by Annie West
‘You need to know—’
‘I’ll go first. It will save time.’ Her words shot out, harsh and quick. Something swooped inside him, like a bird of prey nose-diving for earth, zeroing in on some hapless victim.
‘I’ve remembered everything.’ The bald words grated across his skin.
‘That’s marvellous.’ He stepped closer, reaching out his hands for hers, but Molly jerked back from him.
Pietro’s pulse faltered. He stopped, seeing the cynical cast of her lips and her raised eyebrows.
‘I’m so relieved.’ He paused, ignoring her censure. ‘I didn’t like to say it but I’d begun to wonder if you’d ever remember. It’s been weeks.’ And, while it had fed into his plans to cement himself in her life, he’d been worried for Molly’s sake that the amnesia might be permanent.
‘You really think I’ll fall for that? You have a vested interest in me not remembering.’
Pietro had known this would be tough. But Molly was practical; she’d understand when he explained. Plus she loved him. That knowledge, like a glowing ember at the heart of him, reassured him that her anger would pass.
‘You’re talking about that last night here? Before you left for Rome?’
‘What else?’ Molly laughed, if you could call it that. He’d never heard her so bitter. The sound made him wretched because Pietro recognised her hurt and knew he’d caused it.
‘I’d made up my mind to tell you about that when you woke. It was time—’
‘It was past time!’ Her voice rose to a shout and she blinked, pursing her mouth and stepping back to plant her palms on the trunk of the tree behind her. ‘You lied to me.’
Pietro winced. Her words punched like a fist to the solar plexus. Molly’s defiant misery beneath the waves of anger did that to him.
He’d thought himself prepared to face the consequences of his actions and put them right. He was perturbed to discover things weren’t as simple as he’d thought.
This wasn’t a business negotiation where decisions were based on impersonal parameters such as profit and risk.
Molly’s fiery silver gaze spoke of disenchantment and pain. Pietro felt it like a stream of molten lead coursing through him, searing his vital organs.
Suddenly doubt cracked his certainty that he could make this right.
A frisson of fear slithered through him, frosting his bones.
‘I came looking for you to apologise. I knew as soon as you left me the terrible mistake I’d made.’
Her hands left the support of the olive tree and jammed onto her hips, her attitude pure aggression. ‘You mean calling me a conniving gold-digger? And what about a greedy—?’
‘Yes!’ To his horror Pietro realised he was shouting, trying to drown her words so he didn’t have to listen to the replay of his vicious verbal attack. He was nauseated, remembering what he’d said in the heat of the moment. His whiplash tone that had made her flinch and stare at him with wounded eyes.
Like the way she looked now. Except this time the heat smouldering in her stare spoke of disgust.
That sinking in his belly hit a new low.
Pietro heaved in a breath that didn’t manage to fill his lungs. ‘I apologise. I was completely wrong. It was just that it was so exactly like what happened with Elizabetta. A no-strings affair, then there she was telling me she was pregnant despite us using contraception.’
He’d been stunned, unable to do more than act on instinct when it had seemed history was repeating itself with a vengeance. When the beautiful, sensual woman he’d let into his life had apparently tried the same trick—to manipulate him into marriage with news of a pregnancy.
He’d spent years paying for his youthful gullibility with Elizabetta. He’d vowed never to be sucked in again.
‘If I’d been thinking straight I’d never have believed it of you. But I wasn’t. I was feeling rather than thinking.’
He grimaced. His track record with Molly was all about impulse and emotion, wasn’t it? Even his so-called plan to seduce her into marrying him hadn’t been based on logic but a desperate need to keep her close. Because he couldn’t bear to let her go.
Molly’s tentative talk that night about their future had ignited a fury he’d kept banked for years, ever since Elizabetta. It had exploded in a volcanic surge, searing everything in its path.
Because he’d trusted Molly. More than he’d ever trusted Elizabetta, even in the beginning.
It was no excuse, but it explained why, in his shock, he’d lashed out.
But Molly wasn’t listening. Her mouth thinned contemptuously.
‘Spare me the act about you feeling anything for me. I was just a passing amusement. I was crazy to believe I could be more. As for the story about you scouring the country for me, I don’t believe it.’
‘It’s true!’ Pietro started forward. But the way she looked at his raised arm, like a venomous snake about to strike, stopped him.
His heart smashed against his ribs. This was all going wrong. Why couldn’t he get through to her? When he’d pictured this scene in his mind, it had gone completely differently.
‘Even if I could forgive you for that—’ Molly’s glare pinioned him ‘—I could never forgive you for lying to me ever since then. For using my own feelings against me...’ She faltered, her throat working so convulsively Pietro felt choking heat block his windpipe.
‘I’m sorry, Molly. It was wrong, I know.’
‘Then why did you do it?’ Her voice wobbled but the fire in her eyes told him her anger was as strong as ever.
‘I told you. They wouldn’t let me take you home unless we were related. I couldn’t bear to leave you alone in the hospital.’
Surprise flashed across Molly’s face and for an instant Pietro thought he might have made headway. But the dull disbelief in her eyes disabused him.
‘It’s true!’ He heard the pleading note in his voice and didn’t care. He had to make her understand. ‘I know I did wrong. I’ve regretted it ever since, and I wanted to make it up to you, to look after you.’
‘To make me fall in love with you, you mean, so you could get what you want.’
It was so close to his original thoughts that for a moment Pietro was lost for words.
When he’d planned her seduction in Rome, he’d been complacent, believing he was giving her exactly what she’d wanted. A permanent relationship—that was what she’d talked about in Tuscany.
But, when Molly said it, his scheme just seemed grubby and devious.
Pietro dragged his hand through his hair, scraping his fingers along his scalp as he fought an unfamiliar sensation that the world pressed down on him. That he’d pushed himself into a corner with no escape.
‘I thought you wanted it too.’ He stepped closer, determined to get through to her. ‘Us together. Don’t tell me you can’t feel how right that is.’
It was there now, a palpable connection, so strong even the anxiety churning his gut couldn’t mask it.
‘I’ve never felt like this about anyone else, tesoro. Believe me.’
He saw something flicker in Molly’s expression. Awareness? Love?
His heart raced. He could do this. He knew he could.
Pietro unfolded one clenched fist to reach for her but her words stopped him.
‘That’s the first thing you’ve said that I believe.’
He rocked on his heels, his head jerking back as if she’d punched him in the jaw. Pain radiated down his neck and torso, intensifying in the region of his heart.
‘Molly! I lied once, in letting you believe we had a permanent relationship. But I’m not lying about this.’
Her lip curled in an expression of disdain that made his tattered conscience shrivel. ‘But it was a lie you told every day. As for feeling something different for me, that’s only because I’m pregnant.’ She wrapped her arms around
herself. ‘All you care about is the baby. I know that.’
‘No! It’s not true.’ Pietro grabbed her elbows, needing to forge some contact with her. She didn’t pull away, just looked up at him with a profound sadness in her eyes that belied the aggressive tilt of her chin.
‘I care for you, Molly. You must believe that. Haven’t I shown you every day how much you mean to me?’
Horror stretched his vocal chords so his voice didn’t sound like his own. Because it was true—he’d told himself when he’d manoeuvred her back into his world that he’d done it because of the baby. Now he realised he’d deluded himself, whether from pride or fear at the depth of his feelings for Molly.
‘Of course I care for our baby, but it’s you—’
‘Don’t! Just...don’t.’ She sucked in a shuddery breath and he felt her whole body tremble. ‘I can’t take any more, Pietro.’ She paused, her brow furrowing. ‘I can’t even bear to have you touch me.’
Stunned, he read sincerity in Molly’s stormy eyes. Immediately he let go, stumbling backwards and shoving his hands deep in his pockets.
Everything inside him collapsed in on itself.
Pain engulfed him.
All his certainties shattered. About Molly. About himself.
‘You don’t love me?’
He was too disorientated even to be embarrassed as the question slipped past his guard. He sounded like a lonely kid. Like that ten-year-old who’d found himself alone and unloved.
He sounded needy. Desperate.
He’d been about to declare his feelings for her but what magic would they work if Molly didn’t love him back? Or even believe him.
He’d grown used to her love, he realised. He’d been relishing it. Using it as a basis to build dreams for the future.
Now everything he’d hoped for, everything he’d been sure of, disintegrated.
Molly’s mouth crumpled as she blinked up at him, her eyes awash. The sight pierced his chest with remorse.
‘You had to rub it in, didn’t you? That I was so gullible.’ She drew herself up and went on before he could find words she might listen to. ‘Yes, I loved you.’ The past tense was like a death knell. ‘But now I think I hate you. I can’t bear to look at you, Pietro. If you have any shred of decency or respect for me, you won’t stand in my way.’
What could he do but give her space?
Yet even as she stumbled past him Pietro fought the impulse to catch her close, imprison her and persuade her with his hands, his body and his words that they were meant to be together. Not because of the baby they’d made but because she loved him and he loved her.
He loved her.
It was that which made him stand his ground as she hurried back to the villa, even though it went against every instinct. Because loving meant respecting her wishes.
He loved her.
It was so simple and at the same time so huge, so momentous.
He’d known for a long time that Molly was different. That his feelings for her transcended anything he’d felt for any other woman.
Pietro reached out a hand and leaned against the old olive tree, its bark rough against his palm, seemingly the only solid thing in a world turned on its head.
It was late when he returned to the villa, but the time spent considering his mistakes hadn’t brought any solutions, just a feeling of dislocation.
When his housekeeper brought him a note from Molly he was surprised to discover he hadn’t yet plumbed the depths of misery. That came when he read her words...
I’m going home to Australia. Don’t follow me or try to stop me. I’ve had enough.
That was when Pietro discovered how Molly had felt. When his heart split apart.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
PIETRO TURNED OFF the engine of the hire car. The motor ticked in the early-morning silence as he surveyed the house. He wasn’t delaying, just scoping the environment, as he would prior to any major business negotiation.
Yet his heart beat hard against his ribs and adrenalin buzzed in his blood.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing back a headache. His eyes were scratchy from lack of sleep. Logic said he should delay till he’d rested after the long trip to Australia, but waiting was impossible. Sleep had eluded him last night.
The other houses in the street were large, modern buildings that took up all the space on their plot. By contrast, number sixty-three was a throwback to an earlier generation. Single-storeyed, wooden and painted in a shade of pastel green with white trim, it was far smaller yet appealing. It sat in a garden of thick, cropped grass and slender trees with narrow leaves through which he saw the mirrored surface of the bay just beyond the house.
It looked...inviting.
Pietro’s breath expelled in a harsh grunt that might have been a laugh but he feared was a groan.
Doubt assailed him. Not about the wisdom of what he was doing—about that he had no qualms; honour demanded he follow through. No, his doubt was about the outcome of this trip.
His hand clenched on the steering wheel as emotion slammed him. He’d done his best to keep himself busy on the long flight to Australia, to distract himself from feeling anything. But there were limits and he’d reached his. No matter what he did, no matter how logically he approached this, he couldn’t ignore the profound well of despair that sucked him in deeper each day.
There was no way out. No way could he ever convince Molly of his true feelings. That was his punishment.
He closed burning eyes. Ironic, wasn’t it, that he, the man who’d schemed to seduce her into falling in love, had been the one to fall in love?
He loved a woman who never wanted to see him again.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, his monumental blindness mocked him. He’d prided himself on having pulled his faltering family business from the edge of ruin and turning it into a success story. He’d prided himself on his judgement. Yet he hadn’t seen what was right in front of him.
He hadn’t fallen in love in Rome while winning Molly over. He’d loved her before that, had fallen for her in Tuscany, but hadn’t recognised the depth of his feelings. That was why, in the moment of insanity when he’d believed she’d used him, he’d snapped and let loose that string of damning accusations. Because the pain had been unbearable.
As it was now.
Pietro snapped his eyes open and stared at the neat little house in its bower of green.
Despite its charm the sight of it chilled him. The odds were that this was where any hope of the future he craved would finally shrivel and die.
Swiftly, before he changed his mind, he unclicked his seat belt and grabbed the envelope from the seat beside him. He got out of the car and a cold breeze hit his face, a reminder that it was winter on this side of the world.
Pietro swallowed, noting the sour tang on his tongue. Fear? Defeat? It didn’t matter. He had to do this.
He crossed the silent street and, despite everything, felt excited at the prospect of seeing Molly again. Surely there was a chance he could convince her?
As he stepped onto the property she and her sister had inherited from their parents, a raucous sound made him start. He looked up into the trees and saw a bird with a powerful beak turned up towards the sky, its whole body shaking as it called. A kookaburra, laughing as if at some cosmic joke.
* * *
Molly swallowed the last mouthful of toast as she padded to the front door. There she paused, raking her hair from her face. She wore ancient jeans, thick socks and her shirt had seen better days but she hadn’t expected visitors. With Jillian in Sydney for a job interview, Molly had a day alone.
A day to mope and feel sorry for herself.
Sighing, she pushed back her shoulders. If it was that estate agent again, trying to talk her into selling the house, he’d get short shrift.
She pull
ed open the door and froze. All except for her heart, which somersaulted, then knocked against her ribcage.
Her fingers on the doorknob tightened to the point of pain. A mighty shudder wracked her, making her glad she held onto something solid.
‘Hello, Molly.’
His voice was the same, that rich honey and whisky voice that did unspeakably potent things to her willpower. She felt herself sag and was powerless to stop it.
She’d dreamed of this. Of Pietro coming after her. Despite the dictates of common sense, pride and all her resolve, it had been Molly’s secret, guilty pleasure.
He even looked the same. Suave and urbane in his Italian suit, yet with an air of masculine power that even now made her knees tremble.
She lifted her chin, peering up into his face, but the slanting sun was behind him and she couldn’t read his expression.
Memories bombarded her. Of the first time she’d seen him in a suit, when he’d watched her from the doorway of her hospital room. Of those wide shoulders, naked and gleaming with sweat, rising above her as they made love on a picnic blanket in that ancient grove. Of his expression as he admitted he’d lied to her, not once but for weeks, all to get his hands on their baby.
For the first time in weeks, nausea churned.
‘What are you doing here?’
He stiffened, those impressive shoulders lifting as if drawn tight. Had he expected a welcome?
‘I have news for you.’ He paused. ‘May I come in?’
Molly blinked up at him. She was torn between competing urges. To step back or shut the door in his face. For surely there was no news that would change anything? He’d lied to get his hands on her baby. That was unforgivable. And yet...
And yet she was so weak she found herself eating him up with her hungry gaze, canting forward, drawn by that familiar aftershave and, beneath it, that spicy, tantalisingly delicious scent she knew was simply Pietro.
She’d longed for him. Sometimes, in her lonely bed, she’d even pretended she’d read real distress on his face that last day.
Of course he’d been distressed. She’d finally seen through his plan to con her.
