In the suite the bathroom door opened. Steam bled into the empty space.
CHAPTER TWELVE
IT WAS HARD to be sure when he’d begun to feel anything again. Hard to know when the mist had cleared enough for him to see that what other people were telling him. That he’d changed. That he’d lost his ‘sparkle’—whatever that was. That he’d become harder, fiercer, angrier.
All of that was true. He made no apology for any of it. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about—give in, give up, let the team down? Let Marco down? He needed a series of wins in Dubai to make him rock-solid as a commodity. He was going all out for every investment opportunity available. He knew that the Hermanos Hermida brand was his now. And just because his heart had been ripped out of his body, it didn’t mean that he should inflict that pain on anyone else.
There was always a bright side. Always. In the middle of utter blackness he knew there was. He couldn’t see it. Had no idea when he would see it. But it was a certainty that it would come.
‘This time will pass,’ his grandfather had used to say. Even on the day when he’d called him to his study and asked what had happened to his watch. Even when Dante had silently refused to tell him why he had pawned it—not in fear, but in dread of how ashamed he would make the old man feel.
It hadn’t worked, though. He had given him the money to get the watch back. Money that Dante had paid back by working every hour that God sent—labouring in the city, far enough away so that no one knew who he was.
The timing had been perfect. Just when he’d needed something to bury himself in, had needed to work until his muscles ached, using his body heaving hard materials and risking his own life on high-rise building sites because that was what he deserved. Celine had died. And he had slipped back into his adolescent world, realising that he was just another privileged pupil in one of her classes.
He’d spent days waiting for the police to come. Days until he’d given up and gone to them himself. They told him to ‘run along’. He knew his grandfather had had a hand in it. But it had never been mentioned. Not a whisper, not a look, not an embrace. There had been nothing to suggest that anyone had any idea that Miss di Rosso had been any more to Dante than the teacher who’d once taught him.
This time will pass. And it had. Days had bled into weeks, into months and years. Until it had taken an actual doppelgänger to make him remember her at all.
This time... This pain... The days had bled as his heart had bled. But there was no let-up, no sign of a clot forming, let alone a scar. No sign that this time would ever pass. The bright side was that he could still put one foot in front of the other. That he could still ride a horse and fire a ball past three players. That he could raise money and invest money and had put the Little Hauk Polo Foundation on the map. And he had. He had cleaned up. He was on fire. He was ‘the man to watch’. ‘Unstoppable’.
Everyone’s hero.
He stepped out from the club house now. As was his routine. It was all about routines now. The little things that were part of his day—to make sure that the wheels of his life kept turning. Like running on the beach—the beach she’d declared her favourite. Like eating at the breakfast table and ignoring the image of her that sprang to mind and would choke him if he let it. Because she was everywhere. In everything.
What a fool! What a fool. He’d thought it was Lucie who had fallen hard! He’d been worried that she had cast her dream net wide and tried to ensnare him in a life of picket fences and Hi, honey, I’m home. He’d been so busy worrying about her projections that he’d never noticed for a second that he’d fallen deeply in love himself. He’d been so determined to make sure she’d take a different fork in the road that he hadn’t seen the edge of the cliff and had run right off it himself.
‘Hey! Handsome!’
He turned at the sound of Marco’s voice. Even those words pierced through his heart for a moment, as if he’d just stepped out of the bathroom at The Park and into the sickening vacuum that his life had become since that moment he’d found her gone.
‘S’up?’ he called back, slowing his pace to let his buddy catch up.
His buddy with whom he’d shared everything—apart from any discussion about Celine. And now Lucie.
‘I’m heading to Betty’s. Wanna come?’
‘No, thanks. I’ve got a ton of stuff to do here tonight.’
They walked along in the early-evening sunshine, strides matching, shadows lengthening before them.
‘Ah, yeah, of course. Those blades of grass won’t count themselves.’
Dante paused, turned to look at Marco, who had continued to walk on.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Marco shrugged, looked back at him.
‘Well, it’s the sort of out-of-character irrelevant nonsense you seem to be dedicating your life to. Instead of moving on, forgetting about her. There are loads of fish in that sea,’ he said, casting his arm out in a wide sweep. ‘Come on, you’re not trying to tell me she’s “the one”?’
Dante stared at him, trying to follow what he was saying.
‘I mean, yeah, she was pretty—but not amazing. And she had a good body... Okay, she had a great body—and that rack—but she wasn’t—’
Dante didn’t know what had happened until it happened, and he saw his best friend staring at him with dazed eyes, clutching the side of his face where he’d just taken a punch. Blue and purple bloomed under his hand and a trickle of blood escaped from the corner of his mouth. Dante’s fist ached, and he looked at the red mark that now formed there.
‘Hell, there’s nothing much wrong with your uppercut, is there?’
‘What did you say that for? What are you trying to say about her? You aren’t fit to breathe the same air as her, you piece of crap.’
‘Well, that makes two of us,’ Marco said through lips that seemed to be swelling. ‘Because you’re as much fun as a hot date with death. She’ll have moved on by now anyway. Why would she hang around waiting on a loser like you if she’s that great?’
Dante swung again, but this time Marco blocked him. They struggled together, pushing against one another, heels kicking up the dust of the day. The ponies moved warily closer, then edged away.
‘You got me once but you won’t get me again,’ Marco hissed. ‘Why don’t you take all that energy and redirect it to getting her back. Give us all a break. God knows we need it—we’ve been looking at your moping face for months now. You’re putting me off my chowder and the damn horses off their game.’
Dante gave him a final shove and fell back against the fence. His friend’s comments had taken the wind from him and he stepped to the side, leaned his two hands against the warm, smooth wood and hung his head.
‘It’s that obvious?’
‘Of course it’s obvious! From the moment you took her to Betty’s we could all see that you were perfect for one another. But you and your crazy rules about women—you never gave it a chance.’
Dante stared across the fields. He had created this place in six months flat. Training ground, stables, clubhouse and gym. He had worked round the clock and poured every last ounce of energy into making it perfect. He had shut himself off from everything, making this the excuse, when all the while he’d known—and clearly so did everyone else—that he was hiding out, licking his wounds.
Well, no more.
‘Hey, where are you going?’ Marco’s voice trailed into his back.
‘To get back in the game. To get on with my life. To get my woman.’
‘I’d get yourself some kevlar first, buddy. Or a suit of armour. I don’t think she’s going to just roll over for you.’
Dante dusted his hands together. He stared out across the yard. The sun was fiery and sinking fast. There were about a million chores to be done before he hit the sack. But all of it could wait. There was nothing more important than this.
* * *
‘This really is the most spectacular view of the bay,’ said Lady Vi
vienne, lowering her tiny white binoculars, squinting at the scene and then raising them again. ‘What a lot of fabulous yachts. One could quite easily stay here all day and not become bored.’
Lucie replaced her cup in its saucer, where it rested on her knee. She looked to where her mother was pointing, registering that there were indeed a lot more gleaming white yachts in the bay than even an hour ago.
‘Do you think they’re all here for Simon’s wedding?’
A swell of something close to nausea threatened to burst into her throat, but Lucie was well prepared now, and immediately wiggled her toes and tuned in her attention. It was remarkable just how easily she was able to control those impulses now. They still happened—they probably always would—but the dedicated sessions she’d had with a psychologist meant she was much more in control now. Thank heavens.
‘I think there’s every chance, Mother. You have invited nearly everyone in possession of a yacht, after all.’
‘Not everyone,’ her mother replied archly. ‘Your father, for one. And that awful—’
‘That’s enough!’ said Lucie sharply, before her mother could say another word. She placed the cup and saucer on the breakfast table and stood up, slowly and deliberately dusting the crumbs from her linen dress. She had only been sitting on the balcony of this Majorcan cliffside hotel with her mother for an hour, and already it was as crumpled and stretched as her nerves.
Her mother gave a little sniff and turned back to the bay. ‘I must say you’re incredibly short-tempered these days, Lucinda. I don’t think all that conservation nonsense is doing you any good at all.’
Lucie gripped the railing a little more tightly than necessary and stared out across the immaculate view of the Mediterranean. The water was flat as sheet glass. The sun was halfway up in a cloudless sky. The air was light and bright. It was a beautiful day for her brother to be married, and nothing—not even her mother’s fractious moods—was going to ruin it.
‘We’ve been through this twice already, but I don’t mind saying it all over again—just so we’re clear.’
She turned, leaned back on the railing and waited until her mother had lowered her glass of orange juice.
‘My decisions are none of your business. My job at the CCC, my choice of friends, the colour of my nail varnish—none of those or anything else is up for discussion.’
Lady Vivienne sniffed a little more and raised her glass to her lips.
‘Is that quite clear, Mother?’
‘You’ve no need to be quite so brutal about it.’
‘Yes, I do. And until you stop interfering brutal is exactly what to expect.’
‘I won’t say another word,’ said her mother, raising her eyebrows and tottering over on ridiculously high heels to join her.
‘Let’s not spoil Simon’s day, hmm? God knows he’s had a lot of growing up to do these past months,’ said Lucie. ‘Surely we can hold it together for him for one day?’
‘Well, he should have thought of that before the Brigadier caught him with his daughter and we ended up footing the bill for this wedding. But I agree. You’re right. As always.’
‘The last thing he needs is any more worry or upset.’
Hadn’t there been enough of that? she thought. Just as she’d been about to drag herself from her burrow in Petit Pierre she’d had to field another barrage of calls from her mother about this. But she’d crossed the Rubicon by then. And no amount of whining from the other side of the Atlantic would have made her budge. Her mother had to learn to step back and let Simon sort out his own mess. Which he had. Admirably!
They both turned to stare out at the bay, which was lined with criss-crosses of berthed yachts near the shore, and further out to where two huge vessels had now dropped anchor.
‘Oh, I say! I’m sure I recognise that one,’ said Lady Viv, lifting the binoculars to her eyes and straining forward. ‘What’s that flag? Blue and white. Isn’t that the Argentine flag? And the name. The Sea Devil...’
‘What? What did you say? Give me those!’
Lucie’s stomach whirled. She grabbed the binoculars from her mother. Pushed them against her eyes and tried desperately to see those beloved words amongst all the sparkling white fibreglass of the yacht.
‘Is that his? That polo player? Is that whose boat it is?’
Lucie’s stomach continued to churn and her heart began to race. She scanned the yacht. There were people on it. Male, female, uniformed, casual... Walking up and down the decks, cleaning, prepping, lounging... But none of them was him. There was no sign of the tall, strong, handsome man of her heart and her dreams. Where could he be? Below? In that beautiful bedroom? Staring out at the bay? How awful if he was here with a new girlfriend. She couldn’t stand it. After all she had been through, simply hearing his name was too much most days. Thinking of him with anyone else was a place she wasn’t ready to travel to.
‘Yes, it’s the Sea Devil. It’s Dante’s yacht,’ she whispered, hardly believing her eyes, hardly aware she had just said his name. ‘But he’s not there. I can’t see him.’
‘That’s because he’s here, Princess.’
She dropped the binoculars. She spun around. She took two paces. He stood framed in the French doors, beside the table scattered with crockery, glasses and food where they’d just breakfasted.
He was wearing a white shirt and a wary smile.
He looked at her with those eyes that startled her with their intensity in that face that winded her with its male beauty.
‘Who is this, Lucie?’
Lady Viv, like a wisp of smoke, appeared at her side.
‘My name is Dante Salvatore Vidal Hermida. I apologise for the interruption, but I’m here to speak to Lucie.’
His eyes never left hers.
‘Did you know about this, Lucie?’
‘Excuse us, Mother.’
They waited, immobile, until the clicking of heels faded and the French doors were firmly closed.
‘I didn’t contact you.’
She swallowed, her mind running over all the possibilities.
‘I know.’
‘I got lost, Lucie. I’ve been lost. For years.’
She gazed into his earnest face, so familiar, yet so new.
‘I’m sorry. For what I did. For how I treated you. I have so much to say to you.’
She nodded. A huge swell, a tidal wave of emotion, suddenly bloomed from her heart, choking her. Her eyes burned and her throat opened on a single sob. How long had she held herself together, waiting for this moment? She clutched her arms around her body, hugging herself tightly in case part of her flew away.
‘My angel. I love you. Can you forgive me?’
He walked towards her, then stopped a pace away. His face was grave, his cheeks hollow, his eyes sincere. He held his arms at his sides, palms open, as if he was offering his heart in the only way he could. And she knew she could take it or leave it. That knowledge alone unleashed her last ounce of control.
‘I don’t know, Dante. You hurt me more than anyone has ever hurt me. You denied me. You denied us.’
His eyes clenched shut at that. A shadow of pain crossed his face.
‘I know. And I’ve lived with that since the moment you left. It will live with me for ever—unless you give me another chance.’
She looked at him—her protector, her defender, her healer. The man to whom she’d given herself—on every level. But he was damaged. He was cold. Her heart had been trampled once. Letting him back into her life was so, so risky. She couldn’t have more of those times—she had barely survived this one.
She glanced away from his penetrating gaze to the railing and the bay beyond. Wedding guests were arriving—there and in the town. Preparations would already be underway here in the hotel.
‘My brother is getting married today,’ she said simply. ‘I woke up this morning hoping that I might feel some happiness, some joy when I watched him with his bride.’ She shook her head. ‘Of all the people to be marr
ied—but it does seem to be the right thing...for both of them.’
‘I want to marry you, Lucie. I want all of you—only you. No one else.’
She smiled as her throat closed over another sob. She couldn’t answer. It was too huge. It was too soon.
‘Did you sail here?’ was all she said.
He swallowed, looked away. ‘No. Flew. But the Sea Devil wasn’t far, and I told the crew to get her here by today.’
There was a noise from inside—the muffled sound of something falling on the tiled floor—Dante glanced behind him.
‘How has it been with your mother? Did you get stuff sorted?’
She nodded. ‘Dante...’ She clasped her hands in an entreaty. ‘I waited for this moment. Months. I prayed that you would come. Or call. Or text. Anything. And you were completely silent. You knew how I felt. Yet you offered me not a single crumb of comfort.’
‘I will apologise until my dying day for hurting you. But I didn’t know how I felt—how to feel, even. I was so determined to get back to the life I knew—and to build the foundation with Marco—I couldn’t let myself go there. I didn’t know I even could go there. I’ve never felt like this—it’s like a sickness, Lucie, not having you in my life.’
In the village square a clock sounded the half-hour. Lucie looked past Dante’s shoulder. Shapes and shadows moved behind the glass. She should be getting ready now, her mother, but no doubt she was hovering indoors, behind a twitching curtain.
‘Dante, my brother is about to get married. My mother is having kittens in there...’
‘I don’t give a damn about any of them. I only care about us!’ he thundered.
‘No, you only give a damn about you!’ she thundered back. ‘Did you care when I was pleading with you in New York? When I literally begged you to give us a chance? No. But you turn up here now, ready to lay out the cloths of heaven at my feet. Back then you wouldn’t even give me the lint from your pocket.’
His eyes widened in surprise.
‘Did you really think after what you did that you would click your fingers and I’d come running? Do you understand what you did to me?’
The Argentinian's Virgin Conquest Page 15
