by Maya Blake
Her eyes widened, questions swimming in her eyes. Questions he felt too raw to answer right then. He shook his head and briskly rubbed the towel in her hair. ‘You’re a huge success at the things you’re passionate about.’
Her eyelids swept down, hiding her expression from him. Her laugh was hollow as she tried to take the towel from him. ‘I wish I could agree, but sadly the evidence states otherwise. For one thing, you insist on calling what we have a marriage, but has it really been? Or have I just been the body to warm your bed while you burrow your way into your son’s life? The woman you didn’t trust enough to let her know how much legitimising your son means to you.’
His arms dropped. ‘Maisie—’
‘Don’t, Romeo. I don’t want to hear your slick excuses. The moment you found out about Lucca, you wanted him, regardless of who stood in your way. You scooped me up for the ride because that was the easiest option for you.’
He stepped behind her, and his gaze was dragged helplessly over her body, down the enticing line of her spine to the twin dimples at the top of her buttocks, and the alluring globes below, perfectly framed by the wet lace caressing her skin.
‘Easy? You think any of this has been easy?’ He shook his head in self-disgust. ‘I’m stumbling round in the dark, pretending I’ve got my head screwed on straight when the reality is that I’m terrified I’ll irrevocably mess up a four-year-old boy’s life. And, believe me, I’m perfectly equipped to do it. Whereas you know the answer to every question he asks. You know what he wants before he does. So yes, I exploited your devotion to him to help me get to know my flesh and blood. Condemn me for that, but believe me, none of this has been easy for me,’ he rasped.
Her head fell forward with a defeated sigh. He told himself to remember that she intended to walk away, take away the only thing resembling a true family he’d ever known. She was the reason he couldn’t take a full breath without wondering if his organs were functioning properly. Somehow, she’d taught him to hope again, to dare to dream. And she’d smashed that dream with a handful of words.
Romeo tried to remember that.
But he couldn’t help it. He lowered his head and brushed his lips against the top of her spine, where the wet hair had parted to reveal her creamy skin.
She made a sound, part arousal, part wary animal, but he was too far gone to heed the latter. The thought of her leaving, of never being able to do this again, scattered his thoughts to a million pieces, until only one thing mattered.
Here and now.
‘Maisie.’ He heard the rough plea in his voice. He dropped the towel and trailed his mouth over her shoulders, down her back, anxiety hurrying his movements. She shuddered under his touch.
‘Romeo, please...’
He dropped to his knees and spun her around. ‘Tesoro mio, don’t deny me this. Don’t deny us this.’ He wanted to say more, bare himself with words that were locked deep, but it was as if the language he needed to express himself was suddenly alien to him. But he could show her. He would show her.
He held her hips and kissed her soft belly, where his son had nestled, warm and loved. She gave a soft moan. Empowered, he deepened the caress, his tongue tasting her intoxicating skin. When she swayed and her hands clutched his shoulders, he groaned.
Roughly pulling her panties to one side, he fastened his mouth to her sex, caressing her with his tongue as he lapped at her.
‘Romeo!’
He drowned beneath the heady sensation, of his wildcat digging her fingers into his skin. He dared to entertain the thought that there might be a way through this landmine that threatened to destabilise his world. He went harder, desperate to bring her pleasure, unashamed to hope it brought him something more, something lasting.
She gave another cry and shattered in his arms, her head dropping forward as she shuddered. Rising, he caught her in his arms, saw the dazed but almost resigned look in her eyes, and his stomach hollowed.
Ignoring the look, he carried her to the steps and helped her with the skirt. Then, covering her top half with the towel, he swung her into his arms and headed for the villa.
‘I can walk, Romeo,’ she said in a small, tight voice.
‘I believe I’m living up to my caveman reputation.’
‘You’re performing to the wrong audience. You don’t need to prove anything to me.’
He glanced down at her tear-stained face and his chest tightened. ‘Do I not?’
She shook her head, but her eyes refused to meet his. ‘I think we understand each other perfectly.’
He wanted to rail at her that he didn’t understand; that he’d thought their moment at the waterfall, before they’d made love, had started something they could build on. Her mutinous expression stopped him.
Besides, he was beginning to think they communicated much better using a different language.
Entering the villa, he headed for the stairs and his bedroom. The moment she raised her head and looked around, she scrambled from his arms.
Romeo set her down and shut the door.
‘Why have you brought me here?’ she demanded.
The accusation in her eyes ripped through him but he forced himself not to react to it. Reaching for the towel, he tugged it from her, then he pulled her close.
‘Answer me, Romeo...’
‘Shh, gattina, just let this be.’ Another rough plea he was unashamed of, even though it threw him back to another time, another place, pleading in a much younger but equally desperate voice.
It was the night his mother had packed his meagre belongings in a tattered bag and told him she was sending him to his thug of a father.
Disturbed by the memories that seemed intent on flooding in, he sealed his mouth to Maisie’s, searching for her unique balm that soothed his soul.
His heart leapt when she didn’t push him away, but then she wasn’t responding, either. Groaning in frustration, he pushed his fingers into her hair, desperate to stem the alarm rising through him that he was fighting a losing battle.
Eventually, she tore her mouth away. ‘Please stop. I don’t want this.’
He raised his head, the landmine seeming to spread like an ocean before him. ‘This?’ he intoned starkly.
Her eyes slid past his, to a point beyond his shoulder. ‘You. I don’t want you.’
Acrid bitterness filled him, along with the sharp barbs of memory, but still he pushed. ‘That’s a lie. I proved it once, I can prove it again and as many times as you need to face the truth.’
She shook her head wearily. ‘That was just the sex talking. Nothing more.’
‘So you mean you don’t want me, the man?’ Why did that feel so damn agonising to say?
Her gaze remained averted for another minute before meeting his eyes. ‘You’re an amazing father, and I’m sure you’ll offer Lucca support and opportunities in life I can only dream of. But I can’t stay with you. After our guests leave, I’m returning to Ireland with Lucca. I’m sorry, but this...this was a mistake.’
She started to take her rings off. He lunged for her hands, stopped the action before he fully realised he’d moved. ‘You will not take off your ring!’ The snarled command stemmed from deep within his soul.
Her blue eyes reflected pain, enough to hammer home just how much being here, being with him, was costing her. How could he not have seen that? How could he have entertained the idea that they could attempt a proper marriage?
‘I can’t...’
‘I know my opinion matters very little to you, but think of our son. It’s his birthday tomorrow. Are you this determined to throw a shadow over the occasion?’
Her face lost a trace of colour. ‘Of course not.’
‘Then wait. For his sake.’
Her head dipped and she pushed the rings slowly back on her finger. He forced himself t
o drop her hands, move away.
‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ she murmured.
He didn’t respond. He was struggling to find even the simplest explanation of what was going on inside him. He heard the door shut and paced to the window. In the reflection behind him, he saw the bed they’d risen from this morning and wondered at how much he hated the idea of sleeping in it now.
Undressing, he entered the shower and let the water beat over his head. It wouldn’t drown out her words, her face.
I can’t stay with you.
His bitter laughter rose above the pounding cascade.
At least those words had been less harsh than the ones his mother had thrown at him before she’d left him on Agostino Fattore’s doorstep.
At least this time he wouldn’t starve. Or live rough.
And yet he found himself bypassing the bed when he left the bathroom, and collapsing onto the sofa in his private living room. And when he was still awake when the orange streaked the horizon, he’d almost convinced himself the pain ripping through him wasn’t worse than it’d been when he was a child.
* * *
The performance Maisie gave the next day was award-worthy. At some point while she was smiling and taking pictures of her son at what had been dubbed The Best Birthday Party Ever, she half hysterically toyed with contacting her parents and telling them they should’ve tried enrolling her into acting school.
Because she was able to stand next to Romeo as he helped an ecstatic Lucca cut the ribbon that officially unveiled his duck pond. Then look into his eyes and smile as they helped their son release the fifty balloons tied to the sturdy bridge in the middle of the pond. She even managed a laugh as two necking swans were immediately named Maisie and Romeo. She didn’t crumble into a pain-ravaged heap when Lucca insisted his father kiss his mother to celebrate the naming.
And she certainly aced the small talk with the grown-ups while the kids took turns at the duck-feed dispenser.
Once the birthday-cake candles had been blown, the cake devoured, the children tucked in bed, she retired to her suite, showered and got ready for the dinner party.
She stood by Romeo’s side as they greeted the two couples Romeo had trusted to remain on the island. Then calling on her skills as a restaurant owner, she supervised the caterers, made sure each guest was looked after, while avoiding being too close to Romeo for longer than a few minutes.
Luckily, Eva, and the phenomenon of carrying a second set of twins, quickly became the centre of attention and, seeming to have made up with her husband, engaged everyone with her effervescent personality.
As soon as the last guest left, Maisie headed for the door.
Romeo blocked her path. She stopped, her heart pounding.
‘Well done on the dinner party,’ he muttered.
She tried to avert her gaze, to stop absorbing every expression and contour of his face. But she couldn’t look away.
‘Thank you,’ she replied.
He stared at her for another long moment, then he stepped away. ‘Goodnight.’
She couldn’t respond because her heart had lodged itself in her throat. Hurrying away, she gave in to the insane urge to glance over her shoulder. Romeo was watching her.
She tried to tell herself she didn’t yearn for him to follow. By the time she got to her room and shut the door behind her, she knew she was lying to herself.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THEY LEFT THE ISLAND two days later, with a distraught Lucca heartbroken at having to leave his beloved ducks. Although he was slightly appeased at the thought of returning to his old pond at Ranelagh Gardens, Maisie knew there would be more tears when he found out his father wouldn’t be staying.
The thought troubled her as she played with Lucca during the long flight. A couple of times, she’d attempted to start a conversation with Romeo about scheduling visits, but he’d given her a stony look and a crisp, ‘We’ll discuss it later,’ after which he’d promptly returned to his endless phone calls.
That he was returning to Palermo had become clear during a particularly heated conversation.
Her heart flipped over hard at the thought of him returning to the place that had given him such a rough start in life.
He looked up then, and their eyes connected. For a moment, she thought she saw a flare of pain mingled with hope. But his expression hardened and his gaze veered away. This time, her heart bypassed the somersault stage and went straight for cracking right down the middle.
She was still trying to hold herself together when he took a break to eat and play with Lucca. He stopped by her armchair on the way back to where he’d set up his office and looked down at her.
‘I have a team childproofing my London apartment and another scouting for a place in Dublin. Emily will be flying out to help take care of Lucca when he’s with me. Is that acceptable to you?’
As she stared up at his grim face, her heart broke all over again. Slowly, she nodded. ‘I won’t keep him away from you. I just need a reasonable heads-up when you’re coming to see him, so I can arrange it with the playgroup.’
His mouth compressed and he nodded. ‘Bene, it will be done.’ He walked away to the far side of the plane and didn’t speak to her again until they landed.
As predicted, Lucca turned hysterical at the idea of his father leaving. Maisie watched, a stone lodged in her throat, as Romeo hugged him on the tarmac and reassured him that his absence wouldn’t be a long one. After several minutes, Lucca calmed down and Romeo strode to where she stood.
He handed Lucca over, his hand lingering on his son before his jaw clenched. ‘I’ll be in touch in the next few days, a week at the most, to arrange a time to see him. And I’ll call him tonight.’
‘Um...sure.’
With another look at his son, Romeo turned and walked back into his plane.
Maisie stood frozen, her mind reeling at the thought that her marriage was ending right then and there, on a painfully bright summer’s day in Dublin.
She clutched Lucca closer as he whimpered at his departing father. Romeo disappeared, and Lucca began to weep.
Forcing herself to move, she strapped him into his seat in the sleek car waiting for them, then buckled herself in next to him.
The sun was still shining when they pulled up outside her restaurant despite it being evening. Unable to face going in, she waved at a gawping Lacey and went straight up to her apartment. Her heart sank when a knock came at the door less than an hour later.
She opened it to Bronagh, who was trying hard to pretend she wasn’t shocked to see her.
‘I’ve just put Lucca down for the night. Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?’ Maisie offered.
‘Tea is great, but you look like you need something stronger.’ Bronagh held out a bottle of red wine, the concern she was trying to hide finally breaking through.
By her third glass, Maisie had broken down and spilled every last pathetically needy feeling.
‘So...what are you going to do?’ Bronagh asked when Maisie stopped to toss back another fortifying gulp of wine.
Maisie looked up. ‘Oh, please don’t worry that I’m going to take over again at the restaurant. To be honest, I could do with the break.’
Bronagh shook her head. ‘That wasn’t what I meant. What are you going to do about Romeo?’
Maisie frowned. ‘What do you mean? It’s over.’
‘You really think so? From what you said he didn’t have to marry you. This is the twenty-first century and he’s rich enough to afford a dozen armies to protect you and Lucca if he wanted to without putting a ring on your finger.’ She nodded to Maisie’s hand. ‘And you’re still wearing your wedding rings. Is he still wearing his?’
Maisie nodded abstractedly and frowned at the sparkling rings. ‘What are you saying?�
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Bronagh shrugged. ‘That things seem awfully unresolved for two people hell-bent on chucking in the towel so quickly.’
‘I’m not... I wasn’t... He only wants sex.’ She blushed and drank some more wine.
‘Of course he does. Sex is the easiest way to hide deeper emotion, that’s why it’s called angry sex, rebound sex, make-up sex...need I go on?’
Miserably, Maisie shook her head.
Bronagh laid a gentle hand on her arm. ‘You haven’t known a lot of love in your life, but then neither has he. One of you has to be brave enough to scratch beneath the surface.’
‘Why do I have to do the scratching?’ Maisie blurted. ‘Just because he thinks I’m a wildcat in bed doesn’t mean... God! I can’t believe I just said that.’
Bronagh laughed and rose. ‘I think the jet lag and wine are doing their job. Get some sleep. I’ll take the monitor with me when I go downstairs in case Lucca wakes up.’
Maisie hugged her friend, her thoughts rioting as she prepared for bed. When she lay wide awake three hours later, she wasn’t surprised.
Bronagh’s words raced through her mind.
While she didn’t think she’d misinterpreted her conversations with Romeo, was it possible she’d blinded herself to a different possibility?
Could she guide Romeo into loving her? He might have been devoid of love before he’d arrived on her doorstep three weeks ago, but Maisie had seen what he felt for his son. And Romeo hadn’t rejected the love that poured from Lucca. Surely he couldn’t rule it out of his life for ever?
Turning over, she exhaled slowly, careful not to let too much hope take root.
When Romeo arrived on Saturday, she would try to broach the subject, see if there was a glimmer of anything worth pursuing.
Except Romeo didn’t come on Saturday. He sent Emily and a team of bodyguards after calling with his apologies. He’d established a routine with Lucca where they video-called for half an hour in the morning and half an hour in the evening. His greetings to Maisie when she connected his calls were cool and courteous. Any attempt at a conversation was quickly curbed with a demand for his son.
