by Penny Jordan
‘You do?’
A muscle was pounding in his cheek, his face was moist with perspiration and his tongue moved to moisten dry lips. When that didn’t work, Caitlyn watched as he drained his drink in one gulp. She could almost feel his fight or flight response, knew that he might just stand up and walk out. Because she was feeling it too—was sitting there with her neck so rigid, her nerves so taut, that at any moment she could walk out too—just not go ahead with this appalling conversation.
Only Lazzaro didn’t get up and walk out. He sat there and faced it, and so too must Caitlyn.
‘After I offered you the job I found out you were Roxanne’s cousin. From that moment on…’
‘You were waiting for me to reveal my true colours?’
Bitter with regret, he nodded. ‘I didn’t want to like you, knew that I must never trust you…only more and more I did. When Roxanne came that day, told me about your legal battle when you hadn’t even mentioned it…’
‘What would you have done, Lazzaro?’
‘I would have helped.’
‘No.’ Caitlyn shook her head. ‘That would have proved to you that I was using you. My mother grew up in that house. Apart from a couple of years when she had me, she’s lived there all her life. She’s renovated it, decorated it, furnished it…’
‘You don’t have to explain…’
‘You’ve made it so that I do,’ Caitlyn pointed out. ‘It wasn’t about money—and it wasn’t even about the house. It was about her home. My mum offered to Cheryl to leave it in her will equally to both Roxanne and I…’
‘I misjudged you.’
‘You did.’
‘I have misjudged many things—you see, Roxanne and I…’
His hand tightened on the glass he was holding, and she wanted, how she wanted, to reach out and hold it, to comfort him, console him somehow as he served up his wretched past. Only it wasn’t her place any more.
Never had been her place, Caitlyn realised, because Lazzaro had seen to that.
Lazzaro had refused to let anyone in.
‘There was an incident,’ Lazzaro bravely started. ‘One that didn’t reach the newspapers. When he came to my office, I told Luca that I had arranged rehab for him, that I would stand by him so long as he made some attempt to sort himself out—only he wouldn’t go.’ His voice was surprisingly calm—resigned, even. ‘He just wouldn’t accept there was a problem—but everyone could see it. His drinking, the gambling—he had debts everywhere. I was running around cleaning up the messes he was leaving behind him, and I just couldn’t do it for ever…’
‘Of course you couldn’t.’ Caitlyn’s voice was strong. ‘He had to acknowledge it before he could get help…’ But that wasn’t the issue today, and they both knew it.
‘Roxanne turned up as he was leaving. He sort of pushed past her and knocked her over. She was upset—we were both upset. I helped her up and she started crying, so I comforted her…’ It was as if he were giving a police statement, his voice unnervingly even as he reeled off the appalling train of events, delivered brutal words in an impassive tone. ‘I told her I was sorry for all Luca was putting her through…’
It was Caitlyn whose throat was dry now, and she was grateful when he picked up her bottle of water and topped up her glass. She took a sip, but just about missed her mouth because her hands were trembling so much.
‘I started kissing her, telling her I would treat her so much better than Luca…Things were getting a bit out of hand, and then…’
‘Luca came back?’ Caitlyn finished for him.
‘Luca caught us.’
‘That’s when he hit you?’
‘He went crazy…said that I had always been the better one, the older one, the smarter one, that I had screwed up his life, that I had taken everything good from him and now I was taking the woman he loved, that I’d humiliated him over and over…’ He pinched the bridge of his nose, screwed his eyes closed as he relieved that hell. ‘He said quite a lot more than just that.’
‘I’m sure he did.’
‘Then he stormed off. And I went to the hospital to get stitched.’
Caitlyn watched, tears streaming down her face, as he gagged out an expletive and this strongest of men almost fell apart.
And for the first time he faced it.
As if a fist had gone into his stomach, he let out a shudder of breath, almost doubled up in agony—and he told her. Or did he? Because he truly didn’t know if he was talking it or living it again. At that point he wasn’t sitting with Caitlyn, he was back pacing in that hospital cubicle, a wad of gauze pressed to his cheek, so incredibly angry he was climbing the walls. He just wanted the hell out of there, wanted to get stitched so he could go and find Luca, to make things right, to fix his brother. Then everything had just faded into oblivion. Aghast, he’d watched as a stretcher whizzed past his cubicle. It was as if he was looking at himself in a mirror, and he’d seen the horror on his own face mistaken by a nurse, who’d pulled his curtain tightly closed. Only Lazzaro had opened it, striding into the resuscitation area despite the protests of the staff. Their angry shouts had been dim in his ears, theirs the shocked expressions as they’d looked down at the body they were working on and seen it was the mirror image of this intruder who had marched in. And he had seen the wretchedness in the doctors’ eyes as they’d realised he was his twin.
‘I’m so sorry.’
Paltry words that had been delivered by a doctor even before Antonia had arrived.
He hadn’t even needed a local anaesthetic when they’d sutured him—his whole body had been numb with pain as he’d lain on the hospital trolley and the needle had slid in and out of his flesh.
‘I’m so sorry.’
Paltry words that had been delivered hours later, as he’d held his brother’s cold blue hand, had stared at a face that might as well have been his—had felt as if it was his.
‘I knew he was dead the moment I saw him…’ The tirade that had spewed from his mouth abated a touch, and still Caitlyn listened. ‘I knew he was dead, and that nothing they were going to do would bring him back. It was over by the time Antonia arrived, and then my mother…’
‘Roxanne too?’ Caitlyn checked, and he nodded.
‘Antonia called her. She didn’t know at that point what had happened.’
‘But you told her?’
‘Roxanne did.’ Lazzaro let out a long breath. ‘She was hysterical. She said that we’d as good as killed him, that if I hadn’t come on to her, that if he hadn’t caught us…’ His skin was grey, the lines around his eyes so dark they looked as if they might have been pencilled in. ‘He came back, Caitlyn. God, he came back—and maybe he was going to get help. Maybe if we hadn’t been—’
‘Maybe he’d forgotten his car keys,’ Caitlyn snapped back, surprising even herself with her bitterness. But she was cross—cross with Luca, the Saint Luca Ranaldi he had somehow become, the man who in death had been excused his mistakes, exempted by his brother, by his family, for his appalling leading role in all of this—who’d had so much and been so careless, not just with himself, but with the happiness of those who’d loved him. ‘Maybe he’d come back to borrow some more money, or to tell you where to get off.’
‘Get off?’ Lazzaro frowned. Even if his English was excellent, sometimes he missed a point—but not this time, because Caitlyn wouldn’t let him.
‘I could put it far less politely—but I think you know what I mean. So, what did your family say?’
‘A lot. My mother was hysterical—she hit me…’ His voice was void of emotion now—detached, even. ‘She actually tore some of the stitches I had just had…Antonia vomited, told me she would hate me for ever, would hate Roxanne too—I told them it wasn’t her fault…’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘There are a lot of people who will hate me for ever…hell isn’t going to be lonely.’
‘I don’t hate you, Lazzaro.’ She looked at him for just an atom of time, saw the dart in his eyes, the tiny flicker of
relief on his tired face. ‘Maybe I did at the time, or maybe I just said it to hurt you, but I don’t actually hate you now.’
‘Thank you.’
Which led to another tear—but only one. What she had to say, what she had to hear, was just too important to lose to emotion. ‘That’s why you and Roxanne didn’t carry on seeing each other afterwards?’ Caitlyn continued, watching him, watching every flicker of his reaction. ‘Just too much guilt?’
‘Of course.’
‘Of course,’ Caitlyn repeated in a clipped voice, watching again as he frowned at her response. ‘I don’t believe you, Lazzaro.’
‘What are you talking about?’
And for the first time since she’d sat down she did manage to look him in the eye and hold it—was able to stare into those dark liquid pools. Because, unlike Lazzaro, she had nothing more to hide now—nothing she couldn’t or wouldn’t reveal. Hell, she’d already told him she loved him, and had accepted his rejection. Funny, though, that through it all, dignity prevailed—that she, Caitlyn Bell, was actually incredibly strong.
‘You’re lying.’
‘Lying!’ His mouth opened incredulously. ‘I’ve been more honest with you than I’ve ever been. I’ve told you, told you what happened, and you have the gall to sit there and tell me—’
‘That you’re lying!’ Caitlyn finished for him, shouting the words almost, not caring who was watching, who was listening.
‘I spoke to Roxanne.’ She hurled the words at him. ‘I went to the woman I hate more than anyone in the world and I asked her what happened that day.’
‘What did she tell you?’
‘The same as you.’
She watched his frown, saw the confusion in his tired eyes.
‘Roxanne’s a liar—we both know that,’ Caitlyn spat, furious not with him, but for him. No, she conceded, her mind racing at a million miles an hour, furious with him too—for the agony, for the self-infliction of such pain, such guilt. ‘And you’re a bloody liar, Lazzaro, and you’re still making excuses for Luca, still cleaning up the mess he made.’
She stood up, hardly able to believe what she was doing—that she was walking out, walking out when perhaps he needed her the most, that she was furious when perhaps he needed calm. But she couldn’t help it—couldn’t contain what she was feeling within the parameters that might better fit.
‘After everything that’s happened, after all I’ve been through—with you, for you—you can sit there and look me in the eye and bloody well lie to me. If, after all that, you can still hold back the most essential piece of yourself, then—you know what? I don’t actually want the rest.’
‘Caitlyn!’
His voice barked at her to come back, ordered her to turn around and not walk out. But she did walk out, and she did what you’re not supposed to—Caitlyn looked back, just once, and she was actually glad that she had. She saw him sitting there, set in stone, frozen, immutable, and by choice completely alone, by choice refusing to get angry, refusing to see his brother for what he was, refusing to grab at life and move on. It was all the impetus she needed to walk faster—to shake her head in contempt and get the hell out of there. She was walking so fast she was almost running. She could hear the frantic clipping of her shoes on the polished marble as she dashed through the foyer crying, not in pain but in anger, and she heard him run behind her, tempted, so tempted, to slap him as he grabbed her wrist and spun her around.
‘How?’ His eyes were livid, his question a howl. ‘How do you know?’
‘Because I know you.’ She jabbed the fingers on her free hand into his chest. ‘I know you’re a callous bastard, and I know that you’ve got a few scruples missing, but I know, I know, that you’d never, ever have stooped that low.’
‘How?’ He said it again, not livid now, more bewildered. ‘How could you know that?’
‘You already know that I love you…’ Tears were coursing down her face. ‘What you’ve consistently failed to see, though, is that I’m actually a nice person—and I happen to have very good taste…’ She even managed a smile as she said it—could smile because he actually smiled a bit. ‘And I have my standards, and I trust myself, and I just don’t think I’d have fallen so hard for someone I couldn’t trust. Someone who wouldn’t do it to a friend leads me to believe that he would never, ever have done it to his own brother.’
‘Not here…’ His voice was urgent as he glanced around at the lobby—the lobby where they’d started this journey and should probably end it.
Only she couldn’t. She conceded one final demand and nodded as he gestured to the lift, joined him as they headed towards the office—and it actually didn’t bother her as much as she’d thought it would. Lazzaro’s issues were somehow overriding hers.
‘Roxanne did come on to me—and I was pushing her off.’ He spoke even as the lift took them skywards. They were standing at either side, staring at the door rather than looking at each other. ‘I told her to get off—and I am using your polite expression here.’ She did look over to him then, and even if it wasn’t a big one, there was a small smile as somehow they slipped into their own world, their own language, the bit that was just about them. ‘She was all over me—saying she’d always wanted me—she dated Malvolio too, you know…’
The lift door sliding open went unnoticed. Caitlyn was stunned at this revelation, yet as they walked into his office she knew it somehow made sense.
‘That was how she met Luca?’ Caitlyn asked.
‘Malvolio was her ticket to Luca.’
‘Unlike me.’ She gave a tight shrug. ‘I just went straight to the top.’
‘Never,’ Lazzaro said seriously. ‘Never again will I compare you to her.’
‘She was even a horrible little girl…’ Caitlyn rolled her eyes and let out an angry breath. ‘Always messing up my things, breaking my toys—anything I had she wanted. You know, I’m not excusing Malvolio…’ Caitlyn was thinking more than talking, thinking out loud. ‘But you can see now why he’d hate you so—hate me too…’
‘I don’t want to think of him at all,’ Lazzaro interrupted. ‘I don’t even want to try and understand his twisted mind.’
And she didn’t want to think about him either. She wanted to think about Lazzaro, wanted to try and finally understand.
‘Why didn’t you tell your family what really happened?’
‘So I could humiliate Luca all over again?’ Lazzaro shook his head. ‘How, with his body still warm, could I tell my family that he had nothing? That the one good thing he thought he had in his life—?’
‘So you took the blame for him?’ Caitlyn said. ‘You let them think that it was you coming on to Roxanne instead of the other way around?’
‘Luca said that I took everything from him—maybe I did. I just couldn’t take that last piece.’
‘Luca blamed you because that’s what he did best—blamed you for his mess because it was easier than blaming himself, easier than admitting he had a problem, easier than facing up that his life was a mess. Luca knew what had happened as much as I know what happened,’ Caitlyn responded firmly, nodding her head as he shook his. ‘Hell, yes, he was jealous, and he probably wanted to think it was you, but he knew—he knew exactly what happened that day. He just didn’t want to face it—the same way he didn’t want to face anything…’
‘You really think he knew?’
‘Absolutely.’ And she watched as her words sank in, watched him blink as he opened his eyes to the truth, and it was like watching the clock go back, as if a great, filthy weight was being lifted.
‘Oh, Caitlyn…’
He was holding her, holding her so tight, kissing her face, kissing her tears, his hands everywhere—and even if he didn’t love her, would never love her, even if she should just push him off, she couldn’t. She would rather end it like this than the way it had ended before—would give him this because she needed it too, needed to feel him one more time.
Urgent, frantic sex was a great balm.
His hands were pushing up her skirt even as hers grappled with his buckle. His mouth was hot on her neck, biting, bruising, thrilling. Lowering her to the floor, he was pushing her, but somehow supporting her, tearing at her stockings, her panties, and Caitlyn’s want was as prevalent as his. Pushing down his trousers, feeling his taut buttocks, she was holding him, holding the bit of him that she needed, wanted, adored—and it was beautiful—and it belonged inside her.
With each delicious thrust he called out her name, and somehow he was kissing her too, kissing her, licking her. His shoulders were over her and she was watching him, watching him and trying to capture him, to remember this for ever—and he had held back before, because even if the sex had been wonderful, this was it—this wasn’t him and her, it was them, one person almost. And maybe she had held back too, Caitlyn realised. He was so deep inside her, his hips grinding into hers, his body filled with a delicious tension that begged release. Perhaps she had held back, but there was no need to now. He knew she loved him; there were no secrets any more.
‘Oh, God, Caitlyn.’
He was calling out her name, and she was calling his, until she couldn’t, her throat closing on his name before she screamed it out, every muscle in her body tensing, her legs wrapped around him, her thighs dragging him in as he groaned his gift into her, as she accepted it, breathless, dizzy, but amazingly calm.
Afterwards they lay there—holding each other, staring at the ceiling, waiting for the world to come back.
‘Every time I look at this room now, instead of thinking about…’He gave a laugh. But it wasn’t funny, and it wasn’t sad, it was just better.
‘You’ll remember me, then?’
‘Remember you?’ He propped himself up on his elbow, stared down at her. And she wasn’t crying, she was able to stare right back, to look at him and love him simply because she did. ‘I don’t have to remember you—I see you every day.’
‘You won’t be seeing me every day, Lazzaro. It can’t work…’
‘What was that, then?’
‘Sex.’ Caitlyn stared bravely back at him. ‘Fabulous, wonderful, and much-needed sex.’
