The Consequence She Cannot Deny

by Bella Frances

  Coral’s hand flew to her mouth as Raffa lifted Salvatore by the collar and hauled him, ankles dragging on the ground, past the pool and out towards the terrace. Salvatore’s limbs flailed as he tried to score punches. They reached the glass doors and she gasped as his body was flung against them. The chandelier’s beads jittered. The dogs stood on alert by Raffa’s feet, poised to attack.

  Coral turned away as a sob rose in her throat. It was too hideous to watch. Her own flesh and blood and he hated her so much.

  She began to retrace her steps, but in a heartbeat Raffa was at her side. She was in his arms, and he was holding her close. She clutched at his shirt and he smoothed his hand over her head.

  ‘Shh...shh... It’s OK. He’s gone. He won’t be back. I’m so sorry. I really thought he would be ready to meet you at least.’

  ‘I don’t understand—he wouldn’t even give me a moment.’

  ‘Don’t criticise yourself. We tried. We did our best. And I’ve got the sample.’

  He held out the phial and tucked it in his pocket.

  ‘Why does he hate me so much? What did I ever do to him?’

  ‘You did nothing. You have nothing to be ashamed of. It’s always been this way. He hates me, too. Don’t take it personally!’ He let a tiny laugh lace his words and it eased her, just for a moment.

  ‘If he hates me now, how is he going to feel when I file papers over the will?’

  She felt Raffa’s body tense.

  He stepped back from her. ‘What do you mean? You don’t need to do that. I have more than enough. Maybe you don’t know how much Romano is worth, but it’s billions.’

  ‘I can’t leave it. You told me that in another month the whole estate will be settled. This is the only chance I have of putting things right.’

  ‘You’ve no idea what you’re saying, Coral. There’s no need for this. All it will do is completely ruin Argento while you both fight it out in the courts. Salvatore will never surrender anything to you without a fight. You know that!’

  He walked away to the window. She’d never seen him so angry. His shoulders were tense and his mouth was tense. His eyes blazed like lit gas. But she wasn’t going to let herself be cowed by his anger.

  ‘I’ve spent my whole life wondering who my father was, comparing myself to everyone else and coming off worst every time. Thinking I didn’t deserve any happiness because I wasn’t good enough. And now I find out what he was really like and—guess what? Turns out I’m not so bad after all. But Salvatore getting it all? I don’t think so.’

  ‘You do not need to do this. I don’t want any harm to come to you.’

  ‘What does that mean? You sound as if I should be worried. He doesn’t frighten me. He’s just a spoiled brat.’

  ‘He’s still your half-brother,’ he said, his words laced with a trace of anger.

  ‘You’re the one who pointed out to me that I have responsibilities! I’m not doing this for me, Raffaele. I’m doing this for my baby and my mother—who is a shell of the woman she should have been.’

  ‘Remember that your baby is my baby—and he doesn’t need a penny of Di Visconti money. And your mother surely can’t lay all the blame for her mental health at Giancarlo’s door. Plenty of people have love affairs that don’t work out, but it doesn’t ruin their whole lives.’

  ‘Yes, they have love affairs that don’t work out—but they’re not denied and ignored. I’m not saying that this is the only reason she’s ill, but it didn’t help. She got nothing from him. Nothing! Salvatore should have been on his knees begging forgiveness when he found out who I was, instead of having me thrown off this island.’

  ‘Salvatore has his own demons.’

  ‘Salvatore is an ass! And you’ve been covering it up for years—plastering over the cracks of this family because you feel that you might have caused some of them.’

  His eyes blazed. Colour sprang high on his cheeks.

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Yes, I do. You just can’t accept that someone can see through all the smoke and mirrors. The amazing Di Viscontis. It’s all rubbish—the whole family is fake. The doting husband who has an affair, the amazingly successful son who is actually an incompetent fool. And you’re so paranoid about anyone finding out that you cover it up!’

  Suddenly another grotesque thought loomed in her mind. Was this marriage just another huge public relations manoeuvre?

  ‘Is that what this wedding is really about? Oh, my God. Please don’t tell me that this is just your attempt to keep the maverick illegitimate daughter under control. In case anyone finds out who I really am before you get a chance to write the press release!’

  He walked away, running his hands through his hair. He raised his hands to the sky and muttered in Italian. Paced back towards her and held her by the arms.

  ‘Is that what you think of me? You think I would marry you to prevent some unflattering news coming out? You’re going to be my wife and you have learned nothing about me?’

  She faltered and stared. Her eyes painted every line of his beautiful masculine face, every angle of his physique. She was falling deeper and deeper in love. There was no parachute, no safety net. If he was only doing this out of pride, she was going to crash and turn to dust.

  ‘All I’m saying is that I don’t want a marriage just to save face. It’s wrong.’

  She had to say it. She meant every word.

  He slid his hand down to cup her face.

  ‘It’s not about saving face. It’s because you’re the best mother for our child.’

  She shook her head. Tears sprang in her eyes.

  ‘I don’t need to be married to be a good mother. A husband is supposed to love his wife. Not see her as a glorified nanny. It’s love that binds a family together. Not duty. I was brought up in a tiny family, but there was so much love. You had all this—’ She cast her arm out. ‘But I truly don’t know if you had any love. And if there’s no love then there’s nothing.’

  Tears were thick and glassy in her eyes now. She had no more will to fight.

  ‘What are you saying, Coral? That you don’t want it now? You’ve changed your mind?’

  She looked up at him. Her chin wobbled uncontrollably and her throat burned.

  She shook her head. ‘What is ahead for us, Raffaele?’

  ‘Trust me! You have to trust me. I know what I’m doing. You’re the right woman for me—I know that deep down.’

  ‘I so want to believe that, Raffa,’ she whispered. ‘I really do.’

  ‘Let me show you.’

  He bent his head and kissed her.

  The sobs that had gathered in her throat sighed away as his lips found hers.

  ‘You’re the most amazing woman.’

  He held her face in his hands and she looked up into eyes etched with care. His took her hand, put it to his lips and kissed it. In that gesture, with the warmth and weight of the soft press of his lips on her skin, it was as if he’d found her Achilles’ heel. As if she’d been pierced and the last of her fight had fizzled away.

  ‘I’ve never met anyone like you. Your spirit, your integrity...’

  And then he kissed her again. Gently, softly, and with such care. His lips pressed against hers, and when she began to respond he demanded more. Her body began to sing. He pulled her closer, but carefully. She felt each press of his hands, softly soothing her skin.

  ‘Your beauty...’

  He slid his hands down her arms and pulled her close. Then he wrapped his arms around her and she sighed into the embrace, feeling for the first time how it could be, how it should be. Mother, father and baby—one little unit. It felt so right, so incredibly perfect.

  They stood, rocking slightly together, relearning each other’s touch and scent, and her care
s were soothed away with each passing second.

  Suddenly the dogs started to bark. Cars rolled onto the driveway.

  Her eyes flew open. ‘My lawyers.’

  ‘Send them away. You don’t need them,’ he said, kissing her again. ‘We’ll have more than enough. Don’t start fighting Salvatore. It’s not worth it.’

  He started walking her back towards the bedroom, still kissing her. Her body ached for his hands, his lips.

  ‘Raffa...’ she breathed.

  The dogs started to bark louder. She heard voices. Car doors closed and she looked through the windows at the small team of people, all dressed in black and grey, exiting the cars.

  ‘I need to see them.’

  ‘You don’t need to do anything. I can handle everything for us.’

  She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I told you. This is my condition. I want to make things right. My whole existence has been denied by the Di Viscontis and there’s only a few weeks left to put it right. My son deserves everything. Not just half of everything.’

  He stepped away and she sensed the coldness return. The shades went down over his eyes again.

  ‘You’re going to cause a war.’

  ‘I’m going to stand up to Salvatore, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘I’ll deal with Salvatore.’ His tone was sharp.

  She fumed and breathed in deeply. ‘I’ll deal with Salvatore!’ she spat back. ‘Just like I’ll deal with all my own problems. If you can’t handle that, then don’t marry me!’

  His eyes flashed and he took two more steps. Fury roared from his body, held back as the harbour wall held back the ocean. But she could see it—the points of colour on his cheeks, the grim set of his jaw and the proud lines of his chest.

  ‘You have no idea what you’re saying.’

  ‘Yes, I do! I will not have the world filtered and sanitised because you think I can’t cope with it. I will be your equal partner—in everything! Or I won’t be your partner at all.’

  ‘You’ve no idea what you’re saying, Coral,’ he repeated, more loudly.

  ‘I’m saying what I feel is right, from the bottom of my heart. I want nothing more than justice for us all.’

  ‘You want too much.’

  His eyes were the clearest blue she had ever seen. His face, at that moment, had never looked more sorrowful, more beautiful. More utterly unattainable.

  ‘Yes, I do. And I won’t apologise for it.’

  ‘Do you think going on the warpath is going to help our son?’ He shook his head. ‘A child needs a parent who is focused on them—not someone who is tearing up the world, trying to prove a point.’

  ‘If I don’t have the qualities you think I need to be your wife, then call it off.’

  Her throat closed over the words. Her eyes burned with tears.

  He stared at her, fierce and unforgiving. ‘Oh, you’re good, Coral. Very good. But be careful. If you push me too far...’

  He shook his head and walked out, the dogs at his heels.

  Coral walked to the pool and stared into the glassy surface.

  The door banged closed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE VILLA MONTEROSSINI sat in the very heart of Rome, surrounded by topiary gardens to the front, sunken gardens to the rear and paved walkways that stretched in a criss-cross of lines across sweeping lawns. Screens of perfectly pruned trees and high stone walls kept it a secret from any passing traffic or perambulating tourists.

  From the second floor, through vast floor-to-ceiling windows, Coral gazed out, her eyes landing on the fountain that bubbled and flowed, sprinkling each laughing cherub with delicate spray and sending rainbows in a haze all around.

  What a beautiful day to be married, she thought, sipping the last of her tea and stepping back from the windows into the silk-carpeted dressing room. What a beautiful, wretched day.

  The house was already buzzing with the barely contained wonder and delight of the elite teams who’d just arrived, laden with all the accoutrements of their trades and ready to work their magic in this, the grandest villa of its kind in Rome.

  She could hear whispered gasps and muffled giggles from the hallway, as a team of people set up flowers and hung swathes of fabric. In the dressing room next door she could hear the hair and beauty team relaxing and joking between themselves, telling stories about who’d had too much to drink in the hotel the night before. Along the hallway came the high shrill tones of the housekeeper, slicing the air with instructions in very terse Italian.

  She walked to the sideboard, ready to replace her cup and saucer on the gilt tray, and a maid came up immediately, ready to refill it. She smiled and waved her away.

  It was impossible to want for anything in this house. In the three days since she’d arrived the staff had anticipated her every wish. There were fresh flowers in every room, scented oils in her bath and every tasty morsel imaginable to tempt her. They flattered her and spoiled her rotten.

  Everyone was going out of their way to make her feel at home. Everyone except the signor himself.

  From the moment she’d defied him and met with her lawyers he had closed down and headed off to Shanghai. He’d spoken on the phone to her each evening in quick, monosyllabic sentences, checking firstly her health, then her movements that day, and finally any comments she might have about the baby.

  He’d told her the positive result of the second DNA test as if it was yesterday’s weather forecast. And she had responded just as matter-of-factly.

  He had never asked how she’d got on with the lawyers and she had never offered him any information. She’d kept back the fact that they’d told her she had a very good case.

  They’d talked her through the whole process—what could go well and what might not. She’d seen the accounts, the years of work that had gone into building the cruise line from a tiny fleet to an international behemoth.

  In recent years its growth had doubled and doubled again. Everyone acknowledged that Raffa was behind it, and yet he took nothing from the business—not even a director’s salary. And so the seeds of doubt that she should claim any of it had been sown.

  Still, papers had been drawn up in readiness for her final decision. And soon she would give it—soon. As soon as the wedding was over.

  Finally the day had come.

  Her mother would be arriving within the hour, following the most difficult phone call of her life. She walked to the sofa and sat down heavily, thinking of her mother’s imminent arrival. She had expected tears and grief, but it seemed that a wedding could solve almost everyone’s worries.

  Lynda had expressed concern for Coral, and sought reassurances that she knew what she was doing. Then, just as she had been about to hang up, grateful that the whole ordeal was out in the open, she’d asked that final gut-wrenching question.

  ‘Do you love him?’

  Her mouth had formed the word before her mind had had a chance to catch up.

  ‘Yes,’ she’d blurted, tears springing in her eyes.

  ‘Well, that’s all that matters, then.’

  But I don’t think he loves me back, she’d whispered to herself.

  She couldn’t tell her mother that.

  She could barely admit it to herself.

  So Lynda Dahl would be walking with a spring in her step for the first time in twenty-five years. And Coral would be dragging her satin-covered heels all the way to the altar.

  ‘Are you ready to bathe?’ a maid asked, her face beaming with undisguised joy. ‘There are less than three hours before the wedding starts!’

  Coral smiled and stood up slowly.

  ‘First I must check in with Chef about the food, and make sure everyone has everything they need.’

  The maid laughed. ‘It’s all taken ca
re of. Come. Anyone would think you didn’t want to get married!’

  The maid pulled at her hands gently and she went along with her through the hallway, where the tables were now overflowing with huge arrangements of white roses, gardenias and lilies. The staircase that swept down to the ground floor was dotted with simple, voluminous white satin bows, and all along the passageway to the glass-walled garden room ivy and roses trailed prettily above elegant arrangements of candles.

  In less than three hours those seats would be filled with the great and the good of international high society—and a scattering of London artists.

  She and Raffaele would stand before God and make promises and she would mean every word—because she knew now that nothing would be the same again. No man could fill every pore of her being with love the way this man did. He would slip a ring on her finger and they would kiss and it would all be one big loveless transaction.

  She walked into the master bedroom where the four-poster bed was draped in the finest ivory silk. She walked past the mannequin that held her dress and wished that she were as wooden. She walked past the beauticians, who beamed as they arranged their make-up boxes, brushes and pots into a garish rainbow.

  On she went into the bathroom. Through the steam she saw the huge egg-shaped bath on gilt feet, two-thirds full of water and slick with scented oil that she knew would be absolutely perfect.

  Everything in her world was absolutely perfect. Almost.

  She slipped her feet out of her slippers, stood beside the bath and allowed herself to be disrobed.

  When she stepped out of the bath she’d be ready to become a wife. A wife to Raffaele, the most eligible man in the media world. The most eligible man in Italy. Handsome, enigmatic and wealthy beyond her wildest dreams. A man of immense honour and integrity. A man who would sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of others. A man whose nearness set her body ablaze, whose lips could caress her into a frenzy of longing. A man whose mind and heart she loved dearly.

  She stepped in the water and sank down into its warmth. Sank down miserably into her fate.