He could feel the image forming more clearly. They would be a couple, a family, a little unit he’d protect and nurture. Coming home to each other, working together, spending time together, with all the fragments of his childhood blending to become his future.
Like a hot air balloon breaking free of its ties, his heart began to float upwards. Never before had he felt the grasp of joy so close at hand.
He looked at her. What an amazing woman... Every bit Giancarlo’s daughter, but so much more. She had more courage than her father. She would have gone ahead with motherhood alone—done it all without him. She could have turned her back on him and he would not have found it in his heart to hate her for it. But she was giving them all a chance to be together. He could see that so clearly and it filled him with love.
He felt the rush of the words in his mouth, but he stopped himself. Never before had he used them. He wasn’t afraid to say it, but he’d never found a woman he felt he could love. His mother had been his Madonna, and mortal women just didn’t come close.
But Coral...
Strong, beautiful, courageous Coral.
She was surely the one woman in the world for him. And she was going to marry him. Grudgingly, and only for the sake of their son, but she was going to marry him.
He couldn’t tell her that he loved her straight away. He would have to be sure he didn’t frighten her—or horrify her, the way he had when he’d proposed. Things were just beginning to fall into place. There was nothing to be gained from rash, emotional declarations now.
He steeled himself, reeling his feelings back in, closing them down and feeling reassuring self-containment descend upon him once again.
For a few moments the peaceful sounds of a couple breakfasting were all that could be heard, and that felt good. This was what it was going to be like. A normal, happy little family...
Then, with a whoosh of air, the maid opened the French doors just as the heavy throb of a jet’s engines roared its arrival. It tore through the quiet morning and they both turned their faces upwards, watching for a moment as the plane circled and then began to land.
Salvatore.
Raffaele’s buoyant heart sank with each hundred feet of the plane’s descent.
‘He’s here already?’ said Coral, turning to him, a look of resigned dread on her face.
‘Looks like it,’ he replied. ‘It has to be done, Coral. Things will feel better when this last piece of the jigsaw is in place.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ she said. ‘But something tells me the grand family reunion might not turn out to be what I imagine.’
She stood then, and shook her hair in that lioness way she had. She smoothed her hands over her bump and only then did he notice a slight tremor. Her fingers were shaking. She was right on the edge. Dear God, but he so wanted to hold her, kiss her, love her the way his gut was telling him to.
‘I’d better go and get ready. I’m twenty-five years late as it is.’
‘Coral—’ he said. But he spoke into the air.
She was already halfway to the door, thanking the maid warmly and then heading off down the hallway.
He turned and stared out through the open French doors, then in two strides made his way through them and out into the morning.
This was a meeting that was long overdue.
Once more he trotted down the cliffside path and along the curve of the bay to the old villa. The sky was clear and the morning brisk and fresh. His head was leaden with lack of sleep, but he knew that each step brought him closer to the end of his hurt and the beginning of his happiness.
The dogs trotted by his side, as they always did. Their ears were back—they felt the strain, too. Through the patchy scrub of the hedgerows a motorbike thundered past.
He felt the fist around his heart tighten.
He mounted the steps to the portico, clicked his fingers and the dogs dropped to the ground. But even as he entered he could feel the buzz of tension that Salvatore always carried with him.
The whole house was on edge. Staff scuttled past him, their eyes flicking him a smile but their heads bowed. He walked on through the hallway—past the Testinos and the ghosts of the fashion shoot.
He found him in the lounge, his face buried in his phone.
‘Ciao, Salvatore.’
‘What do you make of this place? Amateurs—all of them,’ he said, barely glancing up. ‘I fly two thousand miles and Chef isn’t even here with my favourite dishes. He’s at yours, I’m told. What’s going on, Raffa? You don’t normally pull rank.’
Raffaele walked in slowly, taking his place in the centre of the room.
‘You were expected tonight. We arrived last night, so Chef was with us. This morning I had fruit on my porridge. It made a pleasant change.’
‘We? Us?’ Salvatore said uninterestedly.
He threw himself down on the leather sofa and lay back, his dirty heels on the white calfskin—a pathetic little act of defiance against Giancarlo’s rules. But he didn’t raise his eyes, and for once Raffa let it slide.
‘Anyway, I’m glad you’re here early. I have news.’
‘Yeah? Have you signed the business over to me? That’s the only news I’m interested in.’
‘I’m going to be a father.’
Salvatore’s fingers stilled. Finally he looked up. The scowl over his eyes darkened. His mouth thinned, and then broke into a mocking smile.
‘You are? Well, well... I must admit that was the last news I expected to hear. But, bravo. I take it you were as surprised as me? We can all be a little careless at times, I suppose. Who’s the mummy? Anyone I know?’
Raffaele held his fury tight, like a ball of white-hot light in his hand.
‘Actually, you do know her. You recall the photographer? Coral Dahl? The one you felt had delusions of being your half-sister? The one I threw off the island to please you?’
Salvatore’s whole face blanched. Then his brows sank lower over his eyes. He swung his legs to the floor and stood. His hands formed into fists and Raffaele braced himself for combat.
But Salvatore was smarter than that. He turned his face and walked away. ‘I can’t believe this.’
‘I need that issue to be resolved.’
‘What issue?’
‘The issue of her paternity. I need a swab or a blood sample from you, Salvatore. I’m sure you want to know the truth as much as I do.’
Gold-digging bitch—that had been the last thing Salvatore had called her when Raffaele had told him that he’d dealt with her that night. If Salvatore dared use the same language now he would rip his head off. But he didn’t. He knew better.
Salvatore turned. Outside, the white trail of a speedboat tore a slice in the sea. Sunbeams settled into a carpet of white light across the water. The Adriatic winter was as peaceful as ever. But inside it was as if hell had spewed its thick air into the room.
They paced like two dogs braced to fight.
‘You’re seriously going to believe that scheming little opportunist against your own family? After all my father did for you? He would be disgusted, Raffa. If he’d wanted her to be in his life he would have brought her here! But he didn’t. I can’t believe you let your head be turned so easily. Just because she slept with you. And after all your lectures to me!’
‘Careful what you say, Salvatore. Coral and I are having a child together. Regardless of what Giancarlo did, the fact remains that she is most probably your half-sister. So don’t push me too far on this one, because you won’t like where my sympathies lie.’
He forced himself not to move as Salvatore punched his own fist and then walked to the fireplace, his head buried in his hands. A wail came as if from deep in his stomach and it was hideous.
Then he turned and threw himself back down on the sofa. ‘Raffa,
I can’t believe that you, of all people, are going to turn against me too. After everything I’ve been through. I thought you were the one person I could rely on.’
Salvatore sat sobbing, elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He turned an anguished face to Raffa, flushed and garish.
‘My life is in ruins. All those years of having to share Papa. Of never being good enough. Every day being compared to you, being told I must live up to you. Do you know how much I hated it when you came? Every single day was hellish for me—hellish.’
Raffaele swallowed. He knew this story. It was the best form of emotional blackmail and one that Salvatore always dished up when he felt cornered. But the worst thing about it was that it was true.
‘Have you any idea how it feels to not even be given my own inheritance? To not be trusted with my own money? And now you’re going to tell me there’s someone else waiting to take my place. She’s turned you against me, too.’
‘It’s not like that, Salvatore,’ he began. ‘This isn’t about you. Coral has missed out on so much, but we’re focussing on the future—not the past. Your inheritance is intact, and nothing will change between us.’
‘How can you say that? Of course it will change. As soon as she gets her results she’ll want a slice of Argento. Every single thing we’ve had as a family will be obliterated by her. Nothing will ever be the same again.’
Raffa watched the pitiful sight of Salvatore, his promise to Giancarlo churning in his mind. Of course he would never abandon him. He was weak. He needed support. But he was a grown man. Some day he had to learn to stand on his own two feet.
‘Nothing will change. Coral isn’t interested in Argento. She’s a creative. She’ll work with me at Romano. There’s nothing for you to worry about, Salvatore.’
He said the words confidently, but unease gripped his throat. They’d not discussed anything properly, but she’d been dead against having anything to do with the Di Viscontis. Surely that included Argento?
Salvatore stood. He paced forward and reached out both arms in the dramatic way he used when he wanted to drive home a victory.
Raffa swallowed his distaste.
‘Well, that’s different. That’s entirely different. Do you promise, Raffa? That Argento will be mine?’
‘I’m dealing with one thing at a time,’ he said, with Coral’s words echoing in his ears. ‘First the DNA sample. Then I want you to come to say hello. Coral is expecting us and I really want this to go well, Salvatore. There’s a hell of a lot riding on it.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
I COULD GET used to this, thought Coral, reclining in a chair as one maid worked on her hair while the other painted her toes. As they chatted happily in Greek, she heard more staff arriving, trundling rails of clothes into the dressing room to be unpacked.
The whole island was clearly delighted that Raffaele was back for a few days. He rarely came at this time of year, and it was a pleasure for them to see him. Of the whole family, he was clearly everyone’s favourite.
Tell me something I don’t know, she thought. This whole thing would be so much easier if he wasn’t.
She opened her eyes and stared back at the woman in the mirror. Despite what she’d told Raffa she’d barely slept, tossing and turning all night, her mind still rammed with a thousand thoughts. Wondering if he would come to her...wondering what she would do if he did.
Her resolve not to be his temporary sex toy was now rendered completely moot. Their marriage would be consummated—of that there was no doubt. And she’d be a liar if she said she wasn’t looking forward to that aspect of their union.
But what else about their marriage would be normal?
In the darkest hours, waves of self-pity had almost engulfed her. Here she was on her father’s island—but not because he had ever wanted her here. Her father had never wanted her at all. It was as if she had gatecrashed his private world, despite all his efforts to keep her out.
And she was marrying the man almost every woman in publishing fantasised over. Why? Not because he loved her, but because she had trapped him. She had got herself pregnant and, because he was who he was, he’d stepped up and done ‘the right thing’. Those were the words she could hear echoing round the publishing world.
Made a name for herself? She sure had.
But she had made her decision. Raffa had been right all along. It really didn’t matter what anyone else thought. What mattered was securing her child’s future. Raffa wanted marriage. And, try as she might, there was not a single fibre of her being that could deny that she wanted it too.
As she’d lain back in bed, staring at the ceiling, she’d allowed herself to imagine flashes of the days ahead. It was like dipping a spoon in honey, twirling it round and letting it drizzle down her throat, savouring its sweetness.
But she was a realist. That delicious future could disappear as quickly as it had come. There were no guarantees—no absolutes. So she would not sit back and let this all be on Raffa’s terms. She would swallow her self-pity and find every single opportunity to gain her own independence.
Claiming her share of the Di Visconti inheritance was something she’d never have been able to do for herself. Her pride wouldn’t have let her. But claiming her son’s share? She’d fight tooth and nail to get that.
Yes, she’d make a name for herself, all right.
The maids moved around her, still giggling and chatting away. Her left hand was lifted to begin a massage, and they all stared down at the elegant yellow diamond. They sighed theatrically and smiled, and she sighed theatrically and played along with their little game.
She’d promised herself that she wouldn’t torment herself with wondering what a real proposal would be like. After sticking that dagger in her own heart and twisting it around a few times she had consigned it to the ‘Don’t go there’ list for evermore.
She closed her eyes and let the maids finish their pampering while she got her head around the next thing on her agenda. What a morning it had been so far—and it wasn’t even ten a.m.
She’d cut Mariella off at the pass by phoning her at seven with the news. Making her the first to know and involving her in some of the planning was a shortcut to gaining her loyalty, but Salvatore wasn’t going to be quite so easy to win over. He’d already made it plain that any half-sister was one too many.
Well, too bad. Nobody could change the past. All they could do was make the best out of the future. And, since they were going to be working together, she was going to give this meeting her best shot.
No matter how it went, she’d already arranged for a legal team to look after her affairs.
Suddenly the maids stopped chattering. The house seemed to pause. Doors sounded and voices rose.
They were here.
She felt her heart pound and all her muscles tense. The maid let go of her hand gently, and when she opened her eyes they were both scuttling off down the hallway.
Slowly her breathing settled. She scraped back the chair and focused once more on the room around her.
There was the bed she’d slept in just before she’d been asked to leave the island. There was the simple, beech chair where the red dress had been draped and the painful shoes had been dropped. On the bedside table was the lamp, now unlit, and the photograph of people she now knew to be Raffa’s mother and father. Along the hallway she could hear the rumble of male voices—just like that night.
She stood up, dropped her shoulders and smoothed her dress. She touched a hand to her hair, then her bump and fleetingly twisted her diamond ring around her finger. This time she wasn’t going to run into an ambush.
Along the passageway she went, her clicking heels announcing her arrival. They were both standing—Raffa close to Aphrodite’s Pool and Salvatore leaning moodily against the wall.
‘Hello, Salvatore,�
�� she said, walking right up to him, hand outstretched, with a smile as broad as she could muster on her face. ‘It’s lovely to meet you properly at last.’
He turned. His face formed something that she assumed he thought was a smile.
‘Coral. Welcome back to Hydros.’
‘Lovely to be here, thank you. Did you have a good flight from Sydney?’
He narrowed his eyes and then he swung round.
‘I can’t do this, Raffa. I’m not going to pretend that this is right. This isn’t what Papa would have wanted.’
Raffa stepped up. ‘None of us know what Giancarlo really wanted. We don’t know what it was like for him to know he had another child and not be able to do the right thing by everybody. But we are going to put right what we can, Salvatore. In the only way possible.’
He walked forward as he spoke, one step at a time, and each word was fearsome and forceful.
Coral’s mouthful of retort was held in check for a moment.
‘You’re not being true to his memory, Raffa! You’re just being blinded by this because she’s dangling the carrot of your own little family right in front of your eyes. It’s all a trap—to make me look bad and her look good. Don’t you see?’
‘You’ve done a wonderful job of looking bad without anyone’s help,’ Coral sliced in. ‘I thought you would have the good grace to apologise for what you did, but I can see that I was hoping for too much.’
‘Salvatore, I warned you not to cross the line—’ said Raffa.
‘Raffa, I can handle this. He has to hear it from me!’ Coral interrupted.
But Salvatore ignored her, rounding on Raffa as if he was the only one in the room.
‘She’s the one to blame. We were fine before she lied her way onto the island. I know I’ve been difficult, but do you blame me? You know how hard it’s been for me, Raffa!’
‘We’ve never been “fine”. I warned you, Salvatore. I told you where my loyalties lie. Now, give me a DNA sample and get out of here!’
The Consequence She Cannot Deny Page 14
