by Kate Hewitt
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘It was on your face. You might as well have shouted it.’
Could she read him so easily? Because, yes, he had been thinking something along those lines. He didn’t particularly like Laurel knowing, though.
‘If it makes any difference, it happened in increments,’ Laurel said. ‘I agreed to meet Bavasso as no more than my mother’s boyfriend. And then we got to Rome and my mother was telling me to dress up for him. Okay, fine. And then it was “be nice to him”, and I didn’t even know what that meant. I think she felt trapped. She wanted him for himself, but she realised she’d lose him altogether if I wasn’t...well.’ She shook her head. ‘She didn’t mean for me to be hurt, that I do believe. Things got out of hand for both of us. But I’m not excusing any of it, trust me.’
‘All right.’ Cristiano absorbed all that for a moment before continuing, ‘Tell me about your childhood.’ Because he realised he wanted to know. ‘Before your mother married my father. Where did you grow up?’
She looked surprised, then a little wary. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Perhaps it will help me to understand who you are and why you’ve made the choices you have. That can only be a good thing, surely, since we have to spend the next two weeks together?’
‘By your decree.’ Laurel sighed. ‘Fine. Where should I begin?’
‘Why not at the beginning?’ Cristiano gave her a mirthless smile. ‘It’s the very best place to start.’
CHAPTER TEN
LAUREL SHIFTED ON the sofa, unsure how to deal with Cristiano’s request. He wanted to know about her? Why? To use whatever she said against her? And yet she was so tired of staying suspicious. Being so careful all the time with him. And that tactic hadn’t worked out all that well so far, so why not tell him everything? Who cared what he thought? He’d already shown her tonight what he thought of her—just another mistress. A prop.
Being seen on his arm—knowing what people were whispering about her, knowing what she and Cristiano had done together—it had been worse than anything she’d endured with Bavasso. More shameful. And she knew Cristiano would never understand that.
‘My mother was born in rural Illinois,’ she began. ‘My grandfather was a poor farmer and they didn’t have much money. She married a local boy and they had me.’
‘Sounds like a fairly normal story so far.’
Oh, that even tone. The mildness. ‘It was,’ Laurel agreed, trying to match his tone. ‘They struggled, but so did a lot of people. But then my father lost his job on the assembly line of a local factory. He started drinking too much. Things started to get ugly, or so my mother tells me. I was only four at the time, when he left.’
‘Four? Do you remember your father?’ He was looking at her closely, but she couldn’t tell anything from his tone or his expression.
‘Vaguely. The smell of chewing tobacco, the scratchiness of his shirt. Sitting next to him in his truck.’ She shrugged, trying to ignore the tightness that had started in her throat and chest. ‘It all feels like parts of an old dream. Foggy fragments, no more.’
‘Yes.’
Something about the way he spoke, the contained feeling underneath the words, made her ask, ‘What about your mother? Do you remember her?’
‘Yes, of course. She died when I was nine.’ Cristiano spoke dismissively, looking away, making Laurel wonder. ‘So what happened after your father left?’
Laurel shrugged. ‘My mother tried to get work but it was hard. Not much was going on in that part of Illinois, and of course she had me to take care of. My grandfather needed to work on the farm and my grandmother had died before I was born. We moved to Chicago and while she was waitressing she met someone.’
Her first ‘daddy’. Laurel had always hated how Elizabeth made her call the men she’d entertained her father...except for the ones who weren’t interested in kids. More than one boyfriend had never known about her at all. Laurel had been very good about staying quiet, hiding in cupboards, pretending she didn’t exist.
‘And that’s how it began? Elizabeth funding her lifestyle through a series of men?’
‘Yes, you could put it that way, I suppose.’ Laurel sighed, disliking how scornful he sounded, although she couldn’t really blame him. ‘It was hard for her, you know. More than one of her boyfriends was bad news. Seriously bad news. Sometimes we had to run.’
And sometimes her mother would leave her with her grandfather in Canton Heights, which had been the sweetest relief, as well as a disappointment. No more dank hotel rooms or temporary apartments, no more late nights crouching in corners or under the covers. No more drama and endless uncertainty. And no more Mom.
But then her mother would always collect her again, and in her mother’s sudden, desperate hug Laurel had believed Elizabeth did love her and want her with her. Why else would she come back for her? And there had been moments when Elizabeth had seemed, if not quite maternal, then at least a little caring. She’d given Laurel plenty of advice, a lot of it bitter, and when she’d landed Lorenzo she’d promised Laurel things would be better for her too. It wasn’t much, but Laurel believed her mother loved her, in her own way. At least, she wanted to believe that.
‘So you had ten years of this and then she hit the jackpot with my father.’
Laurel flinched a bit at his tone but then she lifted her chin and met his cool gaze head on. ‘Yes, but you know she didn’t even realise how rich he was when she met him.’
‘She just got lucky, then.’
‘Yes, I suppose she did. I know what it looks like—and, trust me, I know my mother is selfish and self-serving—but I do believe she and your father loved each other, Cristiano.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘Obviously that isn’t something you can understand.’
He leaned forward, his eyes sparking gold fire. ‘They loved each other? That’s why she siphoned two million euros into her own private bank account?’
‘She was trying to protect herself.’ Laurel held up a hand. ‘I know it was wrong. I’m not justifying it, just trying to make you understand. This is a woman who grew up dirt poor, who had men treat her badly time and time again. She was trying to give herself a little security—but, yes, I realise it was stealing.’ Memory sharpened inside her. ‘I didn’t know you were the one who told your father, though.’
Something flickered in Cristiano’s eyes. ‘Why shouldn’t I have?’
‘I’m not saying you shouldn’t have. Only...you could have asked her first. You could have tried to figure out what was going on.’
‘It was fairly obvious, bella.’
‘Don’t call me bella!’ Laurel snapped. ‘Not now. Not ever.’
‘I did what was right. Surely you can’t deny that?’
‘I just wished you’d talked to her first. I don’t think she would have ever left him. She’s lived her whole life on the edge. With Lorenzo we’d both finally found a haven. Your father was a kind man, Cristiano. If he’d been told another way, he might have understood.’ Ten years later she still remembered her mother’s resignation, felt her own numb shock at Lorenzo’s cold treatment of them both. He’d taken her for rides in his sports car. He’d slipped her pocket money and tousled her hair. He’d bought her a dress for a school dance. He’d been more of a father to her than anyone, save her grandfather, and he’d cut her off without so much as a conversation. But that was a pain too deep and personal to share with Cristiano, especially when he was looking at her with such disdain.
‘I cannot believe,’ Cristiano said, ice in every word, ‘That you are blaming me for what happened when your mother is so clearly a gold-digger and a thief.’
‘I’m not blaming you. I just wished it could have been handled differently—’
‘And,’ he cut her off with even more arctic tones, ‘I cannot believe you are defending the woman who as good as sold you to a man twice your age just twenty-four hours ago.’
Laurel looked away, blinking hard. She couldn’t argue with what he s
aid. Her mother had treated her badly, no matter what protestations she’d made earlier. Even if she believed what her mother had said... It was just that Laurel had always wanted to see the best in her mother. Wanted to believe her mother loved her, deep down. Because if your own mother didn’t love you... ‘I’ve already told you, I’m not defending her,’ she said after a moment, her voice low. ‘Just trying to explain things. Not that you’d accept any explanations.’
‘Like I said, actions speak for themselves.’
‘They do, don’t they?’ Laurel risked a look back at him, noting the flinty eyes, the granite jaw. He was completely unmoved. ‘And yours do too. What made you so suspicious of people, Cristiano? Of women? Because you were suspicious of my mother from the moment you met her.’
‘Of course I was. My father picked her up in a cheap casino in Palm Beach. They married in four days. Who wouldn’t be suspicious?’
‘A whirlwind romance.’
He let out a huff of humourless laughter. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’
‘Still, it’s more than that,’ Laurel insisted. ‘You’re suspicious of everyone. Every woman, myself included. Why?’
He stared at her for a long moment. ‘Life experience.’
‘What life experience?’
She didn’t think he’d answer but then he shifted restlessly on the sofa and bit out, ‘After my mother died my father had several mistresses. They all took him for a ride. They were so patently false: the cloying way they spoke; pretending to be interested in me, a sulky ten-year-old.’ He shook his head, the movement terse, angry. ‘They were just out to get whatever they could—money, jewels, cars, clothes. They raked it in until my father realised they were using him and then he cut them off.’
‘So we both endured a parade of other people in our lives,’ Laurel said quietly. ‘It’s hard, but it doesn’t need to make you cynical.’
‘Cynical?’ Cristiano challenged. ‘Or smart? Before your mother my father married a woman. Jade. She was twenty-three, a bombshell. A bomb—and she detonated right in the middle of our lives. She took my father for nearly everything he had. He hadn’t bothered with a pre-nuptial agreement, because he was so sure it was love.’ Cristiano shook his head, his features twisting with the memory. ‘Fortunately a lot of his money was tied up in property and unreachable to her. But she left him as destitute as she possibly could, and ran off with her boyfriend, who had been in on the whole thing.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Laurel said quietly. She heard the hurt in his voice but knew he wouldn’t want her to try to comfort him. He’d hate the thought of her offering sympathy. Pity. Yet she understood him more than she ever had before. ‘That’s terrible,’ she continued. ‘But not everyone is like that.’
‘None of this matters,’ Cristiano dismissed. ‘It has nothing to do with us.
‘Us?’ Laurel forced herself to ask, meeting his gaze directly, even though the look in his eyes felt as if it could freeze the blood in her veins. ‘There is no “us”.’
‘There is if you’re carrying my child.’
‘Don’t talk about that as if it is a probability.’
‘It is a possibility.’
‘Barely, and in any case you said we’d cross that unfortunate bridge if we came to it.’
‘Very well,’ Cristiano said evenly. ‘Let’s talk about the next two weeks.’
Laurel resisted the urge to shudder at the prospect of more evenings like the one she’d just endured. ‘Are you going to drag me down to the casino again? Night after night?’
Cristiano’s mouth twisted. ‘You make it sound like a fate worse than death.’
‘No, but it’s not something I’m looking forward to in the slightest.’
Cristiano sat back, his gaze turning worryingly speculative. ‘No, I don’t think we’ll go down there again,’ he said slowly. ‘I don’t think Bavasso is a threat any more. He knows you’re mine.’
Laurel eyed him warily, hating how arrogant he sounded. How possessive. She really was just a thing to him. An object to be used. ‘What, then?’ she asked.
‘We’ll go to France.’
‘France?’ Laurel’s eyes widened almost comically. Cristiano sat back and smiled, glad to have surprised her. Because she’d surprised him too much already, with her anger and her hurt, and then her revelations about her childhood. Cristiano had told himself not to feel sorry for her, not to be moved by what was really a common-or-garden sob story, but he did. He pictured a very young Laurel hiding from one of her mother’s abusive boyfriends and felt a boiling anger surge through his veins. And that was a very inconvenient thing to feel.
‘Why would we go to France?’
‘Because I have a new manager at my hotel in Paris and I want to check up on her. Also, there is a charity gala I am meant to attend. You can come as my date.’
‘Your date?’ Laurel was still goggling at him. ‘But why? Bavasso won’t be there.’
‘I don’t care about Bavasso any longer, and you shouldn’t either. I need a date, and you’re here. It’s convenient.’
‘So glad to be of service.’ Laurel sat back, looking nonplussed by the change of plans. Cristiano understood her surprise. He’d only just decided to take her to Paris tonight. To escape the oppressive feeling here, with Bavasso below, her mother in attendance, all the bad memories swirling around them.
They’d go somewhere new, somewhere different, where the past didn’t dog them. Where they could simply be and enjoy each other. Because all evening a realisation had been coalescing inside him—he wasn’t done with Laurel Forrester. Their affair would be real, and therefore all the more convincing. But first he needed to explain the parameters.
He gazed at her now—the long, golden-brown curls, the shadowed eyes, the way she nibbled her lip. She was nervous, uncertain, maybe even afraid. He needed to reassure her. He also needed to convince her.
‘Laurel.’ She jerked her startled gaze towards him, eyes wide with wary apprehension. Cristiano leaned forward, his attention fully focused on the woman before him. ‘What you said in the lift—about sex meaning something to you.’
Colour flared in her cheeks. ‘Don’t use that against me now,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Like what?’
She lifted her chin, a brave attempt at haughtiness. ‘You don’t need to worry that I’m going to fall in love with you, Cristiano. Trust me on that.’
This was unexpected, and for some reason her lofty assurance rubbed him the wrong way. ‘What a relief.’
‘I’m sure it is, since you seem to have an allergic reaction to love or commitment.’
‘An allergy suggests something that isn’t a choice,’ Cristiano returned lightly. ‘And trust me, Laurel, it is very much a choice.’
‘Is it? Or is it just a reaction to your childhood, all those women of your father’s?’
Cristiano sat back against the sofa and folded his arms. ‘My, what a stunning little piece of psychoanalysis.’
‘Actually, it seems fairly obvious to me. We’re all products of our childhood, aren’t we?’ Laurel shrugged. ‘I know I am.’
And now, even though he knew he shouldn’t be, he was curious. He needed to know more. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘People leave,’ Laurel stated starkly. ‘Don’t they? Some by choice, some not. It’s one of the reasons why I won’t fall in love with you, Cristiano. I don’t want to fall in love with anyone.’
‘One of the reasons?’
A faint, sardonic smile curved her lush mouth. ‘It’s not exactly as if you’ve been Prince Charming, is it?’
‘I... I...’ He was actually stuttering in his shock. Suddenly she looked so smugly confident, sitting curled up on his sofa, acting as if the prospect of her falling for him was the remotest of possibilities. And yes, that was fine, that was what he wanted; of course it was. Yet he still found it seriously annoyed him.
‘Thank you for putting me so much at my ease,’ he said dryl
y when he’d thankfully recovered his composure. ‘What, then, did you mean in the lift?’
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘Sex is important. You’re giving yourself to someone, making yourself vulnerable. I mean, just being naked is being vulnerable, isn’t it?’ Cristiano shrugged a non-answer. He was, he realised with a pang of unease, out of his depth. He didn’t talk about this kind of stuff. He didn’t even think about it.
‘And then the things you do together...’ Her cheeks were going from pink to fiery red and Cristiano knew she was recalling all they’d done together. All he intended they do again. And again. ‘Well, it means something. Not love, necessarily, but there’s a bond of sorts. A shared memory. I know men seem able to dismiss it as just some kind of physical workout, but it didn’t feel that way to me.’
‘So,’ Cristiano asked after a moment, the restless ache of desire surging through him as her words sparked memories of deep kisses and golden skin, ‘what did it feel like to you?’
‘Like I said, there’s a bond.’ Laurel’s face was still red as she looked away. ‘No matter what—even if I never see you again after these two weeks, which is the most likely scenario—there will be a bond. You...you were my first.’
The simply spoken words pierced him with guilt. Her first, and so far her only lover. It was a responsibility he hadn’t wanted but, now he had it, and he wasn’t going simply to throw it away.
‘Then there’s no reason not to make the most of these two weeks,’ he said, and Laurel jerked around to face him, her mouth dropping open in shock.
‘What...?’
‘We gave each other a great deal of pleasure, Laurel. Surely you won’t try to deny that?’
She gulped. Audibly. ‘No, I can hardly deny that part of it.’
‘And you have so kindly assured me that there is no risk of an emotional attachment. The bond we have is physical, and it’s one we should both enjoy for as long as we can. Don’t you think?’
‘I...’ She licked her lips and Cristiano could not keep from groaning at the sight.
