Ciro threw himself into work in an attempt to get her out of his mind, but that very same week brought a postcard from England. It was from Lily’s brother—an odd composition of clashing colours which he’d clearly painted himself. The message on it was brief.
Hi, Ciro. Got thumbs-up from art school this a.m. due to exam results. Start September. Just wanted to thank you (or perhaps I should say mille grazie!) for making it all possible. See you soon, Jonny.
Ciro stared at the card in confusion. The sentiment expressed seemed to suggest that Jonny had no idea his sister and her new husband had parted. More than that, he also seemed to be under the illusion that Ciro had financed his art-school funding. What the hell was going on?
He walked out onto the terrace, his heart beating very fast as he tried to piece it all together. Until he realised that there was only one possible source for the funding—and all the implications which came from that. He bunched his hands into two tight fists which hung by the sides of his tensed thighs. Had Lily sold her mother’s precious pearls to put her brother through school? Had he misjudged her all along?
He stared out at the dark blue blur of the bay but he could see nothing except the glitter of his wife’s eyes as she said goodbye to him. He felt a terrible regret wash over him. What had he done?
He stood there as the sun sank into the water, until the terrace was lit only by the silver light of the rising moon. Was it too late to go to her and ask for a forgiveness he did not deserve? One which his proud and defiant Lily would probably not give. His mouth hardened as he went back inside to get his passport. Maybe it was too late, but he knew he had to try.
But first there was something he needed to do.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE windows weren’t dirty by any stretch of the imagination, but Lily was still determined to give them a polish. Danielle had repeatedly teased her and said that these days she was nothing but a ‘clean freak’ and Lily hadn’t bothered to deny what was essentially the truth. Because she did find housework oddly soothing. It didn’t demand too much and it helped make her little apartment look as good as possible. She would listen to the radio, her thoughts easily distracted by the phone-in conversations. And listening to other people talking was much easier than having to talk herself. When people asked her questions these days, she didn’t know how to answer. But there was no point worrying about it. It was still early days after the break-up of her marriage and she was still trying to settle back into her old life.
Her old life which had become her new life.
She’d been back in Chadwick Green for almost a month now and, in many ways, it was almost as if nothing had changed. The tearoom was still there and so was her little apartment. And her friends. A concerned Fiona had told her that of course she could have her old job back, and Danielle had been overjoyed to see her. But of course, they were worried about her—even though they did their best to hide it. The sight of her radical haircut had visibly shocked them—as had her unmistakable weight-loss.
Danielle had come right out and asked her what had happened in Naples and Lily had been tempted to offload some of her terrible heartache. But how could she possibly explain the convoluted chain of events which had led to her return? She thought about Ciro. She thought about him nearly all the time. About all the hopes he’d had for their future—hopes which she had shared. About each of them wanting to build something strong and permanent: a unit which would last. But look at how they had failed. She’d been so quick to condemn him for his old-fashioned immovability on the subject of her virginity. She had been so frustrated by his inability to adapt to what was, rather than what he wanted it to be. She could see that in a way it had been a relief for him to think that she was some kind of gold-digger and predator, like the other women he’d known.
Yet she had deliberately kept her sexual history a secret, hadn’t she? She couldn’t deny that. She’d done it because she’d wanted to hang onto the dream he’d been offering her. She had allowed herself to paint a false image of reality, to pretend it was the way she’d wanted it to be. It didn’t matter what her motives had been—that had been wrong. So it followed that she had an equal part to play in the breakdown of their marriage. Their brief love and the subsequent fall-out was intensely private. She would not blacken her husband’s name—not to anyone. How could she, when she still loved him?
Outside, the weather had been sunny and golden. It had been one of the best English summers on record and there had been times when Lily wished it had been otherwise. Wouldn’t it have reflected her mood if they’d had the usual downpours of rain, or a spot of unseasonal cold which meant you were tempted to put the heating on? As it was, she had no desire to go out and get some sun on her pale skin—or to join Danielle on a train trip down to the coast. It was bad enough having to listen to the loud revelry of the drinkers who were currently cluttering up the front of the pub next door.
Determined to make the windows look diamond-bright, she filled a bowl with hot water and placed it on the window sill, aware of how bare her neck felt without the tickle of a long strand of hair which occasionally used to tumble down. Her shorn hairstyle still took some getting used to and it made her smile when people who knew her did a double take when they first saw it. She’d been to the nearest big town and put herself in the hands of a hairdresser recommended by Danielle, emerging with her corn-coloured hair shaped close to her head and feathered around her face. After the initial shock, she was beginning to like it. It made her look different, yes—but maybe that was a good thing. She was different and there was no denying that. She’d been through a big, painful experience and something like that always changed people.
She cleaned and polished the windows, then opened them wide to let in some fresh air. Cars slid past on the road outside and as she listened to the rising laughter of drinkers outside The Duchess of Cambridge she wondered if she would always feel this way. Would she ever feel like part of the real world again, instead of someone who didn’t fit in? Or was she doomed to be one of those shadowy figures who always sat on the sidelines, for ever mourning their lost love?
She was just about to go and make some tea when her attention was caught by the sight of someone walking across the village green towards her. She blinked. An instantly recognisable man with jet-dark hair and a towering physique. He was wearing a snowy shirt and some fine grey trousers and the similarity to the first time she’d ever seen him was so marked that her heart clenched painfully in her chest.
Ciro!
Ciro?
She gripped the window sill for support, sucking in a ragged breath. Because it hurt to see him. It hurt because it reminded her of what she could have had. And because she still loved him.
His powerful stride quickly brought him beneath her window where he stopped and looked up to see her framed there and their eyes met in a long moment. She drank in the sight of him—the angled slant of his cheekbones and the thick lashes which made his dark eyes look so smoulderingly sexy. His hair gleamed like tar in the bright sunlight and his olive skin had a soft, golden glow. But his expression was grim as he nodded his head in greeting, like someone giving themselves a silent pep talk.
Lily was aware that the sound of the drinkers had died away and it seemed as if the whole world were silent and holding its breath, save for the birdsong which twittered through the air. She leaned forward, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he must be able to hear it. She opened her mouth to speak, trying to keep the quaver from her voice—to make herself sound stronger than she actually felt. Because she hoped she’d got through the worst of the hurt and she didn’t think she could bear to go through it all again. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘No ideas, Lily?’
‘The tearoom’s shut,’ she said flippantly.
‘I don’t give a damn about the tearoom. I’ve come to see you.’
She sucked in another breath. Hadn’t they said everything there was to say? Weren’t his team of fancy lawy
ers drawing up the wretched divorce papers even now? ‘Why?’
Ciro’s eyes narrowed. Her stark question was completely at odds with her delicate appearance and he paused as he studied a face made elfin by her new feathered hairstyle—flinching to think it had been his cruelty which had made her chop off her glorious hair. He’d had a statement planned—whole reams of things he’d intended to say when he saw her. But now all words failed him—except perhaps for the only ones which mattered.
‘I’ve come to say sorry.’
Lily felt dizzy, wondering if she’d imagined those words, but the unusually sombre expression on Ciro’s face told her she hadn’t. Dimly, she registered that there was still an unusual silence outside the The Duchess of Cambridge and how much the regulars would be loving this. She pulled herself together. ‘We can’t have this conversation here.’
‘Then you’d better come downstairs and let me in.’
Lily’s heart raced even though she felt a mild flare of irritation. So he’d lost none of his customary arrogance! But she felt weak as she went downstairs and weaker still when she opened the door and he looked at her with such longing and regret in his dark eyes that her heart turned over. Seeing him this close again made her realise how much she had missed him—in every way it was possible to miss a man. Her instinct was to hurl herself into those strong arms and let him hold her and tell her that everything was going to be okay, but she’d learnt by now that her instincts were often dangerous.
So she stepped aside to let him in, aware of his raw, tangy scent as he passed and realising that the small hallway was much too claustrophobic for any kind of conversation. That his compelling proximity might have her doing things she would later regret. And that she needed to put some real space between them. ‘You’d better come upstairs.’
Ciro followed her up the narrow stairway, trying not to be mesmerised by the sway of her bottom and the swish of her cotton dress as she walked. The pulse at his temple was hammering and the inside of his mouth felt like sand. Had he thought that the apology he’d uttered downstairs would be enough and that she would forgive him instantly? Maybe he had. He was not a man known for saying sorry and perhaps he had overestimated its effect on people.
He walked into the sitting room and saw that she had been working hard. New, flower-sprigged curtains hung at the windows and she had made some sort of throw which partially disguised the sofa bed. Over the fireplace hung a large and brightly coloured painting whose style he recognised instantly.
‘Jonny’s?’ he asked.
It wasn’t what she had been expecting him to say and she turned to him with a slightly puzzled look on her face. ‘Yes. How did you know?’
‘Because he sent me a postcard. He has a very recognisable technique.’
‘Have you come up here to discuss Jonny’s artistic merits?’
‘Actually, they do have some relevance on what I’m about to say.’
Lily’s eyes narrowed. ‘Now I’m intrigued.’
‘You sold your mother’s pearls to pay him through art school, didn’t you, Lily?’
Her eyes widened. ‘And if I did?’
‘Yet you turned down what was rightfully yours.’ He lowered his voice as he studied her closely. ‘A divorce settlement which meant you could have kept the necklace which meant so much to you.’
She shook her head and in that moment she could have pummelled her fists against him in frustration. ‘You just don’t get it, do you, Ciro? All your life you’ve seen things in terms of credit and debit. Everything for you is quantifiable. Everything has to have a price!’
‘But that’s where you’re wrong, Lily,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I do get it. I just wonder why it took me so long. You didn’t accept the settlement because you didn’t want to be beholden to me in any way.’
‘Oh, bravo,’ she applauded softly.
‘But it’s more than that. I suddenly realised that you don’t care about things as much as you care about people. That the most precious piece of jewellery in the world—even if it did have immense sentimental value—would mean nothing to you if it meant that your brother’s dreams were thwarted. So you sold the pearls to put Jonny through art school.’
Lily walked over to the window, but stood with her back to the view. ‘How did you find out?’
‘That postcard he sent was to thank me for funding his place. I realised then what you must have done.’
‘Okay, so now you know. But none of what you’ve told me tells me why you’re here, Ciro.’
Had he thought that might be enough? That his opening words of apology accompanied by an explanation might be sufficient for her to forgive him? Yes, he had. But he could see now that he had been wrong. That her blue gaze was very steady. He had hurt her badly, he realised—and she was scared he was going to hurt her again.
‘Because I’m sorry for having judged you so wrongly,’ he said savagely. ‘That I was right about you all along—that you aren’t like other women. And that there isn’t a predatory or mercenary bone in your beautiful body.’
Lily sucked in an unsteady breath. ‘Don’t—’
‘No, wait. I haven’t finished.’ He suddenly realised why he’d always damned the words ‘I love you’ as being too easy to say, because in a way—they were. But he also knew how important they were. That they meant so much—and especially to women. But right then, he discovered that they meant a lot to him, too.
‘I love you, Lily,’ he said simply. ‘And my life has been empty without you. I thought I’d be able to go back to the man I’d been before, but I can’t and, what’s more, I don’t want to. Because I am no longer that man. You have changed me, Lily. You’ve changed the way I think. The way I view the world—and other people in it.’
‘Ciro—’
‘Let me tell you this,’ he said urgently. ‘After you’d gone, the apartment seemed so … empty and I thought about everything you’d said about me and about my unforgiving nature. I sat there for a long time mulling it over and then I went to see my mother—’
She blinked in surprise. ‘You did?’
‘Yes, I did. For the first time in my life, I listened properly to what she had to say. I tried to see what had happened from an adult point of view, rather than a child’s. She asked for my forgiveness and I gave it to her and then I asked for hers, and she reciprocated. And I wept,’ he admitted, feeling the lump rise in his throat as he remembered the powerful emotion which had taken him by surprise. ‘But I was weeping for my own lost love as much as anything else. Can you believe that, Lily? Ciro D’Angelo shedding tears?’
She nodded. ‘Yes, I can—and so what? Tears don’t make you less of a man,’ she declared fiercely. ‘They make you more of a man. Because a man who is afraid of showing his feelings is an emotional coward and you’re no coward, Ciro!’
He walked over to the window to where she stood, her face working furiously as she tried to contain her own emotion. And he was staring at her as if it had been a lifetime since he’d seen her rather than a few short weeks. ‘My mother told me something I already knew—that you were the best thing that had ever happened to me and I had been a fool to let you go. But how could I have stopped you from going, when I had judged you so harshly? I realised I had to ask for your forgiveness—and to ask whether you’d consider coming back to me.’ For a moment he didn’t speak, but maybe that had something to do with the difficulty he was having framing these very important words. ‘To be my wife again, only this time—my wife in every sense there is. No pretence, Lily. Only honesty. And love. Enduring love.’
Lily bit her trembling lip. Surely he must have read the answer in eyes which were suddenly having to blink back tears of her own? But through her haze of gratitude that he had come to her like this, she realised that she must take her part of the blame. That Ciro should not bear all the burden of what had gone wrong.
‘I was wrong not to have told you I wasn’t a virgin.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said, feel
ing like a man who had been walking around half-asleep. How could he have ever thought it important enough to risk losing her?
‘I realise that it probably seemed like a deliberate deception, but that’s not how I ever intended it to be, Ciro. You see, I loved you so much that it felt like the first time and the only time for me. You made the past fade into something so insignificant, it was almost as if it had never happened.’
‘You loved me?’ he repeated, his eyes narrowing. ‘Past tense?’
‘I love you—present tense,’ she said softly. ‘Now and always. My darling Ciro. The man without whom I feel only half a person.’
For a moment he was too choked to speak. Too full of emotion to do anything but pull her into his arms and to hold her very tightly. At last he lowered his head and kissed her, as he’d dreamed of doing since that bleak day when she’d walked out of his life. When he had pushed her so far that there had been nowhere left for her to go.
But there was no need for her to run any more. No need for him to have to go and find her. From now on they would always be together—either here, or in Naples. Wherever they were didn’t matter, just as long as they were together. Because when they were together, any four walls became a place they could call home.
EPILOGUE
CIRO looked at the large canvas. ‘What’s it supposed to be?’
‘Don’t be so obtuse, darling,’ whispered Lily. ‘It’s you, of course. Jonny’s very proud of it—and all his tutors all love it. So you mustn’t say anything negative about it over lunch. Promise me.’
Ciro screwed up his eyes to observe a crudely drawn circle containing two black spots and a large splodge of orange, shaped like a carrot. He failed to see any resemblance to himself, indeed to anything at all—except perhaps for a snowman. But if the connoisseurs in the art world applauded it, then who was he to question their judgement?
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