A few days later the morning skies were bright and clear, the antithesis of how Lana still felt. The episode the other night had left her feeling rattled, vulnerable, and always she had the sensation of being watched. She’d tried to kid herself she was being unreasonable and forced herself from the bed and to her feet, flicking on the electric kettle to boil water for a coffee on her way through to the bathroom. One of Lana’s luxuries, with her landlady away, was to clear her mail box and read her morning paper before a walk to the beach and, after quickly changing into a faded tracksuit, also courtesy of the recycled clothing shop, she went up to the letter box to retrieve the paper.
Back in her tiny unit, Lana spread the paper on the bed, before spooning some instant granules in her cup and pouring on the hot water. She grimaced as she took a sip of the bitter brew. She’d almost managed to get used to doing without milk, but not using freshly ground coffee was proving more of a hardship than she expected. She shook her head sharply. She couldn’t afford to be a princess about her life now.
She’d had it all, twice in her life. Three times if she counted the time she’d spent with Raffaele. But each and every time, she’d been reliant on a man for her position. First her father, then Kyle, followed by Raffaele. No. As tough as this was, it was good. She missed a lot of the luxuries she’d taken for granted, but one day she’d be able to spoil herself again. Until then, she’d just keep taking one day at a time.
Taking another sip of the coffee she leisurely turned the pages, until she hit the gossip column. With a shaking hand she put her cup down on the rickety bedside table.
Her voice shook as she read the headline out loud.“How the Mighty Have Fallen”.
Lana’s eyes were riveted on a collection of photos, one obviously taken of her at the restaurant and placed side by side with the publicity photo the charity had used when she was acting as its spokesperson. The “before” and “after” shots also included a photo, taken from a glossy magazine spread done soon after she and Kyle had furnished the apartment, as well as one of Raffaele’s Whitford property, to a poorer quality one of the sleep-out she now called home.
The article itself was pure conjecture, and delivered in the kind of gossipy style that alluded to “sources close to” her on more than one occasion. Her blood chilled in her veins. What would her boss think if he saw this? Would she lose her job? She imagined there would be quite a few people who’d come to the restaurant just to see with their own eyes what she’d been reduced to.
She felt physically ill. It was one thing to be cut off from everyone but quite another to be the object of their conversation while serving them. Still, she had little other choice than to suck it up and see what happened.
Walking to work that night Lana felt extremely anxious. She’d debated whether or not to find a pay phone and call her boss to discuss the article with him, but in the end had decided that face-to-face was best.
As she let herself in through the front door she began to wonder if a phone call mightn’t have been a better idea after all. The restaurant was eerily empty, with the exception of her boss, Calvin, who was waiting with a strained expression on his face.
“I was hoping you’d still come in tonight,” he greeted her as she came in.
Lana looked around. “What happened? Did we lose all our bookings?”
“On the contrary, the restaurant is booked out for tonight. A private function.”
“Oh? That wasn’t in the book though, was it?” She leaned forward to check the bookings schedule but Calvin’s hand obscured the details on the page.
“No, it wasn’t. This was…unexpected.” A flush of colour lit his cheeks.
“Is it to do with that article? Look, I’m sorry, Calvin. I don’t want your restaurant to become a freak show. I’ll leave if you want me to. Find somewhere else.”
“No! It’s not that. If anything, bookings have never been stronger. Look, why don’t you take a seat over here for a bit.”
“I should start getting ready,” Lana protested, still uneasy with the emptiness of the dining room, but Calvin shook his head and with his hand at her elbow guided her to a small table, romantically set for two, in an alcove at the back of the restaurant.
It felt odd to be sitting here. What on earth was he playing at?
“Calvin? What’s going on?” She asked after his retreating back, but he didn’t answer.
This was too weird for words. Calvin’s attitude, the empty restaurant—even the silence from the kitchen. She should just get up and go. The sound of the kitchen door swinging open caught her attention and she turned her head to see who was coming.
She should have trusted her instinct to get up and leave, Lana realised as she fought to swallow against the lump that rose in her throat. Bittersweet recognition plunged all the way to her core as her whole body recognised Raffaele’s tall dark form walking toward her.
Fourteen
Raffaele carried a bottle of her favourite wine, something she hadn’t enjoyed in some time. With a flourish, he poured two glasses of the elegant sauvignon blanc and took a seat opposite her.
Lana’s eyes hungrily raked over his face, noting instantly the tired expression in his grey eyes, the fatigue etched on his features and the increased prominence of his cheekbones. Darkness shadowed his jaw, as if he hadn’t taken the time to shave today. His appearance shocked her. He, who’d been the epitome of sartorial elegance at all times. But she couldn’t afford to care. Look where it had left her. Lana stiffened her spine.
“What do you want?”
“It is simple. You.” His voice was rough as he answered, his words sending a shocking shaft of longing through her.
She watched as he lifted her wine glass and handed it to her. His fingers deliberately brushed against hers as she took it. She almost heard the sizzle of awareness that electrified her at his casual touch.
Without breaking eye contact with him, Lana deliberately replaced her glass on the table and pushed her chair back. She couldn’t take another second of this.
“Don’t go. Please.”
Lana froze at the longing his tone imbued. If she had any sense at all she’d get up from her seat and walk steadily to the door and keep going until he was back in her past where all her mistakes belonged. But there was something in his plea that struck straight to her soul.
“Why?” It was just one word but at the bottom of it lay her heart, shattered into tiny pieces.
“I was wrong. Very wrong. I didn’t understand how much you mean to me.”
“How much I mean to you?” Lana finally acknowledged the pain she’d kept at bay for the past month, allowing it life and words as it expanded in her heart and mind with razor sharp precision. Her voice shook as she gave vent to her anguish. “You mean as the constant reminder that your sister couldn’t marry her baby’s father? That because of me Bella doesn’t have a living mother or father?”
“Stop! That’s not it. I was a blinkered fool when I said those things. Yes, I meant them at the time. I would be lying to you if I said I didn’t, but all I wanted to do was lash out, to hurt as I hurt. To destroy as I felt destroyed. It doesn’t make what I did right, nothing will. I was cruel and wrong and I have done irreparable damage.”
Lana’s response hovered unsaid on her lips as Calvin came out of the kitchen towards them and placed entrees at their place settings. The aroma instantly assaulted Lana’s nostrils, dragging her eyes to the delicately poached scallops in front of her. Her favourite entrée on the menu, one she’d served to customers who, like she herself had in the past, ordered it without a thought to the cost or to making every dollar last to the end of each week. Her mouth salivated in anticipation of the flavour hitting her tongue, but she stayed her hand. Did he expect to buy her back with her favourite wine and food, with the lifestyle to which she’d been born? Nothing was worth that. Not ever again.
His touch on her hand made her flinch and she pulled away to avoid the contact.
“Don’t to
uch me.” She wasn’t that strong that she could bear his touch again—the reminder of the pleasure he’d wrought from her body; or the surcease from the grief of betrayal at Kyle’s hand. She’d given him a weapon when she’d given him her heart. She wouldn’t be that careless again.
“Scusami.”Raffaele gave a curt nod. “But please, eat. You look as if you haven’t eaten properly in weeks.”
“Whether I have or haven’t isn’t your concern.”
He shot her look that left her in no doubt he wanted to argue that point, but it said a lot for his control that he held his words in check. Reluctantly Lana lifted her fork to spear one of the scallops, and brought it to her mouth. Her tastebuds exploded with delight at the flavour and a tiny groan of pleasure fled her lips. Raffaele’s eyes darkened, his pupils widening in appreciation of her unabashed pleasure in the food. The heat of embarrassment stained her cheeks and throat as she identified the look in his eyes.
After Calvin had cleared the dishes away, Lana took a sip of her wine, she may as well enjoy it anyway, she decided. Who knew how long it would be before she could afford to do so again.
“What do you want from me, Raffaele? Why have you done this?”
“What I want? It is simple. I want—no, Ineed —your forgiveness. I need the chance to make up to you the wrong I have done, to make things right between us again.”
“Raffaele, we cannot make right what never was right. There’s too much between us, separating us. It will always be there.”
She heard his muffled curse as Calvin came through with their main course, and watched as his long fingers tapped impatiently on the table as the plates with phyllo-wrapped parcels of snapper were laid out, the vegetables served, the wine topped up. When Calvin finally left them again, Raffaele leaned forward.
“We can build a bridge over that, Lana. If you’ll let us. If you’ll let me.”
“No. It’s not possible.” She couldn’t bear to be hurt again. Three times in her life she’d been spurned by the men she’d loved—from her father through to Raffaele. It was more than any woman could bear to do again and survive with her senses intact. Desperate to change the subject, she asked after Bella, her heart twisting at the look of absolute love that crossed Raffaele’s face at the mention of her name.
“She is thriving, and is home now. We have three nannies around the clock. Between us, we are managing well.”
“That’s good. I really am glad to hear that, Raffaele.” Lana pushed her food around her plate, all appetite suddenly diminished at the reminder that she would never be a part of the infant’s life.
“She needs you too, Lana. We both need you.”
Tears sprang into Lana’s eyes and she blinked them back. Oh, he knew how to strike where it hurt most. “Don’t,” she begged. “Don’t use her to get at me.”
“I’m sorry,cara mia . I do not want to cause you pain.”
“It’s too late for that. Just being with you like this hurts.” She turned her face away from him, barely believing what she’d just said, of what she’d admitted.
Across the table she heard him sigh deeply.
“So you are certain there is no hope for us. No chance you can still love me as I love you.”
He loved her?Or was it just more lies?
“I don’t believe you,” she answered in a voice as flattened and colourless as her spirits.
“If you let me, I will prove it to you, Lana. Please. Let me love you. Let me make things right between us again. I did a terrible thing, but only you can give me permission to make amends for what I did. Only say the word and I will do everything in my power to restore your love for me.”
She couldn’t speak, could only shake her head. Her throat was too choked up, her heart too sore. She closed her eyes against the tears that spilled down her cheeks. Tears she thought she’d spent weeks ago.
The sound of Raffaele pushing back his seat and standing forced her eyes open. He slipped his hand into his trouser pocket and withdrew a small box, placing it on the table in front of her with a look on his face that spoke volumes as to the truth of his words, of the genuineness of his declaration of love.
“This is yours, whatever you decide. Keep it, sell it. Do what you will. But if you cannot return my love, I do not need it either.”
Tall and dignified, he turned and walked away. Lana watched until he was gone then reached out to open the box. Inside, nestled in white satin, was a spectacular three stone diamond and platinum engagement ring. The central emerald-cut diamond refracted even the subdued lighting of the restaurant, it’s slightly smaller partners nestled on each side. A small piece of paper was lodged through the ring and she slid it from inside the loop.
Unravelling the paper she instantly recognised the writing as Raffaele’s. She read the words he’d written.
L, if there had been enough room I would have had engraved the following:Ti amerò per sempre.It means “I will love you forever” but as there was not enough room on the band it is instead engraved forever upon my heart.—R.
He loved her. He really loved her. And come what may, she still loved him in return. Lana rose to her feet, the paper fell unheeded to the table. She couldn’t move fast enough and stumbled slightly as she made towards the door.Please, oh please, don’t let me be too late to stop him . She flew through the front door, her eyes scanning the street for his figure, her heart stuttering to a halt in her chest when she couldn’t see him. And then, yes, there he was at the end of the street facing the beach, dejection apparent in every line of his body.
“Raffaele! Wait!” She launched herself in his direction, her heart bursting with relief as he turned to face her. Even from this short distance she could see the strain on his face instantly chased away with the pure joy of seeing her.
She flew into his arms, her body colliding with his rock solid strength, and relished the taste of his lips as he bent his head to kiss her with a hunger she mirrored with her response.
She tore her lips from his and framed his face with her hands. To her horror tears, streaked his cheeks, tears she was responsible for. The realisation that he’d been prepared to walk away from her, rather than try to force her into listening to him, shook her anew. This domineering powerful man had left the choice to her. Had walked away from her in the belief that he couldn’t guarantee her happiness. Had left their future in her hands.
“No more tears, Raffaele. Not for me, or for you. I love you too much to ever want to hurt you.”
“So you forgive me? Please,cara mia , put me out of my misery. Say you forgive me, say you want me.”
“Yes, and yes. Nothing would make me happier.”
He held her to him, his head bowed against the curve of her neck, his breath hot on her skin.
“Thank you. I do not deserve you, but I will spend the rest of my life trying to. I promise you.”
“Raffaele, we haven’t had the best of starts, but what’s important is that we love each other. Now we can make the best of futures, together.”
“Yes, we will. Now where is your ring? I want the whole world to know you are mine.”
Lana laughed, a joyful sound that bubbled from her attracting glances from the handful of passers by. “I left it in the restaurant!”
Together they walked back to the restaurant where Raffaele gently pushed her back on her seat.
“Now, I will do this properly.”
He sank to one knee in front of her, holding the ring box in one hand, her left hand in his other.
“Lana, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”
“The honour will be mine, forever,” her voice caught in her throat as she answered, her heart swollen with the love she felt for him.
Raffaele eased the ring onto her finger and rose to pull her to her feet and to wrap her in his embrace, where she belonged, forever.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-0301-7
ROSSELLINI’S REVENGE AFFAIR
Copyright © 2007 by Dolce Vita Trust
All ri
ghts reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the editorial office, Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, New York, NY 10279 U.S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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