Satin Lies

by Tricia Jones

  He’d been on the brink of going along with it, knowing that the terms of his father’s will passed the Lavini wealth only to the first-born child of each subsequent heir. If he failed to produce such an heir, the family assets would pass to a syndicate when he died.

  Ruggerio knew Enrico would never allow his beloved grandfather’s company to be scattered, broken into pieces and strewn amongst strangers who cared nothing for honor and integrity. The very attributes upon which his grandfather had built the foundations of his fortune. So Ruggerio had ensured that Enrico danced to his tune, and the clause in his will meant Matteo would never assume the mantle of heir even if the unthinkable happened to his first-born son.

  Enrico stared at the photograph on his desk. His grandfather’s face smiled back at him, a lifetime of morality and decency etched into the noble lines of his aged skin. A lifetime of love for the grandson who held his heart.

  While he would fight tooth and nail for the company his grandfather had built, Enrico knew the old man would never condone his grandson accepting a marriage of convenience to keep it. His grandparents had adored each other. Perhaps it was an awareness of that love that had stopped Enrico entering into a marriage that would provide anything less, although he’d cared deeply for the woman who’d shared his life for the best part of a year. He’d told himself it was because she’d pushed too hard, because she’d tried to trap him with constant reminders of Ruggerio’s will. In truth, he’d refused to admit to himself that the real reason he withdrew from the marriage plans had more to do with his feelings for Faye.

  Enrico raked his free hand through his hair. Dio, the number of times he’d wanted to go to her in London. The number of times he’d talked himself out of going to her.

  Keeping away was the hardest thing he had ever done. Harder still after he’d received news of her separation from his brother. But he’d kept away.

  Guilt was his restraint. The knowledge that he wanted to steal from his brother the one thing Matteo ever had that was truly his.

  Matteo hadn’t wanted a share in the company. Ruggerio had done a good job over the years, convincing his youngest son that his mother’s trickery and deceit gave him no right to a share of the Lavini wealth. But Matteo had wanted Faye.

  Enrico stood, taking his empty glass to the cabinet where he set it on the silver tray. It was no use brooding on what might have been. All he could do now was ensure Faye and her child were secure and that involved investing whatever assets Matteo had left. Faye couldn’t refuse to use any of the money now that Matteo was dead, as she obviously had done when he was alive, the stubborn woman. No. He’d make sure she didn’t have to work, that she was settled somewhere better than that excuse of a place where she currently lived. This was the last thing he could do for his brother, and by God in heaven he’d do it right.

  He walked back to his desk, switched off the lamp and headed out of the darkened room.

  Standing in the kitchen just after eight the next morning, Faye ordered herself to stay calm.

  “He leave even before I can arrange his breakfast.” Carla said, shaking her head as she answered Faye’s question as to Enrico’s whereabouts. “I get up early because I know he is flying to London, but he is already gone.”

  “He’s gone?”

  “Si. Giovanni, he drive him to the airport.” Carla lifted her hands in exasperation. “What about his breakfast? I ask Giovanni. But, no—” She shook her head again. “What does it matter? What does it matter if he does business on an empty stomach?”

  With a click of her tongue, she busied herself getting Faye coffee and preparing a place for her at the huge rustic table.

  “And the little one,” Carla continued, obviously in full flow as she waved a hand for Faye to sit, “a typical Lavini. She is up with Enrico, chattering of horses and such things. Not a thought for food. But with her I put my foot down. No horses until you eat, I say. So she eats.”

  While she was grateful her daughter had been cared for, Faye could barely contain herself. Her mind went into overdrive as anger battled with anxiety. How dare he leave without her when she had told him she was going with him? What secrets would he unearth without her there to smooth the way?

  “Can Giovanni drive me to the airport? I need to be at the meeting with the lawyers.”

  Carla shook her head. “It is not possible. You are still weak and Enrico he said you must rest.”

  “I feel fine.” And right now she didn’t give one hoot about what Enrico said or wanted. “Is Giovanni able to drive me?”

  “Vanni is in town doing errands. He will not be back until later this evening when he collect Enrico from airport.”

  “Then I’ll have to drive myself.” Faye stood, anger and panic making her face burn. “Can you ring and check on flight times to London while I go and get Melita?”

  Carla visibly paled. “This is not possible.”

  Faye froze on her way out of the kitchen. “Why not?”

  “Enrico, he said not allow you to leave villa today.”

  “He said what?” She made herself take a breath when Carla’s big eyes widened. “Well, Enrico doesn’t get to say where I go or what I do.” Of all the pompous, arrogant… “Don’t worry Carla, I’ll tell him you couldn’t stop me from—”

  “He has taken the keys to his car and has forbidden anyone to drive you or to arrange a taxi,” Carla said in a rush, then snatched up a tea towel and frantically wiped the worktop. The tremble of her hands had Faye’s anger deepening. How dare he do this? And how dare he put poor Carla in the firing line of what he knew would be her outraged reaction?

  With considerable effort, Faye damped down her temper. She’d store it, then let it erupt when she was face-to-face with the one person who bloody well deserved it.

  “Very well.” Her throat ached with barely leashed rage. “In that case I’ll just ring the lawyers and cancel the appointment. If Enrico has a wasted journey, that’s his problem.”

  But a call to the offices of Streetman and Jarvis did nothing to appease her simmering fury. The meeting was scheduled in a location Nathanial Streetman’s PA couldn’t—or wouldn’t—reveal to Faye. Although the PA promised to get a message to Mr. Streetman and Mr. Lavini, if Faye would like to leave one.

  Oh, she’d like to leave one all right. But it wasn’t for this young woman’s ears.

  Realizing she’d get no satisfaction from being able to talk to Nathanial Streetman directly, Faye left a message demanding that the meeting regarding her late husband’s affairs be postponed until she could return to London and deal with the matter herself.

  She spent the day anticipating either a furious phone call from Enrico, or one from Streetman and Jarvis rescheduling the meeting. Neither call materialized.

  Although anger was her constant companion, Faye damped it down to make way for pride as she watched her daughter ride, swim and chatter away about things in general. Then it would erupt again. What kept her sane was the thought of confronting an equally furious Enrico on his return home from an aborted meeting and a wasted trip to London.

  Tough.

  He should have thought of that before taking it on himself to stick his nose into her affairs.

  As the clock in the library struck nine Faye heard the rumble of tires on the drive. She put down her book and went to the window. Enrico stepped from the car saying something to Giovanni before striding across the portico and into the villa.

  Faye met him in the entrance hall, his footsteps echoing eerily across the marble floor as he made straight for the stairs. He still wore his suit jacket, but the knot of his tie was loosened, his white shirt open at the neck. Shadows played around his jaw sending his chiseled features into relief.

  She snapped his name as she stormed after him.

  “Not now,” he barked, shrugging off his jacket and throwing it across his arm.

  A sick dread swallowed her temper as she watched him effortlessly negotiate the stairs two at a time. His body, broad and mu
scular, always emanated an aura of power and strength, but now there was tension and ferocity in his movements that shot panic through her body.

  Faye’s stomach rolled. She’d expected him to come home annoyed, irritated. But not this. This was exactly the reaction she anticipated if he ever discovered what she had kept from him for all these years. He wouldn’t shout, or make demands. It was too huge for that. No. He would go into that place inside himself where nobody else could reach. The place where he needed to shuffle and sort his feelings into something he could control and manipulate. Only then, from a position of strength and power, would he react.

  Faye pressed a hand to her stomach. He’d found out. Somehow he’d found out.

  But he couldn’t have, she assured herself, hurrying up the stairs after him. There was no way. Nobody else knew. Only she and Matteo had known.

  A chill swept through her, freezing her in place as she reached the top of the stairs. What if Matteo had put something in his will? A confession of sorts, a final act of conscience.

  Craving the sanctuary of her room, but knowing she wouldn’t have a moment’s rest until she knew for sure, Faye headed for his bedroom.

  Her heart pounded against her ribcage as she knocked on his door. Without thinking she opened it before he answered.

  His jacket had been flung across a leather settee in the alcove by the window, the sheer disarray of it confirming the aggressive action. He stood at a small desk, glaring at his laptop with such venom that Faye expected the power raging from his eyes would be enough to boot it up. Her legs weakened as she watched him yank at his tie and toss it away. It flew missile-like and landed on his jacket.

  Faye swallowed through a dry throat, forcing herself to stay where she was while every instinct screamed at her to run. His tense energy flicked over her like a sharp whip, increasing her desperation to escape. But she wouldn’t. What helped her own courage was the fact he must have known she was there but chose to ignore her.

  Attack, she remembered, was the best form of defense.

  “You had no right to take off like that without me.” Because her arms had started to shake she folded them. “This is my business. It wasn’t for you to interfere without my agreement which you know you didn’t have.”

  Enrico yanked out the chair in front of his desk. “In the morning,” he warned an icy edge to his tone. “I do not want you here right now.” He sat, scooting the chair closer, and began tapping at the keyboard.

  His curt dismissal proved the last straw in a day where her emotions seesawed between anger, anxiety, frustration, worry, hurt. You name it. She had experienced it all and now everything combined into this swirling maelstrom burning in her chest.

  “You won’t dismiss me like I’m one of your employees. Nor will you treat me as if I’m a stupid woman who needs someone more capable to take care of her affairs.”

  His fingers continued to fly over the keyboard. Still he didn’t look at her.

  As heat pumped into her face, she took a step forward. “You won’t ignore me. I demand an explanation and an apology.”

  Only the sound of the tip-tapping of the keyboard echoed in the large room.

  “Enrico!” She stormed forward to stand in front of his desk. “Do you hear what I’m saying?”

  He continued to glare at the screen, but his fingers stilled. In the silence Faye heard the thump of her heartbeat, the creak of leather as Enrico straightened and folded his arms. When he looked up his eyes pierced right through her and made a mockery of his seemingly casual pose. She remembered that look, and her insides pitched aggressively.

  She had been witness to a real loss of Enrico’s temper only twice in her life. Once, one long-ago summer, when she and Matteo had snuck off from his charge and gotten hopelessly lost during a visit to nearby Lucca. They eventually wandered into a local police station and asked for help, only to have Enrico storm in an hour later and tear them to pieces. It had upset Faye for days after that, although she’d never let Enrico know how miserable she felt having experienced the full extent of his wrath.

  The only other time she witnessed his fury unleashed was…that night…when he and his father finally came to blows over Ruggerio Lavini’s cruel dismissal of his younger son. She’d hated seeing Enrico so incensed and had tried to console him. That very act of consolation led to the reason she now stood in front of his desk, trembling a little as he glared at her while settling back in his chair.

  Surely his mood meant only one thing, Faye realized with sickening dread. That he knew. Somehow he had found out.

  “I have no intention of debating the issue of your hurt feelings at this hour.” Enrico advised in a menacing tone. “I have other matters to attend to. As I said, we will talk in the morning.”

  “No!” Faye slammed down the lid of the laptop as he made to start work again. “You talk to me now.” I’ve been out of my head with worry all day, she wanted to say. I’ve been out of my mind you’ve somehow found out.

  His eyes narrowed as he stared at the laptop, then he made a show of examining the fingers she’d almost severed. “If it is that important to you then go ahead. Talk.”

  The unexpected capitulation took the wind out of her sails and for a moment Faye couldn’t think of a word to say. It was obvious he expected her to start things rolling because he sat there with a look of strapped tolerance on his face.

  That look helped Faye find her voice. “I want to know why you went against my express wishes. Why you prevented me from settling my own affairs. None of this is Lavini business, it’s personal, and you had no right to exclude me.”

  He ran long fingers over his shadowed jaw. “I did not consider you were sufficiently recovered for such an ordeal. As I could handle things without your attendance I decided not to put you through it.” He folded his arms again. “In any event it was a wasted exercise.”

  Merciful heaven. Her message had got through. The meeting had been cancelled. His bad mood had nothing to do with discovering the truth and everything to do with an aborted journey and the waste of his time.

  Faye breathed easy for the first time that day. “I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted day but you deserve it. When I reschedule the meeting with the lawyers I don’t want you there.”

  Pushing away from his desk Enrico stretched out his legs. “It seems we are at cross purposes. I’ve had a very productive and informative day.”

  “Informative?” The chill returned, sweeping through Faye’s limbs.

  “Your message was received but was of little consequence. As executor of Matteo’s will my attendance was a prerequisite and in the light of your current memory loss—”

  “You’re the executor of his will?”

  “I am.” He fixed her with a steady gaze. “Is that so surprising, Faye?”

  Surprising didn’t come into it. “I find it almost unbelievable.” He was the last person Faye would have expected Teo to choose as executor of his will.

  “Unbelievable? Because he dismissed me from your lives, warned me to stay away from you?” Enrico’s brow tightened. “Yes, perhaps unbelievable in that context. But Matteo’s inheritance following his mother’s death required that he make a will. He was eighteen if you remember and at that time we were on speaking terms. Hence my role as executor. I gather he never found reason to change that.” The look he gave her was pure contempt. “Is seems he considered my bedding his future bride of secondary importance to my expertise on legal matters.”

  Faye wrapped her arms across her chest as an invisible knife plunged into her ribs. “That was uncalled for and…cruel.”

  “Not cruel.” He pursed his lips, considering. “Realistic.”

  He stood and came around the desk, still watching her. He faced her, leaving mere inches between her thumping heart and his broad chest. “Why didn’t you tell me, Faye?”

  Oh God.

  The juxtaposition of his soft voice and hard expression made her insides tumble as anxiety churned with dread. “T-tell you?
”

  He moved sideways, making her shift until her back was against his desk, in effect boxing her in. “You must have known I would find out at some stage. What did you hope to achieve by keeping it from me?”

  Because her legs felt hollow and her heart was about to jump right out of her chest, Faye reached back, gripping the edge of the desk. “I…I thought it was… I thought…” She cursed the way fear made her voice tremble, stealing the words from her head. She was scared, terrified. There was no escape. Not from him, with his big body all but pressing against her. Nor it seemed, was there any further escape from the past. From the truth.

  “You thought?” Enrico prompted, lifting his eyebrows. When she shook her head he blew out a breath. “I cannot believe you would protect Matteo when he would see you destitute.”

  Faye swallowed, her mind playing through all the questions niggling in her head. What would happen now that he knew he was Melita’s father? And what did it have to do with Teo leaving her destitute?

  “That was bad enough,” Enrico went on. “But to have made no provision for his daughter’s future.” He turned then, walking over to a walnut cabinet in the alcove by the window.

  His departure gave Faye much needed breathing space to fathom out what he was saying. Did it mean…? Yes, yes, it did. He didn’t know. Relief poured through her as she eased herself away from the desk. He hadn’t found out. He didn’t know he was Melita’s father.

  She closed her eyes and took a steadying breath. When she looked up again he was lifting a decanter from the cabinet. He turned, holding it up to her.

  Faye nodded. A shot of brandy would go a long way to settling her nerves, and her jumpy stomach. The worst of his mood seemed to have passed, but she wasn’t fooled it couldn’t just as quickly flare again.

  He came over carrying two glasses and motioned her toward the leather settee. Faye scooped up his jacket, folded it and set both jacket and tie neatly across the back of the settee. Then she sat, accepting the brandy he offered.

  Enrico took the wing chair opposite. “It seems there’s no estate left to execute,” he said, contemplating the amber liquid. “No money. No property.” His gaze lifted accusingly to hers. “But then you already knew that.”