He lay back on the sun lounger, unconcerned about the light sprinkling of rain nor the fact the night was hardly what could be described as warm. He stared up at the dark carpet of the sky and the little shards of diamond-like stars that glistened behind the clouds, and pushed all thoughts aside – thoughts of Yaya, thoughts of the woman, thoughts of his life and the events that had shaped it. He stared up at the sky and felt nothing, for as long as he possibly could, ignoring the woman’s words, her intimation that darkness was coming. He wasn’t yet ready to face that reality.
Chapter Two
Thirty years ago
“MAMA! MAMA!” RAF SHOUTED the words, over and over, his chubby little arms extended, wobbling with the effort. His mother looked over her shoulder, her bright red lips pursed, her eyes scanning him with a look he knew too well, a look he’d received many times in his short life – extreme impatience. Even as a two year old, he understood and fell silent, his huge dark eyes intent on the scene unfurling before him.
A man in a suit stood talking to his parents, his hair thick and woolly grey, like the llama toy Raf loved so much.
Another man stood between Raf, his brothers, and his parents. Raf started to move towards them but the man caught him, shaking his head and offering something like a smile – Raf didn’t want his smiles though. He wanted his mama, and her hugs, and for her to be the one who smiled at him. He wanted more honey yoghurt, too.
“Mama!”
“Basta, quiet!” She hissed, shaking her finger at him.
A tear slid down his cheek. His tummy ached in a new way. Something felt different. There was a loud noise outside. Raf looked and saw a helicopter, just like the one in his duplo set.
A loud noise – a shout. Raf jerked his attention back to his parents and the man in the suit. His older brother Nico put his hand in Raf’s. Their baby brother began to cry and now the other man moved to the pram, lifting him out. He spoke quickly and in words Raf didn’t know, words that sounded different.
The man in the suit was angry, pointing around the house. He walked to the hallway cupboard and picked up the pretty bottles filled with amber liquids, the ones mama and daddy liked to have near them, the ones that made a tinkly noise when they dropped and splashed all that funny-smelling liquid onto the floor. Now mama was yelling.
It was Nico’s turn to shout out, and begin to run towards her. The man nearest them was busy with their baby brother Gabe, so Nico made it all the way to mama’s legs, which he wrapped in a big hug. But mama was cross. She pulled him free and smacked his bottom, pointing to the floor he’d been sitting on earlier. Something ached in Raf’s tummy; the noise got louder so he pressed pudgy fingers to his little red ears. He watched as Nico walked back, lower lip sucked into his mouth, eyes downcast.
The man in the suit came to them, pointed to the helicopter and said more words in another language. A second later and the other man approached, shaking his head. Were they in trouble? He seemed cross. Raf looked beyond the man to mama. She was opening one of the bottles, pouring it into a glass until it was almost at the top. Raf was thirsty. Or was he hungry? He hadn’t eaten since the night before, and it hadn’t been very nice. Bread with bits of green on it, and it had tasted like smoke.
Arms – unfamiliar but somehow comforting – picked him up out of nowhere, carrying him to the helicopter. It was big and white. He stared at it then looked around. Where was mama?
He called her name. She didn’t come. He called again.
“Just go!” The words were roared, angry, so her mouth grew wet with spittle at the corners.
Raf stared. “Go where?”
He woke with a start, the dream – a memory – one he had every so often, the evening imprinted on his psyche in an indelible, hateful way. As an adult he understood it – all the things that hadn’t made sense then – his mother’s drinking, his father’s absence owing to another drug-fuelled hangover, Gianfelice – the man in the suit – who’d come to take them from harm’s way. His mother’s resentment. Her coldness. The fact she’d cared more about the size of her financial settlement – given in exchange for signing over full custody of her children – than the fact they were being taken away from her, to live in another country.
It was being back here at Villa Fortune that put those thoughts in his mind. Or perhaps it was the prospect of losing Yaya, of yet again having someone he loved wrenched away from him. He pushed his hand through his hair, as if he could set the dream aside so easily, beyond glad he’d been sensible enough to avoid emotional complications in his life. He was thirty three now, not three, and his heart was not so easily broken as it had been then.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING all the way over there?”
Lauren shifted her attention on autopilot, following Yaya’s gaze across the bedroom floor. Early morning light filtered in, casting the room in a warm glow. At the door stood the man she’d met late the night before, Raf Montebello. Having met him once, the shock of his extreme good looks wasn’t so severe. Now she found she was braced for this – him – and could meet his eyes without revealing any hint of attraction.
“Ciao, Yaya.” His voice was husky, his eyes heavy on his grandmother’s face, so it was impossible for Lauren not to feel a hint of sympathy for him.
“Come in, come in.” It was obviously a brightening moment in Yaya’s day to have her grandson appear. “I didn’t know you’d arrived.”
“Yes,” he murmured, moving deeper into the room and flashing a glance at Lauren now. “I got here last night.”
“Last night!” She tsked, but the effort cost her so she coughed a little. Lauren reached for the glass of water, holding it towards Yaya, but the older woman waved it away with an impatient shake of her head. “No, no, I’m okay. You’re like all of them, worried all the time for me.”
Lauren replaced the water glass and stood from the chair that had been placed at the side of the bed.
“How are you?” Raf’s question was for Yaya, but his eyes briefly met Lauren’s. She looked away quickly, focussing on Yaya’s face.
“Eh, I’ve been better, I’ve been worse.” Her smile was beautiful.
“I’ll take this to the kitchen,” Lauren reached for the tray but Yaya batted her hands away once more.
“No, no, you’ll stay and meet my grandson. This is Raf.” Pride burst from the older woman’s voice.
“Actually, as a matter of fact, we met last night,” Lauren said carefully, not revealing a hint of emotion.
“Ah! I didn’t know. I didn’t know. Why’d you come last night, Rafaello?”
“I wanted to wake up here.”
Yaya looked towards the window. “There’s nothing like mornings at Villa Fortune, eh?”
“No,” Raf’s grin was pure devilish charm. “There’s nothing like it anywhere in the world.”
“And you would know,” Yaya chided gently. “You’re forever travelling away from me. Where have you been?”
Raf came to the other side of the bed, putting his hand over Yaya’s. Her expression softened into one of beatific joy.
“Argentina.”
“Oh? Why?”
Lauren monitored the back and forth between the two of them with interest. Yaya’s nurses preferred her to relax, not to have long and in-depth conversations, but Lauren disagreed with that advice wholeheartedly. When time was running out, conversations and thoughts were the most important things to share. There was no prolonging Yaya’s life now. It would run its course, but the last weeks, months, however long she was with them for, should be happy and full.
“Don’t tell me, a girl.”
Raf’s grin was charming, and his eyes flashed when they met Lauren’s. “It’s women, these days, Yaya, not girls.”
“Si, but you’ll always be a teenager to me.”
Raf sat on the side of the bed, so he was at Yaya’s eye height. “It wasn’t a woman,” he contradicted.
“No?”
“No.”
“Your brother’s m
arried now. Two of your cousins as well.”
“Yes, and as a result, you’ve got Jack and the twins, Estelle and Cara, so there’s no need to look to me for the production of a child,” Raf reminded Yaya in a tone that made Lauren certain this was a conversation they’d had many times. Yaya had spoken of her great grandchildren often, able to rattle off their names, hobbies, ages and most favoured foods at the drop of a hat. Lauren had amassed an encyclopaedic knowledge of Yaya’s family since arriving in Italy.
“Children are such a blessing, Raf. You shouldn’t ignore that.”
Raf winked. “I won’t.”
“You’re getting old. No woman will want you.”
He turned to Lauren. “Is that true, Miss…?”
The question hung in the air.
“Oh, Miss,” Yaya mocked, rolling her eyes and leaning forward, batting Raf’s arm. “Don’t flirt with this one. I like her too much.”
Lauren dipped her head forward, hiding the expression of terror she knew would show on her face. Please don’t flirt with me. My heart won’t cope.
She knew the weaknesses Thom’s death had exposed her to and the strength that had been born from it – it was a strength that required her to be single, always. To be alone, forever.
“I’m simply asking her name.”
Lauren’s smile was as close to rejection as she could politely get. She employed the same reaction whenever a man behaved in a way that showed he might feel a degree of interest. “It’s Lauren Monroe.”
“Monroe?”
“Yes. Like Marilyn.” She’d heard the comparisons before. With pale blonde hair and a voluptuous figure, it was an easy leap for people to make.
“Raf,” Yaya’s voice held a warning. “Leave it. Tell me of Argentina.”
Raf winked at Lauren and despite her best intentions a burst of warmth fired to life inside her veins. She turned away on the pretence of tidying Yaya’s side table.
“Have you heard of Refugio Frey?”
Yaya’s laugh was a cackle. “You know I haven’t. Tell me about him.”
“It,” he corrected, “is a hiking track near the border of Chile. Some of the most intense terrain you can imagine, with the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen, the sky takes on a colour that’s impossible to describe. The deepest shade of blue, like a squashed berry. The mountains are snow-capped, craggy and sharp, steep so that if you fall you’ll drop right through the centre of the earth.”
Yaya made a noise. “Now I know you are teasing me.”
Lauren risked a glance at Raf. His brows were lifted. “Not at all. The tracks are perilous.”
“But you are skilled.”
“I’m experienced.”
“And careful, for me.”
“Always.” He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the paper skin of her brow, brushing aside some of her hair. “Have you been outside recently? You look pale.”
Yaya looked down at her hands, a frown on her face as though trying to reconcile the knobbly joints and fine bones with those she saw in her mind, those she remembered from decades ago.
“Not for a while.”
Raf looked to Lauren and heat bloomed in her body. She was glad she wasn’t prone to blushing. His voice was gravelled, a hint of accusation in his tone as though he suspected Lauren was in some way responsible for Yaya’s incarceration. “It’s important for you to be outside. I’ll help you to the courtyard once you’re ready.”
Lauren silently approved; she too had been advocating for a relaxation on the doctor’s orders, but she’d been overruled to date. She knew with a member of the family’s agreement that the possibility of taking Yaya outside was far greater.
“They don’t let me.” Yaya’s voice grew pale, tremulous. Lauren understood. She’d seen this before. The fear, not just of death but of becoming irrelevant, a recognition that people were starting to infantilise you and remove your power. It was one of the reasons she did this work – to advocate for her client’s needs.
“Of course they will,” she soothed, moving to Yaya’s side and gently putting her hand on the older woman’s shoulder. “We’ll have the doctor sign off on it today.”
Her eyes lifted to Raf’s and she saw questions there but also a hint of resolve. “I have no intention of allowing anyone to keep Yaya a prisoner in her room. This is her house and she should have the run of it as she sees fit. I hope that’s understood.”
Cristo. He hadn’t meant to scold Lauren Monroe but he heard the words and recognised that they sounded combative and critical.
Her expression though was as unchanging as it had been since he’d arrived at Yaya’s door. He’d stood there for a few minutes, a silent observer, watching the way Yaya spoke to the younger woman, her voice airy with age, his attention caught between his grandmother and the grief counsellor.
There was something in the latter’s behaviour that piqued his interest. Her manner was cool. Ice cold, in fact, as though she was determined not to like him, and that was in and of itself an unusual experience. He wasn’t an egotist but it was impossible not to recognise the effect he had on women. Lauren Monroe, however, was immune. As he’d entered the room his gaze had swept her body, lingering on her hand. He’d half-expected to see a wedding ring, and had laughed at his arrogance when there’d been none – only a simple gold band on one of her fingers on her right hand, a gold band she toyed with often.
“I’m bound by the doctor’s instructions,” Lauren’s voice was flattened of emotion. “But rest assured, I’ve already left several messages for him to call me. I agree with you. The sun, the light breeze, these are perfect environments for recuperation.” She smiled kindly at Yaya. Raf watched the way her expression changed, from the icy look she’d offered him to the relaxation he saw when she turned to his grandmother.
His interest grew.
At that moment, the door pushed inwards and two women entered, both wearing hospital scrubs. He sensed a change in atmosphere.
“Time for my punishment?” Yaya asked, with a heavenward lift of her eyes.
Raf watched with interest as Lauren took a step backwards but her body remained tense, as if on alert.
“Just a short one today,” one of the nurses offered.
“A short what?” Raf clarified, standing and moving towards Yaya’s head.
“Your grandmother has physical therapy each morning,” Lauren murmured. “Gentle exercises, nothing too strenuous.”
“That’s what you say,” Yaya winked at Lauren, pushing the covers back.
“She likes to complain.” The nurse with red hair smiled at Raf, her eyes showing that she was the opposite of Lauren – there was no lack of interest there.
She had, however, chosen the wrong approach. “Yaya is far from a complainer.”
“Calm down, Raf,” Yaya laughed throatily. “It was a joke. They’re doing their best. I keep telling them I’m no Olympic athlete.”
Raf compressed his lips, taking a step backwards, acknowledging the possibility that seeing his grandmother like this had made him unnecessarily defensive. The two nurses helped her from the bed and he stiffened, the sight of her frail body in white cotton nightgown almost too much to bear. Her long hair was knotted into a loose bun at her nape, and her legs shuffled out of the room. At the door, she put a hand on one of the nurse’s arms, stalling her progress.
“Aspetti, un momento.” She turned to Raf. “Don’t let the others fuss over me, Raf. I’m still Yaya.”
Emotions rushed through him. Her pride was palpable. He nodded. “Of course.”
He watched as they left and then, with a heavy heart, turned to face Lauren. She was watching him, her intelligent blue eyes quizzical in a way that wasn’t remotely appraising of him as a man she might find attractive. No, she looked at him like a specimen, as though trying to fathom his components.
“She likes you,” he observed, moving around the bed, closer to Lauren.
“It’s mutual.”
“She’s not overly
welcoming of outsiders.”
“I’ve been here a week now. We’ve got to know one another.” Her smile was tight; dismissive. “I doubt she considers me an outsider anymore.”
“No,” he agreed, the questions he had about Lauren growing by the minute. “She’s lost weight since I was here last.”
“She doesn’t eat much. That’s quite normal. Her appetite may come back.” Lauren turned away from him to arrange the bed sheets, pulling them up before fluffing the pillows and neatening them. Her fingers were deft and efficient. She stepped back from the bed, tidying other surfaces as she went. It was like watching a ballet, one she’d performed often.
“May?” He honed in on her use of the word, disliking it immediately for its implication.
Her look was one of clinical apology. “There’s no one path we follow in situations like this. Bodies aren’t always predictable. The stroke was what could be described as moderate, but her age works against her.”
Perhaps his expression showed how little he appreciated the news, because she hesitated for only a moment before walking closer towards him, so close that he caught a hint of her fragrance and felt a punch of raw desire shift in his gut. Two weeks in Argentina had left him with an obvious desire to get laid, that was all. Fantasising about a woman just doing her job – and a job that included nursing his grandmother – was beyond wrong.
“I will say this for Paula,” Lauren murmured, pronouncing the name in the Italian fashion – ‘Pow-la’. “She’s a fighter. I’ve never seen someone with so much determination. Even in the evenings when I know how tired she is, she insists on being joined for dinner.”
“What does she do?” Guilt swiftly pushed more pleasurable inclinations from his mind. Yaya had been alone too long. Though he and his brothers and cousins all visited often – several times a week – that wasn’t the same. The idea seemed impossible at first – to move to Villa Fortune for a few months – but why was it? He spent so much time travelling around, it wasn’t as though he had any roots at home that he’d be neglecting. Besides, his place was only an hour’s drive away – quicker if he took the helicopter. He could easily spend five nights a week here and commute back for the weekends.
Nothing Lasts Forever (The Montebellos Book 4) Page 2
