The whole of Lyrebird Lake had embraced him, the people, the land, the warmth, and all he needed from Emma was her acceptance of his right to be by her side and part of her children’s lives. He swore to himself as he drove that he would make that happen.
When they stopped Emma woke and he said nothing as he waited for her to get her bearings. She sat up straighter and blinked. ‘We’re here?’
Her eyes looked bruised and he tightened his hands on the wheel to stop himself reaching for her. ‘Si, you slept.’
She looked around. The dark brick walls of the hospice loomed over the courtyard where they’d parked and she couldn’t help but wonder if this was where she’d end her days. That was beyond depressing when she looked at Gianni beside her. There was no way she’d allow Gianni to be with her then.
‘Don’t you have better things to do than visit my parents?’ Emma had changed her mind about Gianni’s presence at the hospice, a new urgency to keep him away from them, but he’d been persistently obstinate.
‘At least let me meet the grandparents of my child.’ He flashed a stern glance at her. ‘You can’t block me out of your life completely. And if you plan to exclude me, they should meet me so they will know of whom you speak.’
Emma sighed and gave in as she waited for Gianni to open her door.
A shaft of sunlight shone into the courtyard and fell on the blonde hair of Emma’s mother, Clare. She sat strapped in a wheelchair with her husband by her side, and Emma dreaded the first few minutes of her visit every week because she never knew how her mother would be when she arrived.
Sometimes Clare was alert and almost focussed, other times morbidly depressed and railing against her condition.
The disease affected the way the brain worked and depression and anger had less controls left to keep them in check.
Once a beautiful woman, the ravages of the disease had screwed up Clare’s face and twisted her body so that she seemed perched in the chair more than relaxed back in it.
Her blue eyes lit up when she saw Emma and her arm flung out in an uncontrolled greeting that almost knocked her husband’s head. Her dad smiled and moved out of the way.
‘So you know me today,’ Emma said softly, and kissed her mother’s cheek. She handed her father the roses she’d brought from home. ‘Mum’s roses are thriving. And I’ve brought a friend to see you both.’
Clare clapped her hands at the treat and Emma smiled. ‘This is Gianni Bonmarito, from Italy. Gianni is filling in for Angus at the moment, and had to come up to Brisbane, so we came together.’ She turned back to Gianni. ‘This is my mother, Clare, and my father, Rex.’
Gianni lifted her mother’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. Clare crowed loudly with delight and he smiled at her. ‘It is true your daughter has your beautiful eyes.’
Then he shook hands with Rex. ‘Sir.’
Rex didn’t smile but his eyes softened. ‘It’s always nice to meet friends of Emma’s. How long are you staying in Lyrebird Lake, Gianni?’
Gianni met his solid look. ‘Only another week. Angus returns next Friday.’
Emma looked across and hoped her face was impassive. She could survive that long. In fact, the time had passed swiftly. That was a good thing.
His deep voice flowed around her as she thought about the realities of his departure, about the impact he’d had on her life, and the impact she wouldn’t allow him. Then a change in his tone alerted her and his words sank in.
‘There are many things I will miss about Queensland. But the hardest to leave will be Emma.’ He stared straight into Rex’s face. ‘I come today because I wish to ask permission to court your daughter.’
Gianni heard the words come from his own mouth and wasn’t sure who was most surprised—he or Emma. Or perhaps Rex?
Suddenly it was clear. It wasn’t duty he was offering this woman—it was his heart. In his mind he still could see her calm face asleep in the car, trusting beside him, that feeling of rightness at keeping her safe.
That moment when she’d greeted her mother, daughterly love searching for the recognition she’d found, had given him real joy. He’d been so glad for her because he loved Emma. He needed to be there for her as the Barbie doll’s house that was her mother became emptier. He needed to be there for her if and when her brothers became ill, and when the time came, he wanted to be there when she opened the results for herself. Not because his life was forever tied to hers—or that the result affected his own unborn child—but to be her rock like Rex was the rock for Clare.
Emma’s mouth dropped open. How dared he say that in front of her parents? With no warning? Make them think there was something between them?
Well, wasn’t there? a sensible voice inside argued logically. A growing child she refused to discuss with him?
Emma gasped. She couldn’t help her protest. ‘You have no right to say that here, Gianni.’ Emma could feel the heat in her cheeks at her father’s searching look. And Clare clapped her hands with childlike excitement. What had he been thinking to say that?
Gianni slanted a glance at her. ‘It is customary to ask permission from your father.’
She shook her head at her parents as she tried to undo the damage Gianni had caused, but didn’t know how. ‘But not necessary, as I’ve already said no.’
‘Si. But I will not give up.’ He looked at her parents. ‘I wish to show Emma and Grace my beautiful country. I am a wealthy man who has fallen in love with your daughter. Do I have your permission to woo her?’
Fallen in love? How dared he lie to her parents? To her?
‘It’s up to Emma but I have no objections.’ Rex grinned at his fuming daughter. ‘You should think about it, Emma. It sounds like a fabulous idea, to visit, at least. You’ve never had a holiday.’ Rex looked from one to the other as Gianni brushed off Emma‘s complaint. He was no fool. ‘And a great opportunity for Grace to broaden her horizons.’
‘Dad,’ Emma sighed with exasperation, ‘it’s not happening.’
The rest of the visit passed in a blur for Emma. She fumed and glared and cut short the visit so she could get him in the car and let him know what she thought of his underhand tactics. How dared he?
‘I can’t believe you said that. In front of my mother, as well. There is no way I would have taken you if I’d known you were going to do that.’
He nodded his head. ‘So I believed.’
Emma threw her hands out in frustration. ‘Don’t you listen? I’m not marrying you. I’m not marrying anyone. You saw my mother. You saw my father.’ She pointed her finger at him. ‘I don’t want a man tied to me like that.’
‘Calm yourself, cara. I shared marriage with a woman who lived a month into my marriage. And have spent the last ten years regretting I didn’t have more time with her. Are you so certain you have so much life to waste that you can disregard what you have the chance of now?’
That wasn’t fair. ‘My life is not a waste. I live each day as much as I can.’ She tried every day to appreciate each new experience. ‘I’m more aware how precious my day is than a lot of people. I guess I can thank the disease for that. But the question is, Gianni, do you have the rest of your life to waste with me?’ Her head was spinning as she searched for arguments he would understand.
Gianni shook his head. ‘My life has been a passage of time and my work. That I have wasted. It is only now that I am beginning to enjoy. Now you are here. So it would be a tragic waste if I missed the birth of our child, the progress of your pregnancy. I have decided I will not miss that.’
If only he knew. She wished she could have that too, she thought, but he went on.
He shrugged away the futility. ‘It is too late to change that. I wish to spend my days and, of course, also the nights with you. The idea of you becoming ill in the future does not affect those wants and needs. Or my desire to be there for you.’
The notion was blissful but the reality unpalatable. ‘I don’t want a man tied to me like my father is tied to my mother.�
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Gianni shook his head, denying her statement. ‘Your father looked to be in the place he wanted to be and I admire him for that. He did not look tied. I liked your parents.’ He paused to emphasise the next statement. ‘Both of them.’
Emma blinked. He’d liked her parents. The concept made her pause. Had Gianni seen past what she sometimes forgot to look past? Her father was a wonderful man and it was true, he did not look like a victim. Her mother was ill, but cared for, and loved, and flashes of the woman who had been there for her when she’d been young could still be seen. Was it true that maybe she, Emma, had forgotten to look for them as much as she should, in her own fear for Grace?
Gianni went on. ‘Of course you are scared of making a decision to tie yourself to a man you do not know well, and it is natural to worry if your health suffers. But you must remember, my circumstances give me the resources to deal with anything.’ He lifted his brows. ‘Wealth does not promise happiness but it is useful in certain circumstances. You are going to have to take a leap of faith too, and allow me into that part of your life.’
It sounded idyllic, but idealism wasn’t reality. No. Never. Before yesterday she had to admit she’d been tempted. But the spectre of tomorrow had shown her she couldn’t. ‘I can’t do that, Gianni.’ Emma glanced out the front of the car and realised that they’d pulled up outside the headquarters of Huntington’s Queensland.
They’d driven through the city already. Her meeting started in ten minutes. Inside were people with the same dilemmas she had. But braver people than her.
‘Think about it, cara.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I will be back by six and we can discuss this at dinner. I will come to your room at seven.’
She wouldn’t let him wear her down. He’d done a bad thing by involving her parents. ‘I won’t be there. I’ll stay somewhere else. I don’t trust you.’
He didn’t seem surprised by her outburst. ‘That is foolish. You cannot deny we need to talk and time is running out. In a week I must leave to complete what I have committed to. Stay for tonight. I have already booked the rooms.’
Emma didn’t move out of the five-star hotel. She told herself it was because she hated waste and the room was to die for—and material comfort would substitute for another kind.
Fifteen-foot-high ceilings, velvet drapes from floor to ceiling, the deep blush of rosewood furnishings, a bath she could have floated a canoe in.
She stared at the ornate ceiling as she soaked. Even in the bathroom they had sculpted cornices. She thought about a man who wanted to marry her and be the father to her children. Who’d lied to her parents and said he loved her.
There was the strong chance he would shower her and her daughter with gifts, show them both the world, and continue to state that he loved her.
All strange things to complain of, and not the only dilemmas. She prided herself on her independence but how independent was she really going to be when the new baby was born?
It was a long way off, an embryo barely the size of a peanut, but there none the less. In seven months time he or she would certainly have an impact on her work and her finances and her ability to support herself.
And what if she wasn’t positive for the gene? Was she throwing away her one chance at love? Because though Gianni didn’t really love her, she did love him. She had realised that as she’d driven away from Grace. Was she wasting something precious, as Gianni said? She couldn’t deny that Gianni touched her on a level no man had ever come near to. She could feel his presence, felt complete when he was around, and he had rights too, rights to share his child. But she couldn’t and wouldn’t marry him if she was positive for the gene. It had been her whole focus in her life to prepare for the end as a single woman. She needed to keep her distance until after the result.
Dinner undid all her resolutions.
Gianni in a black tie made her mouth dry and her chest hurt. Since arriving at the hotel, one he apparently had stayed at before because every person knew his name and couldn’t do enough for him, he’d changed.
He’d slipped into another, grander persona that blew her resistance to smithereens.
He emanated effortless command, far too much power and tightly leashed control for one man, and on their arrival in the restaurant she could see that the maître d’ agreed that Gianni deserved special treatment.
The table was discreet, service invisible but incredibly efficient. The chef dropped by to ensure the meal was adequate and the wine tasted like ambrosia. She’d thought the Lakehouse amazing but this was on another level.
‘You’ve changed.’ And she hadn’t. Reality check.
He shrugged. Totally at ease in his persona. ‘No. This is me.’ He gestured to the room. ‘At work I change.’
She frowned and the uncomfortable thought of extreme wealth perturbed her. ‘Just how well off are you?’
He raised one sardonic eyebrow in that autocratic way he sometimes affected that annoyed her. ‘Are you really interested?’
Despite her irritation she thought about it. Like the time he’d asked if she was interested in cars. In the big picture it really was the least of her worries. She almost laughed. ‘Not really.’
His lips twitched and that tiny touch of amusement shared made her belly warm. ‘I didn’t think so. But it is reasonable that you should know there is this side of me, as well.’
She looked at him. Looked like she remembered doing once before, and had to admit he was pretty spectacular. The black suit had a dull silk gleam that spared no detail of his magnificent physique. How could she sit opposite this man and ignore him when he blatantly told the world he was her man? That her wish was his command? That only the best was good enough for her? She had no idea but she’d try, and if she didn’t succeed she could tell herself she’d done her best.
The meal passed in a blur—entrée, main course, dessert, half-finished plates removed—and suddenly the tragedy of it all overwhelmed her. It wasn’t fair. She wanted him to look at her like he was looking now for the rest of her life. She ached to make plans and discuss her pregnancy and have someone she could share the highs and lows of life and parenthood, even her work, with, and Gianni could be that person. Was offering that dream, but there was a chance that after tomorrow she couldn’t accept it.
It was tearing her apart and she bowed under the pressure of what was coming.
And then Gianni touched her. He must have seen the change in her expression.
He cupped her cheek in a caress that came from across the table but emptied the room of people and furniture and noise until she seemed to be suspended in the air, his hand on her cheek, floating in space, just the two of them. How did he do that?
When he took his hand away and she landed, mentally, back on her chair in a crowded restaurant, it was just as powerful a demonstration.
She dragged her eyes away, clawing for composure, until he captured her knee between his under the long tablecloth, deliberately, cleaving her back to him effortlessly.
These tables were two darned tiny for someone fighting to keep their head above water, she complained in her mind, but the complaint was overwritten by the heat and raw need she could feel bubbling up between them.
‘Bill, please,’ he said quietly, and the waiter appeared as if it was his sole aim in life to be there when Gianni called.
Bill, please, her foggy brain echoed. It all seemed to be happening in a cloud now and that was without alcohol. The waiter had been and gone, and Gianni’s eyes were back on hers and she watched him stand. Felt him move behind her and she half stood as he pulled the chair out and dropped her wrap across her shoulders, along with his arm.
They moved to the elevator bank across from the restaurant and suddenly she was fiercely jealous of her space with Gianni. She glanced around and ‘their’ elevator arrived, and she wanted to be in there with the door shut before anyone else intruded on the intimate space around them. She had no idea how she’d come to that frame of mind but she was locked into hi
s gravity like his personal moon.
She even sighed with relief when the door shut and they were alone.
‘I’d hoped we’d have the elevator to ourselves,’ he murmured, and his arm tightened as she turned to face him fully, and his eyes burned into hers as he kissed her. Somehow his back was against the rear wall and she was returning his kiss like there was no tomorrow.
With Gianni’s mouth firm and hot against her own, it was impossible not to lose herself in the taste and texture of this long-awaited homecoming. But the doors opened and he put her from him with a small smile.
‘I think we need somewhere a little more private than this,’ he murmured into her ear, and held his hand over the door edge while she dithered confusedly with her scattered wits and almost stumbled from the elevator. There was no time for tangos tonight.
Gianni watched Emma wake for the second time in his life and wanted to lock the door and never let her leave. It seemed she would have him, he thought with satisfaction. He felt his cultural heritage very strongly this morning. Amore.
‘Buongiorno, Emma, dolce. Or good morning, sweet Emma,’ he said as he sat down beside her on the bed.
Emma blinked and sat up. He saw her look around and realise they had succumbed again. Judging by the way she inhaled the unmistakable aroma of fresh espresso, she was rapidly becoming grounded.
‘Un caffe?’
She didn’t quite meet his eyes. ‘I gather that means coffee, and, yes, please.’
He liked the way she didn’t clutch the bed sheet as tightly to her neck after all that had passed between them last night but lifted it over her breasts and tucked it loosely behind her back.
‘Did you sleep well?’ she asked with that hint of shyness that told him she was pretending to be relaxed. He handed her a cup. Sweet Emma.
‘Eventually, like the dead.’ He smiled wickedly at her. ‘And you?’ Her cheeks dusted a delightfully rosy pink and he wanted to take the cup from her and see where the blush ended, but she was sitting there sipping the coffee with her elbows tucked into her sides as a safeguard from the sheet slipping.
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