from her. He reached for an empty box from behind her, put that piece in and then added more. ‘No doubt it’s hours since you last ate properly.’

‘You go, Gracie.’ Francesca emerged from the kitchen, a subdued look on her face when she glanced at Rafe. ‘I can handle the café.’

‘You’re sure?’ Gracie double-checked.

Of course she checked. Rafe felt even more irritated. Couldn’t Gracie put herself first for once, instead of trying to be all things to everyone?

He walked her to his car. She got into the passenger seat and he handed her the pizza box. He took a couple of deep breaths as he walked around the car to the driver’s door. He shouldn’t be this worked up, but he couldn’t shake it off. This protectiveness? Just instinct, right? Normal levels of concern for a nice person.

‘I’m sorry for interrupting Alex’s dinner,’ he said, starting the engine to get out of the village as fast as possible.

She slowly swivelled to face him, the pizza balanced precariously on her knee. ‘You thought they’d been rude to me?’

He sighed. ‘You said you were going to dinner with Alex. I saw you in the kitchen from the alley. You were alone and you looked sad and then they were there all having a nice dinner without you and, yes, I thought they’d been rude to you.’ He clenched the steering wheel as he thought about it. He sounded like some stalker. Hell, he was some stalker. But he’d been worried. And annoyed. And she still looked sad, even if she was trying not to.

Though why he felt this mad about it, why he’d chastised those strangers, why he’d insisted on ensuring she was okay... He just felt an incredibly strong need to be with her. To take care of her.

‘I wanted them to have some space. It was my choice,’ she replied with a determined smile. ‘They just wanted to spend some time together as a family. It’s nice.’

But he’d seen her loneliness, he heard it in her voice now—because she didn’t have the kind of family she wanted. She’d treated Alex as family, and for his son to have rejected her?

‘It would also have been nice for you to spend time with them,’ he pointed out with more gentleness than he was feeling. ‘You care for him like family.’

Rafe had been isolated and treated with suspicion, been looked down on, and it had hurt, and Gracie didn’t deserve that from those people. She had a kind, generous heart. Fury rose all over again at the thought of them dismissing her. He glanced at her but his rage was derailed because her expression had crumpled. He instinctively slowed the car. ‘Hey—’

‘Thank you for standing up for me,’ she muttered quietly. ‘That was nice.’

His chest tightened and he swallowed, not quite sure how to respond.

But then she smiled. ‘Your first instinct is to think the worst of everyone, isn’t it? You don’t trust anyone.’

His pulse thundered even more. ‘You heard that bit? Damn.’ He shook his head and dragged up a rueful smile. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, it’s okay.’ Her expression sweetened and she put her hand on his. ‘Alex would never think that I was after something from him. I don’t think his son would either.’ She looked at him with those tender eyes. ‘What made your mind even go there?’

‘My mother,’ he said bitterly, pulling in to park at the villa. ‘That’s who she was, right? The gold-digging slut who seduced septuagenarians for their megabucks.’ He looked at her. ‘All my life people have thrown that rubbish at me. I don’t want them saying anything like that to you.’

‘Rafe, they wouldn’t. They didn’t. And even if they had...you know I can take care of myself.’

‘Can you?’ Warm amusement muted his earlier annoyance. He released his seatbelt and turned to her. ‘Gracie, you’re like a marshmallow melting into a mug of chocolate to sweeten it up. You like to make a difference. You like to be needed.’ And right now her friend Alex didn’t need her. But Rafe did. He wanted to think she might need him too. Just for the moment.

She lifted a shoulder in a little shrug. ‘And what’s wrong with liking to be needed?’

‘Because you do it at the expense of your own needs. Of your own welfare.’

‘No, I—’

‘Stop, Gracie.’ He turned his hand and grasped her fingers before she could tug them away. ‘Enough of the pretence. Your whole “life’s perfect” performance. You were lonely tonight. And you were sad. You’re still sad, I can see it in your eyes. Be as honest as you always say you are.’

‘Okay, I was sad,’ she admitted quietly. ‘I saw them and they were so natural and happy together and I felt down and I excused myself from the dinner because...’

‘You didn’t want happy families in your face.’

She shrank a little in her seat. ‘It sounds so bitter and jealous.’

‘No, you’re not either of those things, but after what you’ve been through I wouldn’t blame you if you were.’ He put his arm around her. ‘So you opted to work?’

‘Francesca was run off her feet, trying to get prepared because one of the crew was late...’

‘And it’s your stress release—you work out your worry, right?’

She nodded.

‘You’re too generous,’ he added quietly. ‘You let people take advantage of you.’

‘Is that what you’re doing?’ she teased.

He released her with a sigh and got out of the car. ‘You know I am.’

‘You don’t think I’m getting anything out of this?’ She laughed lightly as she joined him. ‘I’m getting all the experience I’ve missed out on in all these years.’

‘Because you’re so ancient?’ He tried to tease her back. But there was still an ache in his chest.

He should have been relieved at her assertion that this was a win-win transaction between them but it only compounded his tension. Was this only about sex? As if he were her intimate tutor? He didn’t quite know what he was—what this was—but it was more than that. But even as he wanted that, he rejected it. That it was so easy to spend time with her made him uneasy. Yet at the same time he ached for that time to be endless.

He understood that she’d wanted companionship tonight, but she’d sought it from her old friend, not him. And when her friend had been busy, she’d opted to work. Was that because she didn’t regard him as a friend? His discomfort bubbled back. He could be one of those—better than Alex, or Francesca. Better than anyone.

His pulse thrummed. He had no freaking idea how to be a friend. He’d never trusted anyone to get close, not after the nightmare of his half-brother and then boarding school. He’d always been fighting—for respect, for success. He’d long ago given up needing or wanting real acceptance. The irony was now he had all that ‘success’, people craved his company. But other than in hedonistic pursuits, he had no real idea how to relate. The realisation he was incompetent at something curdled his stomach acid. He snagged her arm and led her towards the boat shed instead of the home.

‘We’re not going inside?’ Gracie asked, still holding the damn pizza box.

‘There’s a lot of light left in the day. Let’s just enjoy the sun and eat pizza.’

He needed the fresh air. He probably needed the pizza. He definitely needed to see her smile. He unlocked the boat shed and gestured for her to go in, snagging the pizza box from her as she went past.

‘This is amazing.’ She stared at the interior of the boat shed. ‘There’s stained glass in here, Rafe. Look at the detail in this window.’

Admittedly it was more like a museum than a workshop space.

‘I’ve not been in here much,’ he confessed. ‘But this is the real treasure.’ He pointed to the beautiful wooden boat. ‘She’s vintage, even older than your bike, I believe. I’m sure you’ll appreciate her.’

‘You’re right.’ She laughed lightly and bent down to inspect the mahogany hull. ‘Rosabella. She’s beautiful. Look at the craftsmanship.’

‘Shall we take her out?’ Two bites of that pizza and watching Gracie run her hand over the hull of the boat and Rafe was feeling better about everything.

‘Do you know how to drive her?’ she asked as he handed her some pizza and untied the mooring rope.

‘I’m sure I can figure it out.’

‘Move over,’ she said confidently.

He watched her study the engine instruments with undisguised interest. A second later she was checking the fuel. She knew what she was doing. And he was happy to let her take charge. He’d seen her tinkering with her bike, with the ovens; she knew machinery. And ten minutes later they were cruising across the water.

‘Okay, so when did you learn to drive a boat?’ he asked, happily finishing the last piece of pizza.

‘For a while we lived in the South of France and I lived next to a large family. They had a family fishing business and were always fixing their gear themselves. I watched. Then I helped.’

From the warmth in her voice he knew she’d enjoyed that time. ‘Did you ever go back to see them? Later, when you’d come out of hiding?’

Her expression froze and she busied herself with fiddling with one of the chrome gauges.

‘Gracie?’

‘People move on,’ she said with a determined smile that he just knew hid heartache. ‘I was only there about ten months, and when you go, people get on with their lives without you.’

‘So you went back?’

She sighed and sent him a look. ‘I did. Years later. And sure enough they were busy with their own families, their own friends—people they’d known all their lives. When you’re only around for a short period, you’re easy to forget.’ She shrugged as if it all made perfect sense.

And it had only been short periods that she’d stayed in each place. So she’d felt forgotten? Unwanted? Unloved. Now he began to understand her current resistance to a nomadic existence. And why she worked so hard to fit into Bellezzo and be needed.

His stomach knotted. ‘I can’t imagine anyone forgetting you.’

She chuckled again. ‘That’s just another example of your feeble imagination.’

He laughed, as she’d intended, but he kept thinking as well. She’d been so lonely. That was why she wanted to put down roots, why she warmed to the merest touch of friendliness, why she worked so hard to make herself indispensable. And she knew that he saw that need in her—to be wanted. Her expression tightened.

‘You leapt to my defence so swiftly tonight,’ she said quietly. ‘Is that what you did for your mother?’

He knew she was asking this to deflect his thoughts from her. Doubtless she thought he’d distract her with desire the way he usually did. But not this time. Somehow it seemed important that she understand. He wanted her to know everything about him, the way he wanted to know everything about her.

‘I wish I could have,’ he replied. ‘But I hardly had the chance. She died when I was twelve.’

‘Only a few years after your father?’ She frowned. ‘But she was so much younger—what happened?’

‘You know my father was over seventy when I was born. My half-siblings were not impressed. They successfully stopped him from marrying her. She refused, because she knew they hated her. They tried to have him declared mentally incompetent, and when that failed, they just waited for the inevitable. The moment Roland died the accusations flew openly—was I even his son? Roland had vetoed any DNA testing, saying it was insulting to my mum. For his will, it was essential.’ The public shame and humiliation of the procedure still swept over him when he thought of it.

‘And you were his son.’

‘Yes. Of course. It seems impossible for anyone else to believe, but they did love each other.’

‘So the test silenced the wider family?’

If only. ‘Suddenly I was an heir and a future Butler-Ross. Apparently that meant I needed “protecting”.’

‘From?’

‘My mother.’

‘What?’ She stared at him, her eyes widening in horror. ‘No.’

‘Money brings so much power, Gracie,’ he said grimly. ‘They told her I’d be better off with the education, the connections that the family could offer. That she had nothing to offer me that could compete with all they had.’

‘But—’

‘I know.’ He held up his hand and smiled at her. ‘And she argued exactly that—she was my mother and she loved me. But then they threatened—courts, custody, you know the drill precisely. They pressured her, she believed she couldn’t compete. She didn’t have the money or the support. So she agreed to their terms. They paid her off, but she still thought we’d see each other.’

‘You didn’t?’

‘I was the illegitimate secret sent to a boarding school on the other side of the country to be smartened up. They used the promise of a visit from her as a reward for good behaviour. If I did well, I’d get to see her. And if I was really good, maybe I could even come to the villa they loved to holiday at in Italy. The one our father had always stayed at for a few months each year...’

‘Oh, Rafe. Did they never let you?’ She glanced back across the water to the beautiful villa—it had been that symbol of happiness, so out of reach for so long.

‘No. And in those years my mother was very unhappy, and she became unwell.’

She looked up at him with those emotion-laden eyes.

‘Addiction,’ he said softly.

‘I’m so sorry.’

Numbing her nightmare, filling the gaping holes inside with temporary plugs.

‘She was beautiful, you know. That’s how I like to remember her.’ Not from the photographs his horrendous half-brother Leonard had so maliciously shown him. ‘Valentina Vitale—not her real name obviously.’ He smiled in reminiscence. ‘She made it up to sound more Italian. She actually was Italian, on her mother’s side, but Valentina Vitale sounded more glamorous. As does Rafael Vitale.’ He sent her an ironic glance. ‘I was her angel baby after all.’ She had loved him. She and the old man had doted on him when he’d been small. He had few memories of that time, but the ones he had were good.

‘And so you’ve kept your name, not your father’s.’

‘They wouldn’t let me have it until after he died and then they tried to force me to change it. But I am who I am and I was hers,’ he said roughly. ‘My name was what she gave me. I’ll never hide or change that.’ He would never let her be forgotten.

‘I changed my name so many times and I hated it.’

‘Yeah.’ Identity mattered. He put his hand over hers. ‘Don’t you hate your parents for what happened?’

She looked over the water. ‘They both thought they wanted the best for me, but they were so busy fighting they forgot what I really needed. Just a home, Rafe. That’s all. Security. Instead, I became the bone between them. And I still can’t win. I still can’t choose. So I visit them each at least once each year and otherwise just stay here. But I don’t hate them, I get it. They love me in their way.’

‘You’re determined to be positive about it?’

‘Well, why would I want to be miserable?’ She turned back to the water.

‘Because what happened was miserable,’ he said simply. ‘Because you were isolated and without roots for years and it’s okay to feel rotten about it sometimes. And, yes, you’ve chosen your new home town and it’s lovely but not everything is perfect all of the time. Like tonight. You felt lonely and to bury it you went back to work.’

‘Well, wasn’t that better than sitting alone and moping?’

But she hadn’t needed to sit home alone. She could have come to him. And it still hurt that she hadn’t.

Beneath his, her hand tightened on the wheel. ‘Let’s see how fast we can get this girl to go, shall we?’

She was the one distracting and deflecting this time, but he decided to let her. Because he was exposed too. He never had told anyone else what had happened to his mother.

‘You’re a secret speed freak,’ he said with a smile.

‘Not so secret,’ she purred, and pushed the boat’s motor until the wind whipped her hair from its braid and her own smile was wide and her eyes sparkled.

‘You want a turn?’ She turned to him after a while.

‘I wasn’t sure you’d ever be able to give up the steering wheel.’

‘Well, it is a wrench,’ she acknowledged archly, lifting her hand from the wheel. ‘Promise me you won’t crash it.’

‘Have a little faith.’

‘But you’re a novice, right?’

Not completely, but he was enjoying the joke. ‘That doesn’t mean I’m going to be useless,’ he answered in mock outrage. ‘You weren’t useless when you were a novice.’

‘Because I’m a quick learner.’ She smiled smugly.

‘And you don’t think I can be?’

‘You don’t need to be. You already have everything just the way you want it. Your game is all figured out.’

He didn’t reply. Only a few days ago he’d have agreed with her completely. But his confidence in his choices now was oddly diminished. The only thing he was sure about at the moment was that he wanted to take her back to the villa. He steadily chugged the boat across the water. After a few minutes he glanced behind him to where she’d curled up on the plush seat and caught her covering a yawn.

‘We’re nearly there,’ he said.

‘It’s truly spectacular,’ she said with sleepy softness. ‘Do you pinch yourself when you remember it’s yours?’

He smiled.

‘Oh, no, that’s right, you own so many amazing properties—not homes—you must get blasé about them all.’

He didn’t stop to think about them much. They were places to sleep. But there was something about this one—the classical beauty of it perhaps, with that perfect symmetrical architecture.

No. It wasn’t the architecture. Something else tugged deep in his chest when he looked at that villa and it wasn’t the childhood memories of his father’s stories—those were old feel-good fantasies. This was present-day laughter, warmth, life. This was all Gracie.

He cruised into the narrow channel that led to the boat shed. He turned the engine off and secured the boat in her berth. Then he turned to Gracie. She lay curled in a ball, her head resting on the cushion, her eyes closed. His skin chilled. Only now did he note the shadows beneath her eyes, the pallor of her skin and that droop to her mouth again—it wasn’t just sadness.

‘You’re exhausted,’ he growled, and scooped her into his arms, suppressing that caveman satisfaction that flickered every time he held her like this.

‘What?’ Her eyes flashed open and she turned on a smile. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You’re not fine.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t be out here just to please me, Gracie. That’s not how things are for us.’

‘I’m having a nice time.’ She even put her arms around his neck as if to prove it.

And okay he knew it was true, but it wasn’t all the truth. ‘But you’re also really tired. Put your own needs first for once, Gracie.’ He frowned. ‘Did you lie to me about the dinner with Alex? Did you want to stay home alone just to get a good night’s sleep?’

‘No, I wouldn’t lie about that.’ She jerked her head in a tiny motion. But then a flicker of guilt flashed across her beautiful features. ‘But, okay, you’re right. I was going to have an early dinner with Alex and I was sad when I saw him with his son. And, yes, the late nights with you are taking a toll. I want to stay so much,’ she added hurriedly in that babbling way she had when she was anxious. ‘But I’m usually a lark and go to bed super early and I was going to have an early night tonight.’

But she could have had an early night here with him—all she’d had to do was talk to him and say how she was feeling. But she hadn’t. Why? Was she worried about his reaction? Did she think she had to please him all the time?

Guilt struck him like a stone thrown from behind. He was a selfish jerk. He hadn’t thought at all about the impact their hedonism might have on her—especially when she worked on her feet all day. He carried her up to his bed. She muttered something unintelligible as he lowered her to the mattress, but he suppressed the desire to waken her fully and please her the way he ached to. She needed rest more than she needed passion. He quickly stripped and got into bed to cuddle her gently. In moments she was fast asleep. His very own Sleeping Beauty once again.

He chose not to wake her during the night, despite the fact he couldn’t sleep for the burning desire low in his belly. Instead, he watched her sleeping, curved against him, her skin creamy and pale in the moonlight, a light flush on those pretty cheeks from the warm evening. She worked so hard and was so loyal, doing nice things for everyone in her life. She deserved something nice in return.

The answer arrived in the smallest of hours. What she needed was a few days off. An actual, real holiday. She was always doing everything for everyone else. Perhaps that was one thing he could give to her.