She stopped walking and looked in both directions of the street. ‘I’m a little tired,’ she said, not completely without truth.
Matteo studied her, as though he could see the truth of what she was saying if he looked hard enough. ‘Skye?’ He lifted a hand as though to touch her cheek but held it wide of her face, his expression confused. ‘What happened between them has no bearing on us.’
‘How can you say that?’ The words were heavy with feelings. ‘Everything we are is because of them. Everything.’
She wouldn’t cry.
She wouldn’t.
But her hand lifted to her stomach, pressing against it gently. ‘This baby deserves better than to be born into so much hate.’
‘There is no hate here.’
‘Yes, there is.’ Her eyes laced to his, and she forced herself to see all angles. To remember everything they were—everything they’d been. ‘My father hated your father. Your grandfather hated my father. You hated my father. Everyone hated everyone.’
‘I don’t hate you,’ he said simply.
She looked away from him.
‘And you don’t hate me.’
That was true. She didn’t hate him. She didn’t know what she felt for him.
‘I hate what you did.’ The words were gravelled. ‘I hate what you did to me. I hate what you’re capable of. I hate what you took away from me. I hate that... I hate that...’
She swept her eyes shut, unable to finish the sentence.
‘Go on,’ he prompted.
But it was too awful. Even to think, let alone to say!
‘I hate...’
‘Yes?’
‘I wish I was having this baby with anyone but you,’ she finished finally, thinking it was marginally better than to admit the truth of her thoughts—that she hated that she was having a baby with Matteo. That they were to be bound together for the rest of their days.
He was silent, staring at her for so long that she wondered if he was going to say anything at all. Colour faded from her cheeks and desolation surrounded her.
It was soul-deep and wearying.
‘This marriage is crazy,’ she whispered.
And it seemed to rouse him. Matteo’s eyes sparked with hers, and his jaw clenched, determination vibrating from him to Skye in passion-filled waves. ‘Perhaps. But we are married, Skye. And I have no intention of letting you go.’ He reached for her hand and caught it, bringing it to his lips. ‘Come. Let me take you home. You said you are tired.’
She was.
Weary. Tired. Exhausted...but it was not the kind of exhaustion that could be cured with a rest. This state of weariness came from deep within, sapping her of all her strength.
‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Fine. Let’s go home.’
* * *
Matteo stared out at the canal without seeing. The moon was obstructed by thick, silver clouds and the city was almost completely dark. Only the far away glow of cruise ships offered any break in the bleakness of the night.
Skye was asleep upstairs, and Matteo remained where he was, looking out of the window as though answers might leap through it directly at him.
She was miserable, and that was his fault. The whole damned thing.
When had he decided that he would take the hotel? When had their marriage become a part of it?
Why hadn’t he spoken to her? For surely, as soon as they’d made love, he had been confident Skye would have done almost anything he’d asked of her. But if she’d said no?
Then she’d have said no, he thought angrily.
When had he picked up the mantle of this feud as though his own life depended on it? Hadn’t enough already been sacrificed to its purposeless pursuit? His grandfather had been broken by another man’s vengeance.
And now Matteo was breaking Skye.
Had broken her.
Her face, as it had been that afternoon, came to his mind and he felt the sharp, unrelenting point of blame stab him square in the chest. She had looked...
Words flew through his mind. Sad? No, so much worse than sad.
Disappointed? Angry? Bereft?
All of the above. And something else. Something indefinable that sat heavily inside him like an accusation he would never lose.
Loving Maria had been simple. They’d made sense. She was a glamorous actress, albeit not a very good one, with legs that went on for ever. She had a penchant for expensive jewellery and six-star vacations, and he’d been happy to give them to her.
The fact she’d been using him for his social status had never occurred to him until she’d leap-frogged him to sleep with a Swedish duke. It had broken his heart. He’d felt that pain, which was how he recognised it so clearly on Skye’s features.
He’d broken her heart. Badly. She had been a means to an end—a pawn in his fight to return Il Grande Fortuna to its rightful owner. He hadn’t thought beyond the steps he needed to take to reacquire the property. Marry Skye, make her trust him, take what he wanted.
And her?
Had he really never thought about how his actions might affect her? Or had he simply never cared, because she was the daughter of the only person he’d ever hated? Had he carried his hatred of Carey Johnson onto Skye, almost delighting in the knowledge he was using her?
With an angry sigh, he pushed to standing, moving towards the open doors and breathing in the unique tang of Venice’s air.
He had only seen his grandfather cry once.
The sight had dug right into his heart and pressed into his nerves, changing everything he thought he knew about life. Alfonso hadn’t known that Matteo had been watching. He’d thought he was alone. And he’d given into the groundswell of emotions without hesitation. They had consumed him, his strong, powerful body racked by sobs as he’d stared at the papers before him. Papers that hadn’t made sense to Matteo at the time.
Now he knew what they were.
Overdue notices.
Mortgage payment requests.
Bills that Alfonso couldn’t cover.
Matteo gripped the railing hard, remembering more than Alfonso’s tears. Now he remembered Skye’s father. The smug, condescending glint in his face as he’d refused to deal with Matteo. When he’d refused to see reason and sell the hotel back.
You’re going to regret this. That was what Matteo had said.
It had been a prophetic statement, in the end. Only it was Matteo who was full of regrets.
Matteo who had lived to wish things—everything—had been different.
There was only one thing in the midst of this that made sense. There was one way Matteo had to erase Skye’s hurts—and mitigate his own. There was one thing he could remind her of that would bring happiness to both of them.
His face was set in a grim line as he moved back into the villa, walking with a slow determination to her bedroom.
She was his wife. And, when she was in his arms, nothing else seemed to matter a damn.
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS THE lawyer’s office, right beside the doctor’s, that made her think of it. Skye stared at her bruschetta without attempting to bite into it.
‘Matteo?’
He, apparently, was suffering from no such lack of appetite. Skye watched as he forked a scoop of spaghetti into his mouth, savouring the flavours with obvious pleasure. ‘Do you think perhaps we should speak to a lawyer?’
He froze, his eyes haunted as they met hers. ‘Che?’
‘Everything between us is so complicated.’ A line formed between her brows as she frowned, and anxiety swirled through her. Her pregnancy was still in its infancy, but before they knew it the baby would be with them. They’d be parents. ‘Don’t you think we should make arrangements now? Before we get too caught up in the whole “being a family” thing?’
‘What kind of arrangements?’ Neither his voice nor his expression gave anything away.
‘Oh.’ Skye waved a hand through the air and her selection of colourful bangles made a tingling noise as they knocked toge
ther. ‘Everything.’ Her frown deepened. ‘I suppose a proper pre-nuptial agreement.’
Matteo returned his attention to the spaghetti, forking another generous portion into his mouth. ‘We are married. A pre-nuptial agreement now would seem irrelevant.’
Skye nodded slowly, but her frame of mind didn’t shift. ‘I think we need to be pragmatic.’ She swallowed. ‘Do you remember what you said?’
He pulled a face, one of amusement and mockery. ‘When?’
‘You told me that you never lied to me.’ She stared down at her plate, the past swirling like angry floodwaters. ‘And you did. Not directly, but by omission. You knew how I felt, and how I believed you felt, and you didn’t tell me the truth about any of this. But you never claimed to love me. You don’t love me.’ She paused, just long enough for him to interject. To say something that would ease the pain in her splintered heart.
He didn’t.
She swallowed and pushed on. ‘And I don’t love you.’ The words tasted bitter in her mouth. ‘We need to remember that. Once the baby comes along and we love our child to the ends of the earth, I don’t want to make the mistake of feeling like this is a real relationship.’
‘It is a real relationship,’ he said with exasperation. ‘You are my wife in every way.’
‘No.’ Her eyes were enormous as they lifted to his. ‘And it’s not your fault that you don’t realise that. You and I just have very different ideas of what a marriage is.’ Her smile was lopsided. ‘Ironic, really, given that you were the one who taught me to believe in fairy tales. Perhaps the reason you believe in them is that you expect so little of them.’
His eyes narrowed.
‘I want it all. I want love and happiness and a true meeting of the minds. That will never be us.’ She expelled a soft sigh. ‘But we both want this baby, and so we’ll raise it together. But I think it’s very important that we don’t lose sight of the truth of what we are.’
‘And what’s that, bella?’
‘Well...’ She pressed a single finger into the table top, tilting her head to the side as she examined her words carefully. ‘We’re two people who are going to have a baby. And we happen to be sleeping together.’
‘Oh, good. I’m glad that’s part of your contract.’ He winked, his light-heartedness annoying her.
‘I’m serious, Teo.’ She tapped her finger once more. ‘We both have considerable assets. I think we should get everything ordered. And I think we should have a custody arrangement drawn up. Just in case.’
‘Hell, Skye. A custody arrangement? You’re pregnant with my child and you’re already planning for a divorce?’
‘Not necessarily,’ she responded softly. ‘But if we find this impossible, I don’t want to have to go through all that then. I think we should rationally make a plan now, knowing that there’s a good chance this won’t work out. I think we should agree now, while we are level-headed and still...like one another enough to speak fairly.’
Matteo shook his head. ‘No.’
‘It makes sense.’ She leaned forward. ‘You know that. You’re thinking with your heart, not your head.’
‘I thought I didn’t have a heart?’
‘You do where our baby is concerned. You do where your nonno was concerned.’ It’s only me you don’t love, Skye thought bitterly, reaching for her mineral water and sipping it to bring relief to her dry mouth. ‘You told me yourself that you would fight for this baby. That you would stop at nothing to raise it. Well, I don’t want to fight you later.’
‘You’d rather fight me now?’
A muscle jerked in Skye’s jaw as she clenched her teeth together. ‘I’d rather not fight you at all. It’s not ideal that we’re going to be raising this child together, but I think we can make it work so long as we’re reasonable. I’m prepared to be reasonable.’
‘How so?’ he prompted, dark colour staining his cheeks.
Fascinated at why he was so angry, Skye continued, ‘Well, I’ll stay in Venice. Near you. My business interests are well looked after. I don’t need to be in London. And I can skip over when I do have to be on hand.’ Emboldened by his silence, she continued, ‘But I don’t think we should share custody equally. I think the baby should have a home, somewhere they spend most of their time...’
‘I agree completely.’
‘And that it should be with his mother. With me.’
‘Ah.’ He shook his head. ‘No. My child is being raised in my home.’
‘Damn it, Matteo.’ Skye leaned forward. ‘I’m not saying we’re going to get divorced. I’m just saying we should have a plan in place in case.’
‘And I am saying I’m not prepared to discuss it,’ he dismissed. ‘Not now. Not ever. You are my wife. This is my child. We are a family.’
A family.
Skye froze, her face paling visibly.
A family?
All her life, it was the one thing she’d ever wanted, and this was not what she had expected it to look like. Nothing about what they were was what she’d imagined.
She swept her eyes closed, rejecting the description instantly.
‘We’re not family. We’re just two people stupid enough to get pregnant when they should have known better.’ She pushed her plate away. ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Hey, hey.’ He reached for her hand, curving his fingers over it. His surprise was obvious. Skye felt it too. She wasn’t sure where her feelings were coming from, only that they were strong and they were real. ‘This is good news. We both want this baby, don’t we?’
She nodded, but her heart was heavy. She did, she wanted this baby so badly, but not like this. It was at such odds with how she’d imagined it would be. She pulled her hand away, clasping it in her lap, withdrawing from him in every way.
‘But wanting the baby isn’t the same as being a family. We’re not a family. We’re not even really a couple.’ She swallowed. ‘We both need to remember that.’
Matteo stared at her long and hard, his expression inscrutable.
A chasm of loss was swarming through him. But what could he say? How could he dispute her words? He had agreed to divorce her, when she’d come to Venice. Had he really been prepared to let her walk away?
Never to see her again?
The idea sat inside him like a strange kind of blade, running the sharpness of its edge through his body, his organs; tormenting him and wounding him in ways he was unable to appraise. But what could he say to her?
The reassurances he wanted to offer were buried deep inside him. It was only in bed that things made sense. There he could make her understand.
Unless...
The idea came to him out of nowhere, but instantly it was perfect.
‘Skye? There is something I would like you to see.’
* * *
It was only once they’d boarded the flight to Rome that Skye twigged as to where he was taking her.
And what to see.
The hotel.
Anxiety had met tension in her gut, but now she felt an overwhelming sense of fascination. This was the building, after all, that had formed battle lines between her husband and her father.
And it was a beautiful building. At least, it would have been at one time. Now it was in a state of complete disrepair, the once-grand foyer boarded over so that even the high ceilings and marbled floor couldn’t counteract the doom and gloom. But she knew what it was, even without his explanation. There were no signs out the front, there was no name on the door, but there was an air of importance that shrouded them as Matteo inserted a thick bronze key into the door and then scraped it inwards.
Pigeons had at some point taken up residence above, so that the step was covered in white splodges of poop, and there were empty soda cans discarded to the side of the door.
Matteo turned to face Skye with a raised brow. ‘Your father never bothered to change the locks.’ It was an indictment, as though the oversight was evidence that Carey hadn’t cared about the building at all.
&n
bsp; Inside, it was dark and enormous, and there was a lingering odour of dust and disuse.
‘The last time I was here,’ Matteo said thickly, ‘It was just before Christmas. A tree stood over there.’ He nodded towards the stairs, which were wide and sweeping, moving in a large, wide circle upwards to the mezzanine above. ‘It had the most beautiful decorations, fine gold and a dark red, made of glass from Murano. It was a real tree, and enormous, so that the whole room smelled of pine. There were lights, twinkling little fairy lights that shimmered in the tree and across the ceiling. And there was a pianist in the corner, playing old-fashioned Christmas carols.’ His eyes held some of the magic of the scene when they dropped to Skye’s face. ‘It was a special place, Skye.’
She nodded, perfectly able to envisage the beauty he had seen. The spectre of what he’d described. He crouched down, his trousers straining across his powerful haunches as he ran his fingertips over the floor. Snakes appeared in the thick coating of dust, revealing the grain of the marble beneath. ‘This was quarried from the south and it took six months to ship it all up.’ He stood, wiping his hands together, his eyes simply skimming over hers as he moved deeper into the hotel.
He moved to what Skye presumed would have been the reception area. A tall, dark wood bench with a marble top, the same as the floor. There were old-fashioned lights above it, as she’d imagined might have been used in banks in the twenties and thirties. Matteo pressed one of the gold switches on the wall but it did nothing.
Of course, there was no power.
‘My great-great-great-grandfather built this hotel.’ His voice carried an emotional note. ‘He built it, and then each generation added to it. Yes, we created an empire, and yes, we have money, but this hotel—’ He broke off, looking around the room with such helplessness that Skye’s heart thudded inside her and pain gulfed in her belly. ‘My family lives in these walls.’
She nodded and turned away from Matteo, unable and unwilling to expose herself to him in that moment, as realisation after realisation dropped through her. This place meant everything to Matteo, and her father had taken it and refused to sell it back.
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