“It is why I bought the Villa,” he said in agreement.
“I can see why.” She turned to look at his autocratic profile. Her stomach flipped, as it always did, when she was confronted with his physical beauty.
“The moment I stepped onto this terrace, and saw the activity beneath me, I knew I had to have it.”
Jane nodded. “I felt the same about my home.”
Curiosity fired him. More information that Elisabetta might be able to provide, but that he hoped Jane would share first. “Why did you choose Kensington?”
Jane turned her back on the view, so that she could lean against the railing. He copied her, so that together they faced the flickering candlelights and white cloth covered table.
“Because it’s busy.”
He laughed softly. “As is much of London.”
“Yes.” She nodded. At the time, she’d thought that it would help her to forget him. That the busier she made herself, the harder it would be to grieve for their marriage.
“So it was the house?”
“It was everything,” she exhaled, and decided to be completely honest with him. “I didn’t want to be anywhere that reminded me of you. Not near my flat. Not near your townhouse. And not near the bar. I wanted to be in London, but nowhere that made me think of you, and us, and the time we’d spent there.”
Carlo’s gut clenched, but he understood her feelings. “I sold the townhouse,” he said quietly. And it had been for the same reason. A need to rid himself of the constant memories that plagued him everywhere he went.
She nodded. “I know. I happened to walk past a couple of months ago. And I saw the new occupants.”
He was interested. “Did you mean to see if I was there?”
“No,” she retorted fiercely. “I honestly never wanted to see you again.” She couldn’t. She wasn’t brave enough. Even now, after a bang to the head and a stint in hospital, she’d fallen straight back into bed with him. The power he exerted over her was fierce and terrifying. “My cab took a route past there.”
Carlo held out a chair for her, to keep from reacting. She slid into it, and the sweet softness of her fragrance assailed him, making his body tense with a stab of desire. Though he’d considered them divorced, he had certainly not considered their relationship to be at an end. Simply abated temporarily.
“What did you like about the house then?” He asked, steering the conversation to a more neutral ground.
Jane was grateful for the easy-to-answer question. A break from the heavy dissection of past wrongs was just what she needed. “Well, for a start, it was used as a hide out for members of the resistance, during the war. My attic joins to the house next door, or, at least, it used to. It was closed in somewhere after the war. But the whole street used to have access to one another’s houses, so that members could sneak undetected between homes.” She sighed at the mystery of it. “Before that, it was built for a Russian tsarina who was in exile during the Georgian war.”
“A lot of history, then.”
“Yes.” She flushed. “You probably think I’m silly to be so caught up in it.”
He found her fascination intensely desirable. He did not admit as much. He dared not, even to himself.
“I understand the pull of the past.” He poured a sparkling mineral water for her, and one for himself. “For someone like you, who never knew their parents, or where they came from, I can understand the seductive power of history. Whether it’s other people’s, or your own.”
“Yes,” she nodded enthusiastically, forgetting for a moment the animosity she had promised to grip to when dealing with this man. “That’s exactly it. Everyone has a story. But it’s not just that.” She leaned a little closer. “After… the baby,” she dropped her eyes, finding it hard to look at him. “I needed to borrow on their bravery.” She lifted the water and sipped it, and replaced the cup carefully. “I was so miserable, Carlo, and there were the ghosts of these people all around me. People who had lived through so much pain. Don’t they say misery loves company?”
He nodded grimly. “I wish you had told me.”
“I know.” She looked down at the table. Their discussion had returned to dangerous ground.
“I mean it, cara. I would do anything to return to that time in your life and help remove some of the pain you felt.”
She nodded, but she didn’t agree with him. The pain she felt wouldn’t have been alleviated by Carlos’s presence. Not when their marriage had been in tatters.
“You spent twelve months pushing me away, Carlo. Were you really so surprised when I went?”
He watched her thoughtfully. He had pushed her away. She was absolutely right. And he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to explain why. “Yes,” he said with a tight grimace. “But that was my fault. I was stupid to believe…”
“Believe what?” She whispered, her heart slowing to a painful thudding rhythm against her ribs.
That love would be enough? He almost rolled his eyes at the cliché that came to mind. He was Carlo Santini. He’d made a fortune out of nothing. “We were married,” he said with the black-and-white sense he was renowned for. “I intended that to be for the rest of our lives. For better or for worse.”
Jane’s heart ached. “You’re blaming me?”
He shook his head. He hadn’t meant to.
“Yes, you are. You think I didn’t stand by our marriage vows?”
His laugh was harsh. He didn’t want to fight with her, and yet… “Well, you did leave me.”
“You gave me no choice! What did you think, Carlo?” She put her hands in her lap and fidgeted with her fingers. “Did you honestly think that we had a good marriage?”
He had thought love would be enough. His eyes were intense. “You let Alessandra needle you into thinking otherwise.”
Her laugh was a harsh bark. “Yes. Alessandra was a bitch to me. I see that now. I was young, and I was jealous, and I was in love with a man who didn’t seem to want me anymore.”
“Didn’t want you anymore?” He contradicted with incredulity. “How can you say that?”
“I don’t mean sexually,” she whispered with a twist of her lips. “Sex was great. In the end, it was all we had. And that’s not enough.”
“What did Alessandra say to you?” He thought of the beautiful blonde he’d been stupid enough to think might be a friend for Jane when she had first moved to Rome.
“It doesn’t matter now,” Jane muttered, looking towards the doorway as Anna entered.
The older woman seemed a little embarrassed, perhaps because of the way she’d tattled to Carlo and forced Jane into joining him for this excruciating post-mortem of their marriage. But she couldn’t be cross with the lovely housekeeper.
When Anna had placed the delicious selection of meals before them, and discretely bustled away, Carlo fixed Jane with his rapier sharp stare. “It does matter. I would be fascinated to know just how she undermined your confidence to such a degree.”
“It was only partly Alessandra.”
“Then tell me the part she did play.”
Jane lifted her glass and cradled it in her hands. Alessandra had been a particularly beautiful and insidious companion. She’d seemed friendly enough, at first. In fact, in those early, happy days, when their marriage had been new and exciting, Jane had actually hoped she might become friends with the glamorous local. But once Jane trusted Alessandra, the cruel comments had begun. Poor Carlo. He meant well, when he married you. But men like him cannot keep it in their pants. Jane had been able to laugh it off. After all, Carlo wouldn’t cheat on her. You should have taken a leaf out of my book. Used him for sex, but never got serious. Never mind that Carlo hadn’t given Jane that chance. He’d refused to take her innocence until they were married. What had upset her more was the information that Carlo had been sexually involved with Alessandra, a woman he still welcomed to his house like a valued friend.
And she was stunning. Tall and slender, with legs that went forever an
d hair a shining white. Her black eyes seemed to whisper mysteries, and her fingernails were red talons, always painted the same colour.
Darling, you are better to leave him now. How can you allow him to humiliate you like this? You must have some pride left. I know you love him, but surely you can see that Carlo is not built for love.
And he hadn’t been.
Jane shook her head. “Suffice it to say, she only helped me see what I already knew.”
“Which was?”
“That our marriage was a mistake.” For years, she’d told herself the words she now said to him. “I found you desirable. I was young. Inexperienced. And I mistook that for love. I didn’t have any understanding of sex, or love. Was it any wonder that I thought we were living out some kind of fairy tale?” She shook her head with self-derision. “I was a stupid kid.” She lanced him with her cloudy blue eyes. “I understand that now. How wrong I was to believe it all. One kiss from you and I was ready to agree to anything you wanted.” She bit down on her lower lip, her even white teeth massaging the pillowy pink flesh in a way that drew Carlo’s gaze. “But there’s one thing I’ve never understood.”
Carlo was falling through a crack in the ground, all the way to the molten centre of the earth. His body was drifting through an emotional minefield. “What’s that?” He asked, his voice surprisingly calm given the fact that Jane had just said she hadn’t really loved him.
“Why did you marry me?”
Carlo leaned forward, and took her hands in his. “Because I loved you.”
Jane closed her eyes, her expression haunted. “Not enough.”
“Too much,” he contradicted with a shake of his head.
Jane pulled in a breath, her eyes still closed. “What does that mean?”
Carlo scraped his chair back, Anna’s excellent Bolognese forgotten. He stalked to the wrought iron railing and gripped it until his knuckles shone white. He had been protecting her. At least, he’d thought he had been. Instead, he’d made her miserable. He’d exposed her to a woman who had totally undermined Jane’s fledgling confidence in every way possible. He had no doubt Alessandra had been truly vicious, despite Jane’s misplaced loyalty now.
He didn’t need to know exactly what Alessandra had said, anyway. He’d been the principal character in the downfall of their marriage. He thought of the events he’d attended, leaving Jane at home alone. The dinners, the charity events and the balls. They all seemed so irrelevant now.
But his fame in Italy had been at its zenith. Following on from the purchase of one of the biggest airlines in Europe, he had become corporate royalty. And he had sought to protect his young wife from the limelight. He had made the decision for her, because he’d loved her. Because he’d wanted to protect her.
And he’d hurt her.
Not the limelight.
Not the press.
Not his father’s contacts.
Him.
Carlo Santini.
The man who had promised to love and cherish her for all time.
CHAPTER SIX
“You knew about the baby, and you said nothing,” Carlo roared, fully aware he was taking his anger and frustration out on a member of his staff. It was something he’d never done before. He prided himself on managing his emotions tightly. But in that moment, he was not capable of any kind of control.
Elisabetta, weary after a hectic week, looked at the man she knew almost as a brother. “Yes.”
“Damn it, Elisabetta, how could you keep it from me?”
Elisabetta stood and swept gracefully across his large office. It was past midnight, and the city was a smudge of orange illumination. The ancient buildings were a ghostly silhouette against the inky black sky.
“You sent me to London to watch over your ex-wife. I didn’t expect that we would become friends.”
Carlo’s temper spiked. “So because you liked her, you abandoned your obligations to me?”
Elisabetta narrowed her eyes. “I did everything I could to protect Jane. I made the regular security reports you required. I kept you informed of the information you needed to know.”
“Who were you to decide that?” He challenged fiercely. “She was mine to protect!”
“You could not have protected her from the miscarriage,” Elisabetta said quietly, her words thick with sorrow. “No one could have.”
“You do not know that,” he responded harshly. “If I’d known about the baby, I would have made sure she had the best medical care. I would have taken care of her.”
“Even if she’d known about the pregnancy, which I assure you she didn’t, Jane would not have wanted you there.” Elisabetta weighed up the responsibility she felt to her dear friend and boss with the love and affection she felt to Jane. Jane who had become a friend, and a woman she greatly wanted to do the right thing by. “Whatever happened between the two of you almost broke her spirit in two. When Jane arrived in London, she was barely able to string two words together. Do you know what it’s taken for her to find her feet again?”
A gunshot to the gut would have hurt less. “So you chose not to tell me that I had created a life?”
Elisabetta clenched her hands into fists by her side. “I made that decision, yes. Once the baby was gone, it was not my choice. I probed Jane about the father. About whether or not he knew…”
“What did she say?” He interrupted impatiently.
“That he would never forgive her for losing the baby. For leaving him, and losing the child. She was so wracked by guilt, I could not risk adding to it.”
Carlo was finding breathing difficult. He slammed his hand down on his desk and spun away from Elisabetta. With the greatest effort, he reined his anger in. “I loved her. I deserved to know.”
“Yes. I agree. But telling you was outside the scope of my job. Frankly, Carlo, Jane deserved better than that.” Elisabetta braced herself to say what she’d been thinking for months. “Spying on your ex-wife is not why I signed up to join your personal security detail.”
Carlo turned around slowly, his body straight as an arrow. “You know the threats Jane received. Despite my best efforts to keep her out of the public eye, whoever knows the truth of my paternity also knew about our marriage.”
Elisabetta nodded. “Yes. I saw the death threats. I know why you had me guard her. But Jane and I have become genuine friends. The duplicity of my relationship with her now feels wrong.”
He grunted. “I can understand that. But I needed someone I could trust. Someone I trusted completely.”
Elisabetta nodded. “In the end, it didn’t help.”
“Tell me what your investigation has revealed.”
“Only that it’s definitely linked to you. And your family.” She reached into her satchel and pulled out a piece of paper, covered in plastic. It was the same font as the original death threat he’d received, only a week after their wedding.
He read the page now. Living in London doesn’t change a thing. We can find you anywhere, Mrs Parelli.
“They used my father’s name,” he said, ice trickling through his veins.
Elisabetta nodded. “You must confront him. He will more than likely know who is behind it, and why.”
Carlo was torn. “I left my father’s home the day after I discovered who he was and what he did. The blood on his hands could turn this city red. I have not spoken to him since I was twelve. And I do not ever intend to.”
“Even for Jane?”
He looked at her sharply. “You know I would do anything to keep her safe. But there are other ways to discover the man who wants to hurt her. Ways that do not involve that murderous son of a bitch.” He ran his palm across his jaw. It was thick with stubble, despite the fact he’d shaved that morning. “Unfortunately, to protect her properly, I am going to have to tell her things that will ensure she never wants to see me again.”
Long after he’d dropped Liz back at her central Rome hotel, Carlo’s mind was still ticking over the problem. The idea that someone
out there was actively wanting to hurt Jane – worse, had hurt her already – made every bone in his body strengthen with an instinct and resolve to protect her. But he’d felt that since he’d met her. That first moment, when he’d walked into the crowded bar and seen her weaving with effortless grace through tables and customers, he had wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her tight.
And he’d failed.
So why would this be any different?
Because it had to be.
He dreamed of his father that night. For the first time in years, he saw his face as clearly as if he were actually standing in front of him.
It was the night he’d discovered his father was high up in a sort of mob like group. An impressionable twelve year old who had grown up adoring his father, and never questioning where the family’s wealth and position of authority came from, in their small northern Italian town. Why would a child consider such matters? His father was God-like, and that was all the young Carlo Parelli had minded.
Until that night.
He shouldn’t have been out of bed, but Carlo had wanted to stay up and see his favourite uncle. He’d snuck out of his room, and crept down the lavish corridor of the seventeenth century palace. His father and various friends were in the study. At least, that’s what Carlo had thought. As he’d neared the room, he’d witnessed a scene entirely different to what he’d ever known. His father, brandishing a knife, torturing another man. His favourite uncle held the man’s arms back, while Alberto Parelli had made him cry out in pain. And Alberto’s face had been completely emotionless.
Carlo had steeled himself to stay; to watch and listen until he had understood just what was happening.
As if the missing piece of the puzzle had finally been discovered, laying dormant beneath the sofa, everything about his childhood suddenly seemed to make sense. The glamorous women who were always following his father and uncles into the palace; the extreme wealth, and the fear and obedience Carlo had seen in the townspeople.
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