Читать книгу Italian Deception - Michelle Reid - Страница 11

‘COSA?’ Luca’s languid dark eyes showed surprise and bewilderment.

‘I h-hate you,’ Shannon repeated. ‘You knew you’d done it without the first time and you didn’t bother to tell me!’

He sat up, a frown pulling his black brows together across the bridge of his nose. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Condoms,’ she enlightened. ‘Y-you bought some tonight from the shop you got these truffles from. I saw you put them in your trouser pocket.’

‘Si,’ he confirmed, not seeing the problem. ‘We tempted fate the last time,’ he admitted. ‘I was not going to take the same chances this time—why are you looking at me like that?’

Because it was getting worse by the second. With a start of screaming alarm, Shannon dropped the box of truffles to make a dive for his trousers where they lay discarded on the floor. Trembling fingers dipped into a pocket and came out with a cellophane wrapped packet.

She didn’t even need to speak. Luca saw the packet and caught on at last. ‘Idiota,’ he breathed, then had the absolute utter gall to offer her a lazily sheepish grin. ‘We never did like those things, did we cara? Too much messing around when we were under the influence of much more compelling forces.’

She threw the packet at him. It impacted with a god-like bronze shoulder then dropped with ironic accuracy onto his lap. ‘I will never forgive you,’ she snapped at him furiously. ‘How could you take such risks with me, Luca? How could you!’ she cried.

He stared at her for a moment longer, then his own mood altered. ‘We both took the risks, cara,’ he pointed out grimly. ‘We fell upon each other without doing much thinking at all, if you recall. It was not a one-way slaking.’

‘I wasn’t trying to say it was!’

‘Then what are you so mad about?’ he snapped, rolling off the bed to land on his feet on the other side of it.

She could barely get any words out across the lump of incredulous fury strangling her throat. ‘I’m standing here in real danger of already being pregnant and you wonder why I’m mad?’ she choked.

‘Pregnant? What is this?’ he demanded. ‘You take the pill,’ he stated with supreme confidence, ‘and this kind of joke is not funny!’

‘You can bet it’s not funny,’ Shannon breathed hotly. ‘Because I am not on the pill—why the heck do you think I’m so upset?’

A thick silence clogged up the air for a second. Then, ‘Madre di Dio,’ he muttered, ‘we have been talking about different risks.’

‘What different risks?’ she shot at him, bewildered.

‘Why are you not on the pill?’ he shot back.

‘Why did you buy condoms if you believed I was?’

He didn’t answer. Instead he grabbed the back of his neck and swung his back to her, leaving Shannon to use up the next few suffocating seconds drawing her own conclusions, which she did with a shuddering gasp of dismay. ‘Is what you’re not saying here,’ she framed very slowly, ‘that you’ve been indulging in unsafe sex with other women and still didn’t think to protect me for my health?’

‘I don’t believe this conversation.’ He turned on her angrily. ‘I do not indulge in unsafe sex and I am perfectly healthy!’

‘Oh, you’re so very positive about that!’ she snapped.

‘Si!’ he declared.

‘If that’s so and you obviously thought I was taking the pill, then why did you bother to buy the—?’

The answer arrived before she’d even finished asking the question. The sudden taut cast that arrived on his face was like a physical slap of confirmation. The condoms had been bought to protect him. He thought he was at risk from her.

Shannon stopped trembling. It was amazing, she realised, how calming the ice-cold wash of truth could be. She was the bad guy here, the one that took different men to her bed.

And he was the man who had hurt her once too often.

‘Get out of my room,’ she said, then turned and walked into the bathroom, thrusting the door shut behind her with a foot as she went.

The door didn’t even make it into its housing before it was thrust open again by an angry hand. ‘I did not mean what you thought I meant,’ a still-naked Luca uttered stiffly.

‘Yes, you did.’ Snatching a bathrobe from the hook behind the door, she wrapped herself in it.

‘I denied your charge,’ he defined angrily, ‘which did not mean I was then throwing the blame onto you!’

No, Shannon thought bitterly, his silence did that for him.

‘But we have been apart for two years and no one—man or woman—in their right minds takes unnecessary risks these days!’

‘You did—twice!’ she flashed.

‘And so, mia cara, did you,’ he returned.

There was no answer to that so she didn’t offer one; instead she picked up a towel and tossed it at him. ‘Cover yourself,’ she said with contempt and went to push past him, but he stayed her with a hand on her arm.

‘Stay right where you are,’ he commanded darkly. ‘We have a problem here and we need to talk about it.’

‘I think we’ve done enough of that.’ She tried to tug free.

But he was not going to let her. ‘Two years ago you took the legs from under me,’ he threw at her harshly. ‘Now here you are doing the same thing to me again!’

‘Where do you think my legs are?’ she cried. ‘You’ve just issued me with the worst insult a man can pay the woman he’s just sank his body into!’

He winced. ‘I apologise.’

‘It’s not enough,’ she tugged.

His fingers tightened. ‘Then what do you want me to say?’

‘Nothing!’ She was feeling so chilled it was as if she had ice running in her veins. ‘I just want you to leave this room.’

‘But I can’t do that. You could be carrying my child—’

‘Oh—don’t say that!’ She rounded on him, hair flying, face white, tears beginning to blacken her eyes. ‘I don’t want to have your baby!’

He paled. ‘You may not be left with the luxury of choice!’

If anything put the lid on the whole wretched mess, then that declaration did. A strangled sob escaped. Luca answered it with a teeth-grinding curse, then let go of her arm and moved away from her, wrapping the towel around the lean, bronzed, tightly moulded buttocks as he went.

Spying the box of truffles lying on the floor, he stooped to pick it up and put it back on the chest of drawers with a thump that said a lot about the feelings rumbling inside him. His hand went back to his neck, grimly grabbing onto the rod of tension that was threatening to snap muscle there.

One part of him was searching for words that would put right the ugliness of what had just happened, but another part—the angry part—was telling him to let it drop because the truth was the truth, even when it was a bitter-tasting truth.

He had been thinking of himself with the risk thing. She did have a sexual history he could not afford to ignore. How many different ‘boyfriends’ names had Keira dotted into conversations in her stubborn, stubborn determination to keep Shannon’s name alive in his head? Had Keira really believed that it made him feel great to know that Shannon was getting on with her life while his own stagnated?

Keira … He’d allowed himself to forget about Keira and his brother Angelo in this madness. He released a sigh, closing his eyes on a picture of his beautiful but slightly obsessive sister-in-law who used to remind him of a fragile spark of electricity travelling along an endless loop of wire supported by the strong, patient, loving Angelo. That spark had been snuffed out now along with its support, leaving behind a shattered family, an orphaned baby girl and Shannon, who had been knocked about enough by this tragedy without him knocking her about some more.

Dio, he thought. It was not supposed to be like this. Hurting Shannon had not been part of his plan. His sole objective when they’d set out this afternoon had been to remind her how good it used to be between them, not how ugly it could be. He’d wanted her receptive to what they could have again if they both wanted it badly enough—before he’d meant to hit her with his big proposition.

On the bed, after the loving, while sharing a chocolate-coated truffle. His planning had been meticulous. He even had a bottle of champagne and two glasses chilling in the fridge ready to help them celebrate after she’d said yes to his carefully rehearsed speech.

Now all he had was a block of ice standing somewhere behind him hating his guts, which left him wondering heavily what the hell was he supposed to do now to rescue the situation?

Then—Dio, he thought again. Where was his head? Nothing had changed here except the mood in which the next part took place and the main thrust of his argument!

Lowering his hand from his neck, he turned to face her. She was still standing in the bathroom doorway looking about as receptive to reason as a cat would be to the mouse it held in its teeth.

Was he a mouse? The hell that he was, he thought grimly and braced himself in readiness for what he was going to say next. ‘Marry me,’ he announced, reducing his well rehearsed and reasoned speech to the basic bottom line of it. ‘Then all of this stops being a problem.’

A cold stone block of silence followed. Shannon continued to stare at him through those sapphire eyes and he received a very, very erotic sensation across his neck that made him think of cats and mice and—teeth.

Then she moved, and the erotic sensation slithered down his body to pool around his sex. ‘Well, it must have hurt you to say that,’ she drawled deridingly.

‘No,’ he denied.

Shannon felt her mouth flick out a cold little smile in response. Did he think she hadn’t noticed the way he’d had to brace himself before making that outrageous suggestion?

And outrageous it was after what they’d just exchanged. He still hated and resented her beneath all of that throbbing desire she could see pounding at his magnificent chest. She was sure of it now—how could she not be?

‘I am not having your baby.’ She stated it firmly, grabbing the crux of this proposal and crushing the life out of it before it became a terrifying monster in her head. ‘And even if I was unfortunate enough to be pregnant, I only have to think about Keira to gauge my chances of carrying a baby full term.’

‘Don’t say that.’ He frowned. ‘You are not your sister. You—’

‘So for us to consider marriage on the slimmest chance of my being pregnant is really stupid,’ she interrupted him. ‘But, even if I am pregnant and did manage to carry the baby full term, I would not marry a man who thinks that not only am I promiscuous but I’m irresponsible with it!’

‘I don’t think you are promiscuous!’ he denied. ‘And we are not getting back into that.’

As far as Shannon was concerned they’d never left it! ‘Can’t trust me to stay faithful, then!’

He thrust out his chin. ‘I can trust,’ he insisted.

Her own chin went up, blue eyes defying the lying swine to prove that statement. ‘Who was I planning to be with the night you came to my London flat?’ she challenged.

His frown dragged the two black bars of his eyebrows together. ‘How should I know?’

‘You heard me make two telephone calls—both of which were to men—and drew some pretty quick assumptions that both of them were my lovers! That makes me pretty sluttish and untrustworthy wife material, don’t you think? Add those two lovers to my irresponsible behaviour regarding sex and either one of them could be the father of this fictitious child!’

He dismissed that line of argument with an impatient flick of one long-fingered hand. ‘One of those calls was to a woman.’

Surprise widened her eyes. ‘Who told you that?’

‘Joshua Soames,’ he replied. ‘He called here the other day to talk to you while you were at the hospital. I asked the question, he set the record straight.’

He’d actually pumped her business partner for information about Alex? ‘And you call that trusting me?’

The frown darkened. ‘Stop this,’ he grated. ‘Do you think I am an idiot? If you are not on the pill then you are not in a relationship. And don’t start going on about slutting,’ he dismissed with another flick of that hand when she opened her mouth to answer him. ‘This is too serious an issue to be bouncing insults off each other. If you are pregnant it will be because I made you so, in which case I want to be there for you. If you have to go through what Keira went through, then I want to be there to support you as Angelo supported Keira. So I am offering you a serious commitment here.’ He began walking towards her, closing a gap Shannon did not want closed. ‘I am offering marriage—now—before the timing of conception can become an issue. I am offering it without any prejudice from the past getting in the way. And I would appreciate an honest and unprejudiced answer from you instead of razor sarcasm.’

Shannon stood through it all, watching his face and his expressive hands in fascination while listening to the slick dynamics of his clever brain as he put together his offer outlining all the positives for marriage and ignoring the negatives such as—no love, no respect, no emotional commitment, no mention of his family’s horrified response.

She felt like a business he was trying to take over. He was being very cool and practical and even a little arrogant, though the arrogance was rather an attractive feature of his sales pitch. His ulterior motive? For the moment she couldn’t think of one, she was too engrossed in the seductive power this man possessed when he turned himself into a trouble-shooter. She’d always liked it, been an absolute sucker for it once upon a time. Get him in professional mode discussing the rudiments of corporate management and she would be stripping him naked as he talked.

She’d seen him work this kind of magic on a room full of hard headed women while giving a talk at a businesswomen’s convention. By the time he’d stepped off the podium to rapturous applause there had not been a woman in the place who had not been fantasising about him. She had been the lucky one to get him alone, though, and tap into the fantasy.

She could feel the same charismatic pull now trying to draw her towards him like a magnet. The voice was seductive, the beautiful accent was seductive, the expressive way he used his hands made you visualise them moving over your skin. The serious mouth that pretended he did not know it was happening was seductive; the serious eyes that waited politely for her to offer her response were seducing her into uttering the response he wanted to hear.

He was lethal, she acknowledged. But she’d also come up with the answer to his ulterior motive.

Sex.

He might be able to keep the mask of his face under control but he was not having the same luck with the rest of his body. He’d said at much before as he lay on the bed watching her as she went to get the box of truffles. ‘I cannot look at you without wanting to be inside you,’ he’d confessed. What they could do for each other was still jumping all over his senses with a desire to do it all again and again.

He was hooked, on the slut who always did have the instinctive sensual expertise to turn him inside out. So—why not marry her? was his very male answer to a nagging problem. If her betrayal with another man had not got in the way two years ago, he would have committed himself to her body and soul then and without a single regret for his lost single status. He was still prepared to do that because, despite all that had happened, the sex was still mindlessly good. And the irresistible little sweetener to his outrageous proposal was that he could have it all without all the old emotional stuff getting in the way.

She called it thinking on his feet, seeing a chance to have his cake and eat it at the same time. Somewhere in the last hour she had been elevated to his idea of the perfect woman. A woman, in other words, who would be absolutely great to have as a permanent fixture in his bed but would not expect or get anything else from him once they were out of that bed.

The bastard, she thought. He hadn’t bothered to mention his darling family or the fact that they had all just lived through the worst seven days of all of their lives and still had the worst day to come. This was a window of opportunity and he was not going to let the chance pass by.

She felt cold—iced over by his calculation, the speed with which he could assess and decide. He had done it to her before—two years ago in this very apartment when he’d walked in on a frankly suspicious scene, assessed and come to a decision with the blinding speed of light. That was the moment that she’d become a slut in his eyes and nothing she said afterwards could change that belief.

She shivered, she felt so cold. Inside—outside—and found herself fighting a battle with her tongue that wanted her to blurt out the truth. What would he do if she brought it all out into the open again? she wondered. Would he respond as he had done the last time by accusing her of daring to soil her sister with her own sins?

And what had Keira done? she then recalled painfully. Her sister had begged her to say nothing. Begged her to understand why she could never confess the truth to Luca, not even for Shannon’s sake. ‘He will tell Angelo. How could he not? If it was the other way round I would have to tell you or I could not live with myself!’

Those words were emblazoned on her heart for ever now. Because despite everything Keira had said she had told Luca, she had tried to save herself at the expense of Keira’s marriage to Angelo.

But Luca had refused to believe.

Keira had been everyone’s vision of the perfect woman, therefore Shannon had to be the sinner.

His opinion was not about to change because he’d discovered he could not keep his hands off her. He was still going to go on resenting her presence in his life and never trusting her alone with any man and probably using the sex as a darn great way of exacting punishment for betraying him.

So, did she say—Believe me about Keira and I might consider your proposition, or did she say—?

‘My answer is no,’ she announced, then turned and walked back into the bathroom, having the sense to shoot home the bolt this time before she sank down onto the toilet seat to bury her face in her trembling hands and silently cried her eyes out.

Because she knew that despite the long, hard lecture she had been a tongue tip away from tarnishing her poor sister’s image in his eyes for ever by insisting he listen to the truth. She even had proof to back her story up, though not here, but back in London.

Luca stood with the sound of that bolt sliding home ringing in his ears and was damned hellish angry for opening himself up to that cold little no.

Who did she think she was, turning down his frankly very generous offer? She was lucky to be getting one. Did she think he wanted to attach himself to a natural-born siren with eyes constantly on the lookout for the next man?

But she was carrying his child. In his mind it was already a statement of fact—it had to be or his arguments crumbled to dust at his feet. If the witch believed he was going to allow her to walk away carrying that child with her, then she was in for a very big shock.

Turning on his heel, he walked out of her room and down the hall into his own room. Once safely shut away in there he went to take a shower—while planning his next line of attack.

There was a moment once his anger had cooled and he began to think like a rational man again that he questioned what the hell it was he was trying to do to himself by getting involved with her again.

Trust? He could never trust her out of his sight! Shannon had been right when she had faced him with that.

Did he really want a future of forever wondering who she was with when she wasn’t with him?

No, he damn well did not.

Of course he could not trust her. Just as he could not dare to trust his own judgement where she was concerned, because if anyone had suggested to him that she was playing around behind his back two years ago he would have laughed in their faces—before knocking them flat.

The old dark feelings returned with a vengeance. Pushing his head beneath the shower spray, he rinsed off shampoo and saw images of that afternoon when he had come home unexpectedly to find Shannon standing in the doorway to the bedroom trying to block him from seeing the truth.

And what a truth. ‘What are you doing back?’ She could not have appeared more horrified to see him.

‘I could ask you the same question. You were supposed to be in London until tomorrow.’

‘I came back early.’ She tried pulling the bedroom door shut behind her.

‘So did I,’ he answered absently. ‘I needed some papers from my safe …’ Instinct made him step around her and push the door open again.

‘Damn,’ he muttered as soap got in his eye. Switching off the shower, he reached for a towel and tried not to let his mind take him into that room as he wiped the stinging soap away.

The room was a mess. The bedding pulled back and lying half on the floor. He picked up the scent of male cologne. Not his cologne, not his red silk boxer shorts that he pulled quite calmly from the tangle of white sheeting. He never wore silk underwear; he never wore red. He preferred cotton, black, white, grey—any damn colour but red.

‘Who do these belong to?’ He saw himself swing round in time to catch her sliding something into a bedside drawer.

‘I came back to f-find it like this. I don’t know wh-what—’

His hand reached out to open the drawer Shannon had pushed shut. He saw her stiffen then start to tremble, then lower her eyes when he drew out the packet of condoms.

Condoms, bloody condoms, he thought viciously. The blight of his bloody life!

One was missing—not that it mattered that one was missing; the fact that they were there at all was enough to turn his blood to bile. They did not use condoms. And that scent—that damned strong male scent had clung to his nostrils while he’d stood there trying to deal with what it was he was being forced to face.

‘I can explain …’ She’d sounded deep-voiced and husky, like someone suffering from an intolerable amount of anxiety and stress.

Without saying a word he put the packet back in the drawer and closed it, then turned to look at her. ‘Before you jump to your rotten conclusions—it wasn’t me, Luca, it wasn’t me!’

‘Who, then?’ he challenged.

Her face was white, her eyes black pools of utter torment; tears trailed down her cheeks and worked at her throat. ‘Keira,’ she whispered.

Keira. Of all the lying excuses she could have come up with, she had to choose to place the blame on the one person who would never betray her man—never. Her willingness to do that to her own sister broke his calm. What followed had been another nightmare that had lived inside him ever since.

A telephone began ringing somewhere, bringing him out of the blackness of that second nightmare to discover that he was standing in the bathroom staring at the ceramic tiles covering the floor where water was dripping from his body to form a pool around his brown feet. He lifted his head and caught sight of his face in the mirror. It was not him. It was like looking at a stranger. A man with no colour and no warmth.

Only Shannon could do this to him.

And he had offered her marriage again?

Pulling on a bathrobe, he made himself walk on legs that felt oddly stiff, as if he had just run a marathon. Maybe he had done—run a marathon through agony, lies and deceit.

He had left his jacket on the chair by the lift. His mobile phone was in one of its pockets and he strode through the apartment to collect it. The call was from Marco, his assistant. He frowned at the lateness of the hour and felt a hard snap of irritation because if Marco was still in the office then he was probably being snowed under trying to keep up in his absence.

He was bringing the call to an end when Shannon appeared in the archway. She was wearing the skimpy blue pyjamas beneath a thin blue cotton wrap, which hung open down her front. Her face was scrubbed and shiny, her hair piled up on top of her head leaving her slender neck exposed. Her eyes were like two dark bruises set on a background of porcelain white and her mouth looked tiny, pinched and—pink.

Hunger roared to life inside him followed by a self-contempt that wrapped itself like a steel band around his chest. He turned his back on her to listen in grim silence to whatever it was Marco was asking him. The poor devil sounded harassed and bone weary. Luca knew both feelings. Shannon still hovered in the archway; he wondered what she wanted.

‘Just leave it for tonight, Marco,’ he commanded quietly. ‘The business is not going to go down the tubes if you go home and get some sleep.’

He ended the call and dropped the phone onto his jacket, then had to flex his shoulders before he could bring himself to turn and face Shannon again.

She blinked at the toughness hardening his features. ‘I’m sorry to intrude,’ she apologised stiffly. ‘But we left my shopping in the car and I need to hang up my suit …’

He sighed at the stupid oversight and the pendulum swing of his emotions took yet another violent swerve. What kind of selfish bastard was he to be adding to her stress at a time like this?

Misreading the reason for his sigh, she walked towards him with her hand outstretched. ‘If you let me have your car keys I’ll go and collect the bags myself.’

Let her loose in a basement car park at this time of the night dressed like this? ‘Not while I still breathe,’ he hissed, making her frown because she didn’t understand.

And he was not going to enlighten her.

‘I’ll go,’ was all he said, and turned to get his wallet and car keys from where he’d placed them on the table by the lift.

She was waiting at her bedroom door when he came back with her shopping bags.

‘Thank you.’ She took them from him.

‘Prego,’ he replied.

She took a step back, and closed the door in his face.

A sudden blistering urge to push the damn door open again and have this out almost had him doing just that. Then common sense arrived and along with it a burst of frustration, which had him aiming a clenched fist that didn’t quite land on the oak panelling.

Then he went back to his own room to fester in silence.

While Shannon threw herself down on the bed to cry her eyes out again.

She hated him but she loved him and that was her toughest problem—she loved, loved—loved the brute!

The next day was a day Shannon hoped she would never have to endure again. From the moment she donned the black outfit the full weight of what she was about to face took her deep, deep inside herself.

She met Luca in the foyer. A fleeting glance at him standing there in his sombre black suit, white shirt and black tie, his lean face drawn into a pale grey mask of steely composure, and she knew he was feeling the same way she did. He studied her briefly, taking in her own waxen composure before he enquired expressionlessly if she was ready to leave.

Fredo drove them in a black limousine that made no attempt to disguise what it was. Even the day had decided to wear a grey cloud cast as if it knew that this was not a day to fill with warm sunlight.

They didn’t talk; both had their faces half turned to the car’s side windows, preferring to remain sunk into their own bleak thoughts.

They barely touched unless Luca was taking her arm to politely help her in or out of the car.

They arrived at his mother’s house to find that the whole vast and scattered Salvatore family had congregated. Everyone was subdued, grave, but kind and sympathetic towards Shannon, which was nice of them given their knowledge of her past relationship with Luca—not that anyone but the closest family members knew what had happened, only that they’d parted under bitter circumstances. But still, Shannon appreciated their willingness to put all of that aside for today at least—though some could not help throwing curious glances at herself and Luca, who was never more than a step away from her side, though they did not acknowledge each other’s presence.

From the moment they stepped out of the house everything took on a bleak, dreamlike quality that led them frame by agonising frame through the ensuing hours. Mrs Salvatore was bereft. Each time she broke down the whole sombre gathering felt its rippling effect. And it was heartrending to watch her cling to her surviving son as if she was afraid to let go in case he was lost to her too.

Renata and Sophia clung to their husbands, Tazio and Carlo. One sister was older than her surviving brother, the other slotting in between Luca and Angelo. Both were stunningly beautiful, as were all the Salvatores, and their two men had been picked to complement their outstanding looks and great name.

Shannon clung to no one, though she knew that Luca somehow always managed to keep himself within arm’s reach of her just in case she broke down, but she didn’t; she just kept her head lowered and did her grieving silently beneath her black lace veil.

She almost cracked at her first sighting of the two flower-decked coffins. And again later when she stepped into the church and was shocked by how many more people there were packed into it. Friends and colleagues, she presumed, most of whom were strangers to her but not to Angelo and Keira. In her heart all these people represented life surrounding the tragic couple as they made their journey to their final resting place.

She didn’t shed tears throughout the service. She didn’t do anything other than go where she was instructed to go, sit, stand, kneel, wait—follow. The waxen mask of her composure took its worst beating during the graveside ceremony. Mrs Salvatore almost collapsed and Luca had to support her in both his arms. Sophia wept, Renata wept, the whole flower-bedecked site seemed to rock beneath the rolling weight of everyone’s grief.

Afterwards they made the journey to the Salvatore family villa set high above Florence on the outskirts of Fiesole. It was a beautiful place steeped in the fabulous trappings of wealth collected over centuries and surrounded by the most exquisite gardens big enough to lose yourself in. It was a place used by all factions of the Salvatore family for throwing extravagant parties. Today it became a place shrouded in sorrow, where the whole congregation gathered to pay their respects to the family.

Mrs Salvatore was led away to her private apartments so she could have a few minutes to compose herself. Luca, his two sisters and their husbands took up the role of hosts as the many formal reception rooms began to fill with black-clad sombre people and sober-dressed serving staff that mingled amongst them carrying white-linen-covered silver trays holding a choice of refreshment.

And Shannon had never felt so lost and alone in her entire life as she did as she wandered aimlessly from room to room, smiling politely at those who offered her their sympathy and murmuring all the right phrases in response, but she felt strange inside, oddly out of place as if she did not belong here and she knew why she felt that way.

She had just buried her sister, yet she felt as if her right to grieve had been hijacked by this great, heaving wave of Salvatore grief. It was silly, selfish and unfair of her to think this way, but telling herself that did not remove the feeling. Everyone spoke in Italian and she wanted to speak English. She wanted to remember her sister in their own language and scream at the top of her voice—Let me have my sister back!

Someone caught her arm as she was stepping out of one room into another and she was hustled into a quiet alcove set into the side of the grand staircase. Luca loomed over her like a dark shadow.

‘The British stiff upper lip is still in use, I see,’ he drawled sardonically.