Rossellini's Revenge Affair

by Yvonne Lindsay

  They turned down another side road and travelled only a few minutes before slowing in front of a gated driveway. The Realtor leaned out the car window to punch in a series of numbers onto a security pad at the gate and the elaborate wrought iron fencing slowly slid away to one side. A pale terracotta coloured ribbon of driveway lay ahead, flanked with cypresses topiaried into military precision. He gestured for them to follow and they travelled in slow procession down the drive.

  Stretching away to either side were groves of trees that Lana couldn’t immediately identify, but as they pulled up in the large circular driveway, punctuated by an elaborate marble fountain, her pent up nerves released on an ecstatic sigh. The two-storied Tuscan styled villa sprawled with architectural elegance in front of them. If Lana hadn’t known for a fact they were still in New Zealand she would have felt as though they’d been transported to the Italian countryside.

  Inside the house they weren’t disappointed. Formal rooms stretched with airy grace onto a huge cobbled patio at the rear where a long rectangular pool reflected the winter sun with dappled invitation and large terracotta pots planted with ornamental fruit trees stood sentinel at the base of each arch of the covered patio off the family room.

  The Realtor watched them traverse the downstairs rooms with an indulgent smile.

  “Mr Rossellini, when you mentioned you were interested in property where you could experiment with organically grown olive trees I couldn’t believe my ears. This property has just come on the market in a deceased estate. The original owner was a powerful advocate for organic methods and the trees are mature and fruiting and there are several other growers in the area who supply fruit also.” He rattled off yield figures and talked some more about the press and bottling facility that was also situated on the property. “The family are keen to sell as a going concern rather than parcel off the land.”

  Raffaele fired question after question at the Realtor while Lana continued her exploration of the ground floor rooms, then made her way upstairs. The master bedroom suite almost covered a third of the entire upper floor. She hurried through the bedroom, averting her eyes from the super king sized bed dominating the room and past the his-and-hers walk-in closets to the master bathroom. The bathroom was more ornate and well appointed than anything she’d ever seen outside of a lifestyle magazine. She drifted a hand across the edge of the large whirlpool tub mounted on a slight pedestal in front of glass-paned doors which opened onto a private balcony. It would be bliss to relax in here of a summer evening with the doors open to a sparkling night sky. The tub was more than large enough for two.

  A sharp pang of longing tightened deep inside her and an all too vivid picture of Raffaele’s tanned body, lying supine in heated rushing water, burned across her imagination. She shook her head slightly to clear it of the image. How did he do that to her? How did he invade her thoughts so she imagined him naked, imagined touching him, sliding her hands along the length of his legs and higher to his hips, his groin.

  “No!” She spun away from the bath and moved swiftly through the master suite and across the upper level to the opposite wing where the other accommodations were.

  She cursorily inspected the other three upstairs bedrooms, each with their own bathroom and view over the property in a different direction. Combined with the guest suite she’d seen downstairs the house boasted more than enough space for herself, Raffaele and one tiny baby.

  She drifted back down the wide curved staircase and followed the sound of the men’s voices as they stood outside on the patio. Raffaele turned to acknowledge her presence with one raised brow. His sharp grey eyes impaled her as he spoke and she almost felt as though he could see where her wayward thoughts had led in the master bathroom. Heat rose up her neck and bloomed in her cheeks.

  “The property is suitable. I will take it.”

  Lana halted in her tracks. Just like that? She flicked a glance at the Realtor who looked like he’d suddenly died and gone to heaven. She could only begin to imagine the commission on a sale like this one.

  “Are you certain?” She asked, a tiny waver in her voice. He had to be talking a couple of million dollars here, at the very least.

  He stiffened. “There is something you don’t like?”

  “No—no, there’s nothing. I just thought you might want to see the whole property before you made up your mind, that’s all.”

  “I have seen enough to satisfy me. As it is a deceased estate I will take all the furnishings as well. I can replace anything not suitable.”

  The Realtor scurried out to his car to get the paperwork ready to be signed. It was obvious the guy could barely believe his luck. They completed the necessities in a modicum of time, the trustees for the estate having happily accepted Raffaele’s offer over the telephone. It was agreed, until settlement could occur, Raffaele would lease the property and they could move in within the next week.

  Lana looked around her. This would be her home for however long Raffaele’s parenting order took to take precedence over her guardianship. As far as she could see in either direction the land would be Raffaele’s. The olive grove was substantial and, if the figures the Realtor had been quoting were genuine, the property was self-sustaining with a growing market already well-established.

  “It is beautiful, si?”

  “Very beautiful. I can’t believe you negotiated that so quickly.”

  “Negotiated? No. I do not negotiate. I made an offer that was more than fair. The family of the past owner wins, and I win too.”

  He swivelled around taking in the panoramic vista. If it were not for the different light in this part of the world he could almost fool himself that he was again back in the land of his birth. What he wouldn’t give to be able to bring his mother and sister here. To make a fresh start for all of them.

  Grief gripped his heart in a cold tight fist. Dreams such as those were self-destructive. One should never wish for what could never be; he reminded himself with the staunch practicality that had seen him rebuild his family’s fortune after his father’s poor decisions. It would have to be enough that he could provide this home for his niece. Already he could see her playing here amongst the trees as she grew up.

  Between this property and his vast estate in Italy, Maria’s daughter would want for nothing. She’d have freedom, security and everything his money could buy.

  A movement on the periphery of his sight reminded him he was not alone. Lana. What did she think, he wondered. With the very obvious display of the power of his money in making this transaction happen so quickly did she think herself in line for some of it too? He fervently hoped so. The pittance he’d agreed to pay her to stay and act as guardian to the baby would not even scratch the surface of his wealth. She had no idea of what she was dealing with.

  “Come, we will return in a few days. We must head back now to the city.”

  “Will you get an inventory of the furnishings and chattels?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “We will need to order new sheets, towels—all sorts of things.”

  Raffaele fought to quell the surge of anger that rose within him—already she was spending his money, although, as much as it galled him to admit it, he had to concede that she was correct. The items she’d mentioned were necessary.

  “You can get the lists she needs?” Raffaele asked the Realtor.

  “Yes, certainly. I’ll fax them through to you at your hotel in the morning.”

  “Thank you. That would be acceptable. If that is all, we should go now.”

  The soles of his shoes clicked on the tiled patio as he walked towards her and took her arm to lead her back through the house. They waited in the portico at the front entrance as the Realtor reset the alarm system and locked the front door. The man reached out a hand to Raffaele.

  “Thank you, Mr Rossellini, it’s been a pleasure doing business with you.” He turned to Lana to also shake her hand. “Mrs Rossellini.”

  Raffaele’s back went ramrod stra
ight. “She is not my wife,” he corrected the Realtor in a voice that growled ominously in the semi-enclosed area.

  “I do apologise.”

  Raffaele nodded his curt acceptance of the man’s apology and opened the car door for Lana, ushering her inside. No, a woman like Lana Whittaker could never be his wife. He liked his women filled with warmth and passion. Not cold and calculating and driven by money. While Lana’s response to him the other night showed she had passion buried deep within her, and physically she called to him on a base level, he could not forgive her for clinging to a marriage long dead and the resulting carnage that had caused.

  Without another word he walked around to the driver’s side of the car and slid in behind the steering wheel. As he reached to fasten his seat belt his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. His stomach dropped. The only people who knew to contact him on this number were the hospital staff and his younger brother in Italy. It would be the small hours of the morning for Vincenzo—it could not be him. Raffaele quickly flipped the phone open and recognised the number immediately—the hospital. He answered with growing dread.

  As he closed the phone moments later and slid it into his pocket he leaned back in the car seat and rested his head against the head rest with a deep sigh. The news was better than he’d hoped for. Maria had stabilised sufficiently to be airlifted to Auckland hospital first thing tomorrow morning.

  “Raffaele? Is…is everything okay?”

  “Maria is being transferred to Auckland, tomorrow.”

  “Transferred? But why? Surely—”

  “What? Surely she should remain in Wellington, where you can continue to ignore your responsibility? I don’t think so.”

  “That wasn’t what I meant at all.” Lana’s blue-green eyes sparked in indignation. “Is it safe to move her?”

  “Do you think I would do anything to hasten my sister’s death?”

  “No, of course not. I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” Lana’s hands fluttered helplessly in her lap before she knit her fingers together in a knot.

  Raffaele took in another deep breath and rubbed wearily at his eyes. “I’m sorry, Lana. It has been a difficult few days. For all of us.”

  She shot him a look almost as if she didn’t believe the sudden warmth in his voice. He felt her begin to relax when she realised he’d meant what he said. It had been a difficult few days—for everyone. And it didn’t look as though it would become any simpler any time soon, he conceded. They would continue to live on a knife’s edge until the child was born. Until Maria was dead. He clenched his jaw tight before continuing.

  “It is better for the baby to be born here in Auckland. The services in Wellington are stretched to their limit. The doctors have recommended Maria be transferred to ensure the baby’s safety.”

  “Do you…?” her voice trailed off uncertainly.

  “Do I what?”

  “Do you want me to come with you—to the hospital?”

  Her offer surprised him. He examined her face carefully, trying to understand where her question had come from, but her features remained empty of emotion. Did she feel nothing about the impending arrival of his sister—the woman who’d supplanted her in her husband’s affections—that she could ask such a question in such an unaffected way? If she did, she hid it well.

  “No. That will not be necessary. While the doctors are certain that Maria’s brain injury has left her in a condition where she cannot sense or understand what is happening around her, I do not wish to take the risk that she is aware of your presence.”

  Lana broke off eye contact with him and stared out the windscreen to the driveway ahead of them. “I understand,” she murmured quietly.

  Raffaele muttered a curse under his breath and started up the car to begin their journey back to the city. So, she thought she understood, did she? He gripped the steering wheel between tightened fingers. Her detachment was absolute proof that she had no idea of the damage she had wrought, nor of her acceptance of her guilt. A more rational man might feel sorry for her, that she could be so coldly unemotional. He did not feel very rational right now.

  Eight

  Rational or not he knew there were practicalities to be taken care of. The fact that Lana only had two outfits, and both of them more businesslike than casual, needed to be addressed.

  “Where do you usually shop for clothing?”

  In his peripheral vision he saw her head snap around and he felt her eyes boring into him.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “You cannot continue to only wear two outfits for the rest of the time we are together. We can gather some things for you now.”

  “Must we do that today?”

  “I do not expect to have time to meet your needs once Maria is here in Auckland.”

  He felt her bristle at his comment but she held her tongue.

  “So where do we need to stop?”

  “Take the next turnoff and I’ll direct you from there.” Her voice was stiff, as if she were fighting back words that were better left unsaid. He smiled inwardly, she was learning.

  When they arrived back at the hotel Lana was happy to discover the inventory lists for the house had already been faxed through. Her experienced eye scanned them in detail, noting the sizes of the beds in the various rooms, and the tables in the dining areas, and she started to make lists for what new linen they’d need. She was oblivious to Raffaele as he looked over her shoulder as she methodically listed each area of the house and made notes, from memory, about the colours and style of each room. When she finally took a break to flex her cramped fingers she was surprised to see it had grown dark outside. Raffaele sat opposite her, dressed more casually than before in dark jeans and a charcoal grey long sleeved polo shirt, that reflected the colour of his eyes. Eyes which were riveted on her.

  “I’m sorry, did you say something?” Lana gathered her sheaf of notes together and lined them up between her hands.

  “No. I did not. I have merely been watching you. Are you finished?”

  “For now. I think I have a good idea of what we need to buy and what we can keep from the existing inventory. If you’ll agree, I’d like to start with replacing all the bed and bathroom linen. We can forward the previous owner’s to the local shelters. They’ll be glad of the donation, I’m sure.”

  A puzzled look crossed Raffaele’s face.

  “What’s wrong?” Lana asked.

  “Nothing is wrong. I merely expected you to dispense with the unwanted items, not to distribute them.”

  “But that would be a terrible waste.”

  “I agree.” He surveyed her with a new expression on his face, one that made her feel like an insect under a microscope.

  “What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “You were upset that I didn’t let you pay for the baby’s things. Why?” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, bringing his face closer to hers, enveloping her personal space with the power of his presence.

  “I just wanted to buy them myself, that’s all.” Lana leaned back into her chair. She wasn’t going into her personal details now. Not with Raffaele. How would he ever understand?

  “I think there is more to what you say. Tell me,” he probed with a steady quiet voice.

  “All right then, if you insist on knowing. When I take on a project I do it a hundred percent. I wanted to be able to give the baby something from me.” Not something with money she’d been paid for agreeing to accept guardianship, money that was tainted by a brokered arrangement. She’d lost everything in the past week, her whole life as she knew it. Buying those simple items for Raffaele’s niece was about as close as she was going to get to motherhood, and he’d taken that from her.

  “She is a project to you?”

  Lana thought about his question carefully before answering. He watched her intently, his eyes slightly narrowed. If Lana was going to be capable of walking away from this whole situation unscathed she had to depersonalise the baby as much as p
ossible.

  “For want of a better word, yes.”

  Raffaele sighed and leaned back in his chair again. “Thank you for being honest. If you’d told me you were doing it out of some misguided desire to have a child, when you quite clearly never wanted any, I would have known you for a liar.”

  Lana flinched as if he’d slapped her. Never wanted a baby? How on earth had he reached that conclusion? But no matter what, she wasn’t about to disabuse him of his belief now. She didn’t want to highlight her failures any more than the ten-foot high neons that publicised her failures in every newspaper that had hit the stands since Kyle’s death.

  She’d given her word she’d see this thing through. Today had been a perfect example of just how much it would cost her on an emotional level to do so. She needed to keep her distance—from the baby, and from Raffaele—as much as possible.

  She pushed to her feet, that distance could start right now. As she stood one of her sheets slipped and fluttered to the floor. Raffaele reached down to pick it up, his brow furrowed as his eyes scanned the sheet.

  “What is this?” he enquired, his voice a deep rumble.

  Lana took the paper from him. “Exactly what it says. A list of nursery items we need to get.”

  “The list is extensive. How do you know we will need all of these things? This for example?” He poked a long neatly manicured finger at an item on the list.

  “The apnoea monitor? It’s a safeguard. Any baby can stop breathing during sleep, but premature babies are more prone to do so.”

  “Stop breathing?” His strong face blanched at the words.

  “This monitor will sound an alarm and also has a tummy tickler, to stimulate the baby to breathe again.” Lana had done her research thoroughly during their last round of IVF treatment. If she’d been so lucky as to have a baby she swore she’d do everything in her power to keep the child safe.