by Tricia Jones
Something fluttered at the edges of memory, but Faye didn’t try to grasp for it. She wanted to console Enrico, wanted to wrap her arms around him. Wanted his arms around her. For mutual comfort, mutual support? No. Much more than that. She loved him. Had always loved him. She may, for some obscure and incomprehensible reason, have married Matteo, but it was Enrico she ached for. Even with her memory impaired that much she knew. Would always know.
“After the service you will come home to Tuscany with me.” Enrico’s tone signaled that was non-negotiable. “I’ve arranged for your things to be packed and shipped to the villa. Melita will attend the local school. Thankfully her Italian is adequate, despite the fact she has known only England as home.”
“Is…is she all right?” Lost in her own desperate grief, Faye suddenly realized that her little girl had lost her father. Melita should be here now, with her.
“She doesn’t know.” Enrico’s expression was grave. “We thought it best she heard it from you. She will feel more secure hearing it from her mother.”
Oh God. This was all so surreal.
Yesterday she had woken in a hospital bed, learned she had a child, a husband. It didn’t seem possible. She was Faye Benedict. She was seventeen. She was going to study business and law. When had she married Teo? Why? When she loved Enrico, always Enrico. Yet, here she was preparing to tell a child she didn’t know that she had lost a father, a man Faye couldn’t even remember marrying.
Oh God. Faye squeezed her eyes shut, as if she could as easily shut off the questions swirling around in her head.
“How am I supposed to tell her?” She opened her eyes and stared at Enrico, excruciating pain gripping her heart. “What am I going to say?”
“You will find the words.” He gave her hands one last squeeze, then released them. “I will bring her to visit early this evening. You can tell her then.”
The doctor stood and, after a reassuring pat on Faye’s shoulder, discreetly left the room.
The room seemed to spin as Faye continued processing the horrible facts. An involuntary shiver had her hugging her arms around her chest.
Then she was lifted effortlessly into Enrico’s arms. “You should rest.” He carried her over to the bed, where a shaft of afternoon sun streaked across the pillow. “You must not worry, cara. I will take care of everything.” He held her there in his arms for endless moments. Faye wanted to drop her head on his shoulder and let his enveloping arms hold her safe and secure forever. Make every awful thing go away. But then he lowered her slowly onto the crisp white sheets.
“Sleep now,” he said, the softness in his deep voice a temporary balm over her troubled thoughts. “I will see to it you are not disturbed.”
He walked to the window and lowered the blind enough to block the sun from Faye’s eyes. Then he left. Without a backward glance.
Alone, Faye let the tears flow. A myriad of emotions battled in her chest and beat against her tender ribcage. Teo. Sweet, wonderful Teo. She could grieve for him as a dear and trusted friend. Love him as such. But as her husband? It wasn’t possible.
Because it was always Enrico. Since that day when her parents had first taken her to holiday in Italy with the family of her father’s new business associate, it had been Enrico. She was ten and he a surly seventeen. Yet she had idolized him on sight. Had wanted to follow him around like a puppy dog. Would have, if Teo hadn’t claimed her attention. A gentle, kind boy, Teo became an equally temperate man. Unlike his intense half-brother who had a whip of danger about him. True, that dangerous edge was underpinned by a steely control, but that somehow made him even more exciting.
Not that her adoration was reciprocated. He had never been interested in her. Not as a girl and not as a woman. Except…
Flashes and snippets again. That wedding…
She couldn’t bear to even try and grasp for it. There was much to cope with right now. Too much. She didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to feel. She wanted to drift back into blessed unconsciousness, to slip back into the nothingness. Where there were no memories. No pain. But she couldn’t. Wouldn’t. She had a child to think of. A child who needed her mother to ease the loss of her father.
Faye lifted a heavy hand, stroked it across her wet cheeks. Melita needed her. She would focus only on her child. Everything else could fade into oblivion, to be dealt with at some later date. In private. Then she would grieve for Teo. Would try to remember. But right now she didn’t care about her own feelings. Couldn’t. All she cared about was making a safe, secure future for her fatherless child. That was her one—her only—priority.
For all she knew Enrico had also married. Hadn’t she lost her memory of the last eight years? Anything could have happened. He might have children of his own.
As a sharp pain needled beneath her ribs, she turned her aching head into the soft comfort of the pillow. And wept.
“I know what you’re going to say, Mummy.” Melita’s lovely eyebrows drew together as she sat on her mother’s lap and tightened her arms around Faye’s neck. Her daughter’s reassuring tone had the back of Faye’s throat contracting. “I heard the lady who’s looking after me whispering to the man who drives Uncle Rico’s car,” Melita explained. “They said Teo died.”
Faye swallowed, then stroked her hand over Melita’s hair, pushing back long strands of silk. Beside her, Enrico shifted in his seat. “Yes, darling.” Faye fought to keep her voice from trembling. “That’s right. Teo was killed when he tried to land the aircraft he and Mummy were flying in.”
Faye thought it strangely touching that her daughter referred to Teo by her own nickname for him. But she pushed it away, wanting only to reassure and protect Melita—to soften her child’s heartache and alleviate the pain of losing a parent.
It was something she remembered only too well. The excruciating sense of loss. The fear. The loneliness. That was something her amnesia hadn’t dispelled.
She drew her daughter close as memories of her own father’s fatal stroke snapped at her heart. Still painfully raw—although she supposed it was now well over nine years since he’d died—the loss sat like a heavy weight in her soul.
She’d been only a few years older than Melita was now when a debilitating illness had finally claimed her mother shortly after the family began holidaying at the Lavini villa. Enrico had found her that summer, crouched behind some bushes by a stream. She’d gone there to be alone, to grieve for her mother. She was crying, weeping buckets, but he’d said nothing. He had simply settled himself down beside her, put his arm around her shoulders and held her while she’d sobbed.
But such memories were too dangerous to indulge in right then. With him sitting beside her, his presence at such a time both a blessing and a curse. She ached to have him put his arm around her now, to comfort and console her. Just as she was trying to do for her daughter.
“Is Teo in heaven now, Mummy?” Melita’s eyes, those questioning Lavini eyes, looked into Faye’s. “Will he know we miss him?”
“Yes, he’ll know we miss him, but we have to be very brave. We’ll be brave together, all right?”
Melita thought about it for a few seconds, then nodded. “I think he’ll be pleased we’re going to live with Uncle Rico.”
“Yes,” Faye agreed, even as something nudged at her that the sentiment wasn’t necessarily true. She pushed the feeling away. “It will just be until Mummy is feeling much better, but will you like that?”
Melita gave another nod, slightly more enthusiastic. “He said there are horses at his villa and I can ride one. And the sea’s not very far away and we can go there sometimes to swim and sail on his boat.”
“Won’t that be wonderful?” Faye smiled down into her daughter’s face, the pure wonder on it tugging at her heart. Not that Faye thought it would be wonderful at all. She had mixed feelings about moving in with Enrico as it was. Although reason told her it provided a short term solution until her memory completely returned, and she and Melita could go back to whatever
life they had been living, Faye knew she had to safeguard herself and her daughter. She didn’t trust her feelings, her emotions. Until she knew, until she remembered what had happened—why she had married Teo—she had to keep some sort of distance between herself and Enrico.
An hour later, when Melita’s nanny had taken her home for the night, Faye took the opportunity to voice her anxieties to Enrico. “I appreciate everything you’re doing, but there’s really no need for us to stay with you. It’s better for Melita to get back to normal as soon as possible, to be with her friends, to go to school. She needs familiar things around her, so do I. On reflection, I think it’s best if we just go home.”
Enrico stood at the window gazing out over the London sky. “And where is that, Faye?” He turned to her, eyebrows raised, his mouth grim. “If I am not mistaken you do not even remember your address.” The tension in his jaw had a lone muscle flickering. “Rest assured that what I can offer will be an improvement on your previous accommodation.”
“I don’t understand.”
His accusatory gaze held hers for long moments, then he shook his head. “You are my brother’s widow, and as such it is my duty to protect you and your daughter. You are both my responsibility.”
“I don’t want to be anyone’s responsibility.” Both because he had said it with such cold resignation in his voice and because she suddenly felt helpless and frighteningly vulnerable. Memories nudged, but she couldn’t quite focus. Perhaps because some instinct warned they wouldn’t be good ones.
“The matter is settled,” Enrico shrugged. “When you are recovered and your memory returns in full you may do as you wish. Until then I will assure your welfare.” His tone indicated he did not expect to be challenged. But then he rarely was. That much Faye did remember.
“The specialist assures me you will be well enough to attend the memorial service by Friday, so I have arranged it for then. We will fly to Tuscany later that evening.”
His imperious manner made her bristle. “I’m not sure I appreciate your tone or the way you seem to think you can just take control of my life.” Faye eased herself from her chair, pleased to discover her legs felt stronger. “I have things I need to do, all manner of things to arrange. For one, I need to pack our clothes, to arrange for someone to look after Blaster.”
“Everything is taken care of. You can purchase whatever you need in Italy.” He turned, making for the door. “You should rest now.”
“Enrico!” Her sharp tone made him turn slowly to look back at her. “I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, but please don’t treat me like a child and presume you know what’s best for me. I’d appreciate being informed of the arrangements you’re making on my behalf before you actually make them.”
He flicked back his jacket and slipped his hands into his trouser pockets.
Faye swallowed, unsettled by the way he looked at her, as if he was weighing up whether to challenge her remarks or let them go. Then he came toward her.
She made herself hold his gaze even though her knees felt weak again and she wanted to sink back down into the chair. But the haughty arrogance in the sharpened angles and planes of his face made her stand her ground as he moved up close.
“You have lost your memory,” he said, as if she needed reminding. “You have bruised ribs and a concussion. You have suffered the death of your husband and need to comfort your child.” His nostrils flared as he drew in a deep breath. “If I presume to make arrangements on your behalf, it is because I consider you have other priorities at this time.”
God. He made her feel like an ungrateful idiot.
He raised his hand and traced his finger along her left cheekbone, where the remnants of a vicious bruise still lingered. Her stomach trembled at his touch. A crazy part of her willed him to take her in his arms, to as easily stroke away the pain of her inner bruises.
He drew in another long breath and dropped his hand. “Now, get some sleep, cara. Allow me to take care of the practicalities. It is my duty at this time.”
Faye watched him stride out, her throat tight and a niggling ache in her chest.
She didn’t want to be his duty. Didn’t want to be his responsibility. But that was all she was to him, and knowing it made her heart break even more. How could she have married Teo when her heart belonged to Enrico? How could she have slept with another man when her very soul belonged to Enrico?
Faye looked down at her hands, at the wedding ring she couldn’t remember Teo slipping onto her finger. Had Teo known she was in love with someone else? Had he realized her heart could never be his? That their child—the child she wished with everything she had belonged to…
As her head throbbed with merciless persistence, she touched her fingertips to her temples. Why couldn’t she remember? Then she could go home…back to her home, wherever that was. Make a life for herself and for her daughter. Then she wouldn’t have to stay with a man who made her pulse race, her heart thump, her legs tremble. A man who could give her the world with a rare smile and snatch it back with a not-so-rare frown…and for whom she was merely a duty.
Faye enjoyed little rest that night. Or for the next three. She tossed and turned as best her bruised body could manage before slipping into an exhausted sleep. More than once she considered pressing the red call button and giving in to the offer of a sedative. But she had wasted enough time not knowing what was happening to her body, to her mind. She didn’t need, or want, to add to the void.
Enrico came by twice each day, with Melita in the afternoons and by himself in the evenings. Tonight he’d arrived later than usual. Faye knew because she all but counted the minutes between his visits.
She braced herself for the sharp punch of awareness whenever he entered her room. Today the dark grey business suit was an exact match for those perilous eyes, and the immaculate tailoring showcased his broad shoulders to perfection. Tall, commanding and agonizingly masculine. Every cell, every fiber of her body seemed to want him.
Tonight he did what he always did. Asked how she was feeling and if she needed anything. Assured her Melita was okay at his apartment.
“My neighbor came by to see me,” Faye told him, leaning forward in her chair as Enrico popped another pillow behind her. “Thank you for contacting her.”
“Melita was worried about your cat.” His brief, if unexpected, smile sent Faye’s pulse racing. “Your neighbor said she will take care of him.”
“Yes.” Faye had discovered that she and the amiable woman were friends. “She was very worried about us. She said she’d also take care of our flat while we’re away. The flat—”
“Good,” he said with brusque efficiency. “That is good. But there is no reason to concern yourself with any of that now.”
She wanted to tell him she had a job. Her neighbour had told her she worked part-time at a bookstore and that she rented the flat above it. It seemed her boss had been trying to contact her. When she’d rung him from the hospital he’d been very understanding. He’d assured her the job would still be there when she was fully recovered, as would the flat. As the rent was deducted from her salary, Faye had been worried she couldn’t pay it until some sort of sick pay kicked in. He’d told her not to worry.
Enrico pulled up a chair beside her, his tone brisk and clipped, his expression stern. “Do you have everything you need for tomorrow?”
For Teo’s memorial service he meant, though neither of them seemed to want to acknowledge it as such.
Faye nodded. “Will your father be there?”
Enrico had told her—reminded her—that several years ago his father had married for the third time and after handing over the reigns of the family banking business to his eldest, had retired to the shores of Lake Geneva on doctor’s orders.
Enrico’s expression turned to stone. “He’s flying in from Geneva in the morning.”
And no doubt flying right back out again in the afternoon, Faye realized, reading Enrico’s seasoned attempt to batten down anger and con
tempt.
“Tell me more about your vineyards?” she said in a voice that sounded far too bright. She had always hated the way Enrico went into brooding mode at the slightest mention of his father, but get him talking about the land and you were on safe territory.
“What do you want to know?”
“Anything. The number of staff you have, any plans you have to expand, that sort of thing.” Faye was clutching at straws because he’d already told her that he’d been expanding over the years, that his vineyards now encompassed most of the valley and surrounding area. But she wanted him to talk. Wanted them to talk. There was only a short while left of visiting time and she wanted him with her until the very last minute.
Guilt tugged at her conscience. She should be grieving for her husband, not craving the company of his brother.
Enrico rubbed his jaw. “I’m always planning to expand, but my father’s retirement put many of those plans on hold. Banking leaves little time for the hands-on work of running vineyards.”
Faye felt for him. He had always been active and never minded getting his hands dirty. It was one of the reasons he’d refused to join his father in the family business and ventured off on his own. Despite that, she knew he would never allow the bank to fall into anything other than Lavini hands. It had been built from nothing by his adored late grandfather who, on the couple of occasions Faye had met him, was as devilishly good-looking as his equally beloved grandson.
So, Enrico had taken on the role of international businessman, leaving the day-to-day running of his vineyards to a management team. Faye could never imagine Rico spending his life behind a desk. Not that the role didn’t suit him, physically that was. He looked every inch the civilized businessman.
“Now you must rest, cara.” Enrico stood, straightening his tie. “Tomorrow will be a long day.”
He gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead, then left without a backward glance. As he always did.
That night her mind was more active than usual. Strange tingles and fizzing sensations erupted in her head, which she put down to being off her feet for so long—courtesy of Enrico’s insistence she rest as much as possible.
