Second Marriage

by Helen Brooks

  'Romano?' There was a faint thread of hope in Claire's voice, and something else—something that twisted his guts into knots. 'Do you want to…to say anything else?'

  They stared at each other for a long, long moment, the tall, ruthlessly handsome and dangerously powerful man, and the slight, fair-skinned English girl.

  Yes—yes, he wanted to say more, much more. He wanted to explain how it really was, appeal to that soft, voluptuous warmth that was at the heart of her, wrap himself in it, submerge all the torment and agony and just let it enfold him like a comforting blanket.

  He wanted to possess her—hell, did he want to pos­sess her… He was still as hard as a rock at the thought of what might have been if Grace hadn't interrupted them. He wanted to drive deep into that soft female body, fill it, stretch it until there was no room in her mind for anything but him. He wanted to take her to the brink of fulfilment and spend time touching and tasting her until they tipped over into the abyss of sensual pleas­ure that was pure undiluted sensation, and then he wanted to do it all over again.

  He wanted to see her face as he possessed her so completely that he became her world, to feel every tiny movement, each rhythmic undulation that he knew he could bring forth from that warm, secret place deep in­side the core of her.

  He wanted… He wanted her—mind, soul and body— and the desire for the first two left him with no option but to walk away. He had known he shouldn't come here tonight; it had been an act of inexcusable self-indulgence, a need to justify himself, to explain the unexplainable. He couldn't take her into the hell he in­habited!—

  'Romano?'

  The bewildered, tentative whisper was the final straw, and he stared at her one last time, his eyes taking in every contour of her face, the vulnerability in the liquid brown eyes, the tremulous quiver that her mouth was trying so hard to hide, and his own straightened into a thin, grim line.

  'Goodbye, Claire.'

  She didn't say anything, just continued to stare at him in silence as Grace hugged her closer, and then he turned, striding past her without glancing her way again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  'I'm coming with you to the airport,' Grace insisted for the third time that morning, 'and I don't want to hear another word about it. The twins will be perfectly all right with Anna and Gina for a few hours, and it won't do them any harm to have the odd bottle now and again rather than me. You know that. Lorenzo will keep his eye on them too—you know how he is—and Donato thought he'd be home early this afternoon. So you see they'll have a whole host of admirers to dance atten­dance.'

  'Are you sure?' Claire asked quietly. This would be the first time that Grace had left Romano and Claire since they had been born. At first Grace had been the original fussy mother, forever checking the infants when they slept and jumping at every little squeak and snuffle, but as the babies had grown and put on weight she had started to relax a little, becoming more confident both in the alarms fitted to the cots and also her children's health.

  'Quite sure.' Grace smiled at her, knowing what she was thinking. 'I'm convinced at last they're here to stay, and part of that is due to you and all your straight talking and common sense. I…I couldn't have shared my fears with anyone other than you and Donato, Claire. I knew I had to work them through for myself but I needed to express them too.'

  'I know,' Claire said softly.

  'I just wish…'

  'What?'

  'That you hadn't got hurt in the process,' Grace said slowly. 'He's an idiot, Claire, a first-class idiot. I don't know whether to hit him or pity him for what he's miss­ing.'

  Grace had said much the same yesterday, alternating between trying to find excuses for Romano's behaviour and bursts of righteous anger against her husband's best friend, and although Claire knew her friend meant well neither tack had helped the long, hot Sunday to pass any easier.

  But now it was Monday morning, and her flight left Naples airport just after lunch. She had already said her goodbyes to Donato that morning, before he had left for his offices, and a somewhat tearful farewell to Lorenzo before he started his lessons with Attilio. She had kept her parting with the tutor brief and brisk, for his sake rather than hers, but nevertheless had breathed a long sigh of relief when it was over.

  'Antonio has put your cases in the back of my car, so whenever you want to go I'm ready,' Grace said now, as they finished their third cup of coffee, having taken a long, leisurely breakfast that had continued long after the other members of the household had gone their sepa­rate ways.

  'Right. I just want to say goodbye to Benito first— he'd never forgive me if I went without seeing him,' Claire said, perfectly seriously, and Grace nodded back, just as serious.

  'Absolutely. He knows you're going, you know. He's been a real misery the last day or so.'

  Benito was sitting on his perch on the patio of Lorenzo's sitting room, eyeing the door morosely as she walked through, his head tilted glumly and his exotic plumage shining in the clear white light of the sunny morning.

  'Hello, old thing.' Claire walked across to him and stroked the silky feathers as she murmured softly, 'I don't want to go, you know, but I've no option. You do see that, don't you?'

  'Benito—nice old bird,' the parrot intoned mourn­fully. 'Claire e Romano. Romano e Claire, eh?'

  Did he really know? she asked herself silently. It seemed impossible and yet those bright round eyes were terribly understanding. 'I wish it was Romano and Claire, Benito,' she said softly. 'I really do. But I'm afraid you've got it wrong this time.'

  'Wrong…wrong…' The melancholy tone was too much, and Claire felt a slight smile touch her mouth despite her misery. He was a comical old bird, she thought fondly, and she would miss him. She would miss everyone.

  She looked past the parrot now to the gardens beyond, already shimmering in the heat of the June morning. The sky was a vivid sapphire-blue, devoid of the tiniest cloud, and the air was redolent with the smell of the crisply cut lawns that the gardeners had just finished working on. All was colour and warmth and light, the antithesis of what she was feeling inside.

  'Ready?'

  She hadn't heard Grace come up behind her but now she forced a bright smile as she turned away from both the view and her thoughts. 'Yes, quite ready.' She stroked Benito one last time and then followed Grace out of the room.

  The airport was the same as airports everywhere—noisy, busy and possessed of a life of its own that went on regardless of the hundred and one little human tragedies being played out in the comings and goings within its ramparts.

  Since leaving Casa Pontina, and during the drive into Naples, Claire felt as though she had gone into a vacuum, and that feeling continued as she checked in her luggage and was told the flight was slightly delayed.

  'Grace, you go now—really.' She could tell that in spite of all Grace's brave protestations her friend was itching to get back to her offspring. 'You know how these delays drag on sometimes and I'm going to be quite happy sitting here. I've got a good book. I shan't be able to relax if I know I'm keeping you from leaving.'

  'You're not,' Grace said stubbornly.

  'Grace, I mean it—' She was going to say more but the sudden glassy look in her friend's eyes brought her head turning round. Romano was standing a few feet away, dark and still and magnificent in a black silk shirt that was unbuttoned at the neck and black jeans that hugged the lean, lithe body in a way that interfered with her breathing.

  'Romano!' Grace recovered first, her usually warm soft voice sharp with outrage. 'What on earth are you doing here?'

  'I would have thought that was perfectly obvious.' He smiled, but it was a warning, as the tone of his voice had been. 'I want to say goodbye to Claire.'

  'You want…' Shock and disbelief were added to the outrage. 'I don't believe this.'

  'There is something unusual in one person wishing to say goodbye to another?' Romano asked, with a mild­ness that was suspect, and then as Grace went to speak again he raised his
hand, his face cold. 'Grace, I know you are Claire's friend, and I appreciate that, really, but she is quite grown-up, in case you had not noticed, and this is something that concerns only the two of us.'

  He hadn't come to ask her to stay. Claire stared at the tall, dark figure and her heart thudded so hard it was painful. She didn't know how she knew, but she did, so the only other reason he would be here was to say good­bye, as he had indicated to Grace. Why was he putting her through this? She wanted to close her eyes and pre­tend it wasn't happening. It was unfair, cruel.

  'Something that concerns only the two of you?' Grace said, with a stiffness that spoke volumes. 'I'm sorry, Romano, but I don't see it that way.'

  'Then that is your misfortune, not mine. But whether you approve or not I am going to speak to Claire, and alone.'

  This was getting out of hand. She turned to Grace now, putting her hand on her friend's arm as she drew her gaze. 'It's all right, Grace, really. I'll…I'll talk to him. I'm OK, don't worry.'

  'Of course you're OK,' Grace said encouragingly, in a tone that reeked of concern and doubt. 'Do…do you want me to go?'

  'I think it's best. I'll ring you as soon as I get home,' Claire said quietly. 'The babies are waiting for you, and you don't want to be away from them too long.'

  'OK.'

  They hugged for a long moment and Grace's eyes were damp when she turned to go. 'Don't you dare, dare upset her again,' she said in a fierce undertone to Romano, which brought the thick black eyebrows wing­ing upwards, but she was gone before he could speak, hurrying away with her head bent and her shoulders hunched.

  'I think Grace has got carried away with this maternal thing.' His voice was low and deep, and she swung round from watching Grace disappear with hot words of defence, only to surprise a curious expression of vulner­ability on the hard, masculine face. He was nervous, she realised with a little shock of surprise—uneasy, out of his depth. It was so amazing that she allowed him to take her arm and lead her over to a quiet corner away from the busy hubbub without protest, sinking down onto the seat as her legs gave way.

  'Can I get you a coffee?' Now he had her alone he seemed strangely unwilling to get the goodbyes over, and she shook her head slowly, knowing her control was only paper-thin. She wanted this over—quickly. She didn't want to make a fool of herself in front of him again. She was past the burning humiliation she had felt for days after telling him she loved him and being re­jected so thoroughly—her misery was too deep and in­tense for pride—but she didn't want his last memory of her to be of her crying and wailing and holding onto his shirt-ends, which was exactly what she felt like doing right now.

  'No. Perhaps…perhaps you should just say what you came to say and then go,' she said quietly, the whiteness of her face belying her outward composure.

  'Claire—' He stopped abruptly, and then sat down on the seat next to hers, taking her hands in his, his face desperate. 'I should not be here—or perhaps I should. I do not know any more. All I do know is that I could not let you leave Italy, and my life, without telling you the truth. I do not know if it will make it easier or harder— I'm past knowing anything right now—but…I have to explain.'

  'What?' The look on his face was frightening her.

  'You think that I loved Bianca, that I still love her, sì? he said heavily. 'You think we had the perfect mar­riage, that it was—how do you English say?—the bed of roses, yes?'

  'Yes.' She was feeling almost numb now, the way people felt when they had been injured so badly that their nerve-ends were cauterised with shock.

  'Claire, my marriage was your worst nightmare come to life. It was days and weeks and months of unending torment and pain,' he said bitterly. 'There were times when I thought I was going mad, when I looked at the rest of the world and wondered how they could get it so right and I could get it so wrong.'

  'Romano?' She stared at him, unable to take it in. 'I don't understand.'

  'I have never understood it.' He shook his head sav­agely before taking a long, hard pull of air and letting go of her hands, turning in his seat and looking down at the floor, one hand clasping the fist of the other until the knuckles shone white. 'But perhaps I had better start at the beginning. I have told you how my childhood was, how Donato's family became mine? Donato and I, we were a little wild, headstrong, the way youth is, and we…how you say?…played the field, had fun.'

  He was talking in a dull monotone now that was more chilling than the bitterness of before. 'Bianca, she was the little sister, sì? Donato's little sister. She meant noth­ing more. But when she reached fifteen, sixteen, I began to realise that this puppy love she had always had for me was something else, something stronger. She…she had this way of manipulating things, people. It was a sickness with her although I did not realise it then. And she wanted me; it was as simple as that. I tried to tell her, as gently as I could, that what I felt for her was not of a romantic nature, and when that did not work I stayed away from Casa Pontina for a while. I thought the time would give her a chance to see things from a different perspective, perhaps even meet someone else.'

  'But that didn't work either?' Claire asked faintly.

  'No, it did not,' he said grimly. 'She started to be wherever I was, then she took to turning up at my home—two, sometimes three times a week.'

  'Did you tell Donato?'

  'I tried, but he did not understand. Hell, I did not understand! And then Donato's father became ill and he had enough to do to take care of the businesses and run Casa Pontina. I could not burden him with anything else,' Romano said wearily.

  She wanted to reach out to him, to touch that harsh, tortured profile with the palm of her hand, to take away the pain that turned the deep voice to gravel. But the knowledge that he didn't love her, that he was still going to say goodbye at the end of all this, stayed her hand. 'And so…?'

  'And so one night when I came home late I found a broken window and Bianca in my bed. She had taken an overdose.' She saw his shoulder muscles clench under his shirt at the memory. 'And I decided if she loved me that much I owed it to the rest of the family and Donato to make her happy. I didn't love anyone else, there was no sacrifice involved in that way, and she had been part of my life for a long time. I did not want it to end in tragedy.'

  'Did Donato know? About the overdose?' Claire asked softly, trying to imagine how he must have felt.

  'No, he still does not know,' Romano said quietly. 'I took her home that night and we announced our en­gagement, and we married six months later when Bianca was seventeen. Within a month of the marriage I realised I had made a terrible mistake. What I had thought was love on her part was an obsession, a sickness. The things that happened…' He shook his head slowly. 'I would not burden you with the knowledge.'

  'And then she discovered that in order to have a child she would need an operation.' He looked at Claire then, his eyes black and bottomless. 'And the sickness really took over. She was frightened to have surgery, and she directed her own fear and hate and resentment at any young woman of childbearing age. Life became a living hell for us both.'

  'But Grace must have come into the family about then?' Claire asked hesitantly. 'Bianca didn't…?'

  'All that you can imagine and much more besides,' Romano said grimly. 'Of course I did not know about it at the time—Bianca was cunning and Grace kept quiet for the sake of family harmony—but she was the means of separating Donato and Grace after Paolo's death with a pack of lies which continued right up to the day she died.'

  'Oh, Romano…' She did touch him then, with light, tentative fingers on his muscled arm, and he gazed down at her small hand on his skin for some moments before he spoke again.

  'After her death I found out she had indulged in nu­merous affairs. I suspected it when she was alive but she was clever and I could never obtain proof. Her obsession with me had long since turned to hate, especially after I made her seek medical help for her instability. Her doc­tor felt that her condition might well be a heredita
ry weakness, but as she was adopted it could not be proved one way or the other.'

  Claire could hardly take in what he was saying, the bustle and noise all around them distant and unreal as her heart and mind and will focused on the tortured man at her side. And he was tortured; she had never seen it so clearly. She wanted to gather him into her arms, to smother his face with kisses, to tell him that it was all right, that she would make it all right, but she didn't. She sat quietly, with her hand still on his arm, as his words burnt into her brain.

  'She was killed when her car went off the road be­cause she was driving too fast in an effort to get away from being found out at last,' he continued quietly. 'She had arranged a confrontation with Grace that went badly wrong, for Bianca at least. Donato turned up and over­heard her admit she had conspired to break up their mar­riage. I have always been very grateful that Benito sent Donato there. Bianca could be physically violent at times, and who can know what she might have done that day in her rage and fury?'

  'Benito?' Claire asked faintly. She knew Grace was overly fond of the parrot and now, for the first time, she understood why.

  'Sì, Benito. He overheard a telephone conversation and repeated enough for Donato to understand where Grace was and that something was badly wrong,' Ro­mano said grimly.

  'I see.' Her mind was buzzing, leaping from one fact to another as it tried to sort out all it needed to absorb. But one thing was paramount, crystal-clear: he hadn't loved Bianca. His marriage had been a nightmare from beginning to end, he had said so, but then why wasn't her heart leaping for joy? Intuition, born of her love for him, knew what was coming next, that was why.