by Maya Blake
He lowered his head, his shoulders heaving. ‘Yes.’
‘Oh, my God. He lied to me,’ she whispered. ‘You lied to me. About everything.’
‘No.’ The word was raw, gravel-rough. ‘No,’ he repeated. ‘I was gathering facts. I needed to be sure before—’
‘Before you splashed my family’s sordid dirty laundry all over the papers?’
‘That wasn’t my doing. It was Francesco and Stefano. I had no idea they were doing some digging of their own. What you overheard in my office...they were attempting to blackmail me—’
‘And you let them? So you could keep me onside until you got your hands on that precious share?’
His nostrils flared and she knew she’d hit the mark.
‘You did, didn’t you? Your precious company is worth more to you than...than anything else.’ She barely stopped herself from saying than me.
‘To have ultimate control of the company, I need to be a one hundred per cent shareholder. That’s why I can’t get rid of them. And yes, this isn’t how I would’ve gone about dealing with your news. But it’s not the end of the world.’
She laughed—a grating sound that frightened her. ‘It’s easy to say that when you’re the golden child of parents who loved each other and loved you. You have no earthly idea what I feel.’
‘Perhaps not. But that doesn’t mean you should let this define you.’
‘What do you expect me to do? Walk out into the street and own it?’
To her utter shock and dismay, he nodded.
‘Si. Take the power away from them. Turn this into a positive.’
‘God, you’re actually serious! Do you have any idea how this will affect my mother?’ Fresh horror shrouded her. ‘Oh, God. My mother!’
He rose and held out his phone. ‘Call her.’
‘And say what? That I trusted the wrong person with the most devastating thing to happen to her?’
His fingers tightened around the phone. ‘I will not persistently defend myself. If you won’t call your mother, how will you know she’s okay?’
‘How do you think? By going home to her!’
He frowned. ‘What are you saying?’
‘That I’m leaving! Surely you can’t expect me to stay here after this?’
To her chagrin, he looked utterly stunned. She walked towards the door, her feet blocks of concrete.
‘Faye.’
She didn’t stop. She was terrified she would break down if she did. And she refused to leave Maceo with the memory of seeing her completely defeated.
‘Faye, wait. There’s something else.’
Misery drenched her. There couldn’t be. She knew without a shadow of a doubt that she wouldn’t be able to take it. But she couldn’t move. Because even drowning in utter desolation she still held out the hope of something from him. Something that resembled a reciprocal feeling of that precious knot of longing inside her that had somehow survived these devastating revelations.
Something like...hope.
Like love.
She held her breath as he approached. But when he arrived beside her he didn’t arrive with words. Instead, he held out an envelope. One with her name on it.
Confused, she lifted her gaze to his.
‘Carlotta left this for you. It’s from Luigi,’ he said.
Hope dissolved into despair and Faye couldn’t even find the strength to be angry. ‘Another lie?’ she rasped.
‘No. But I didn’t think you were in a frame of mind to hear the truth before.’
‘That’s how you intend to justify withholding this from me?’
His jaw clenched. ‘This is how you choose to end things, Faye? With accusations?’
‘I didn’t end this, Maceo. You did.’
Slowly that formidable façade locked in, his statue-like hauteur erasing every trace of emotion from his face.
‘Go, then. Don’t let me stop you.’
She snatched the letter. And left.
* * *
Maceo stood in one corner of the conference room, attempting to block out the buzz of excitement growing steadily behind him. Casa di Fiorenti hadn’t had a new product launch in two years. It stood to reason his shareholders were thrilled at the prospect of a new range.
Alberto and his team had pulled out all the stops to preview the Arcobaleno range in only six short weeks. His ambition to push it through production in time for Christmas was well on track too.
Maceo didn’t care. These days he cared very little about anything. Except for the excruciating passage of time.
Six weeks.
A lifetime since she walked out of his study. He’d laboured under the misapprehension that relocating to his office at his Rome headquarters might solve the problem of seeing her face around every corner—that returning to his penthouse apartment in the heart of his favourite city might erase the memories of her that haunted Villa Serenita.
But no.
Everywhere he went he saw her.
His staff offered pitying looks while his employees scurried away when they saw him coming. And why shouldn’t they? He was intolerable to be around.
Not even the satisfaction of pushing his lawyers to find the loophole that had enabled him to finally toss Carlotta’s brothers off the board had eased the savage ache inside him.
Several times he reached for the phone. Each time he lost his nerve.
Maceo laughed under his breath. He’d been through a car accident, a coma, months of intense rehabilitation, only to be cowed by the rejection of a diminutive woman with rainbow colours in her hair?
Arcobaleno.
His insides twisted at the name that suited her from head to toe. He was certain he wouldn’t be able to see another rainbow without being reminded of Faye.
Should he have stopped her from leaving? How could he when she was right?
He’d withheld crucial information about who she was. He’d devastated her as surely as his own parents had devastated him. And so soon after she’d delivered him from his dark torment. For that alone he deserved this suffering.
‘Signor...?’ Alberto addressed him hesitantly. ‘They’re waiting for you to make a speech.’
Too bad. He was fresh out of congratulatory speeches. The only talking he wanted to do was to the woman who’d left an indelible mark on him. The woman without whom he was beginning to fear he would perish and fade away to nothing.
He stared into the glass of vintage champagne he hadn’t touched, attempting to summon words that held genuine meaning. Each one felt flat and false. Hell, even the weather was conspiring against him.
In the square below, tourists milled about, huddled together or seeking shelter from the sudden downpour that had caught them unawares. Like him, they’d expected sunshine, only to be greeted with grey clouds.
He lifted his gaze, glared at the clouds. Just then they parted. By the smallest fraction. But it was enough to let through a stream of sunshine. And within that sunshine...
Maceo’s heart tripped over as he caught sight of the faintest rainbow.
He didn’t believe in that sort of foolishness. Yet he couldn’t take his eyes off the colourful arc.
A tremor moved through him. Turning, he shoved his drink into Alberto’s startled hands.
‘You make the speech. You brought this to fruition.’
‘It wasn’t just me,’ Alberto replied, a sombre look in his eyes.
Maceo nod grimly. ‘No, it wasn’t. And I should do something about that, no?’
Alberto was smiling as Maceo strode out of his own meeting, totally uncaring of the stunned looks he received as he walked out.
For the first time in endless weeks purpose flowed through his veins.
* * *
‘Are you going to mope today as well?’
Faye looked u
p, startled, from the book she’d been half-heartedly reading.
‘Excuse me?’
Her mother set her teacup down. ‘I may be a little loopy, but I’m not stupid.’
‘You’re not loopy, Mum. Please stop saying that.’
Her mother gave her a sad little smile. ‘We both know what I am, Faye.’
‘Mum...’
Her mother reached across the small table where they were having tea and laid a hand on her arm. ‘It’s fine, sweetheart. You don’t need to say it. You never need to say it.’
Tears that hovered just beneath the surface of Faye’s emotions rose. Rapidly she blinked them away. ‘I’m not sure what you’re talking about.’
‘You check your phone a hundred times a day. You perk up when the postman arrives and wither when he leaves you empty-handed.’
Faye started to protest, but her mother wasn’t finished.
‘That letter you keep in your pocket and read a dozen times a day when you think I’m not looking...’
Faye’s mouth dropped open.
Her mother smiled. ‘I’m not stupid,’ she repeated softly.
A tear escaped.
Her mother brushed it away. ‘Tell me,’ she invited.
So Faye told her. About Carlotta’s initial contact. About Luigi’s bequest. Selectively about Maceo. Even about Matt, at which her mother echoed Maceo’s words so eerily, her heart lurched.
‘He’s a deplorable human being. Don’t waste another moment’s thought on him.’
But when she reached the hardest part she stopped. ‘I can’t, Mum...’
‘It’s something to do with what happened to me, isn’t it?’
Miserable, Faye nodded. Then the words came tumbling out.
An apology for how she’d come into the world was written in the pages of Luigi’s letter. In it, he admitted his knowledge of what his brother had done to her mother—how, several years after the attack, a family friend who’d attended the same party had divulged what he suspected had happened.
Luigi, ever the conscientious brother, had looked further into the incident and tracked down her mother. His discovery that Angela had borne his brother’s child had shocked him. He’d intended to make anonymous reparation, but then he’d seen Angela with Faye in a playground.
Befriending Angela had revealed to Luigi the true depths of her fragile mental state. He’d married her out of guilt, and a desperate need to make amends, but had known deep down he couldn’t provide the sort of care Angela needed. Steering her to New Paths had been his way of helping her after he’d fallen in love with Carlotta. He had always been ashamed he’d never revealed his true identity and he begged forgiveness.
Faye’s discovery that her school scholarship had been orchestrated by Luigi, and that New Paths was fully funded by a Fiorenti-Caprio foundation, had enraged her for all of five minutes before she’d dissolved into tears again. Luigi had done his best for them, and she couldn’t fault him for that.
‘I don’t think I can quite bring myself to say his name, but I’m glad you have the answers you need,’ her mother said, her eyes a forest of shadows.
It was Faye’s turn to comfort her. ‘I’m so sorry, Mum.’
Her mother nodded solemnly. ‘I know he left us, but I’m glad you had a father figure for a while—especially when I couldn’t be the mother you deserved.’
A lump clogged Faye’s throat. ‘I wouldn’t trade you for the world.’
They stayed silent, absorbing their emotions.
‘Now, the postman...’ Angela pressed. ‘What’s that about?’
Faye blinked away fresh tears. Since her email account remained empty of anything to do with Maceo or Casa di Fiorenti, she’d taken to stalking the postman. She knew she should give up now, after six weeks of silence, and instruct a lawyer to deal with securing her inheritance. Except her inheritance wasn’t paramount in her mind. What she yearned for more was something, anything, from the man she’d lost her heart to in Naples. Even if it was a stuffy letter from his legal team.
‘You’re holding back about this Maceo. Is he the one?’ her mother intuited.
Faye’s heart quaked even when she thought about him. ‘Yes.’
‘What happened?’
Misery gripped her tight. Miraculously, those harrowing tabloid exposés hadn’t reached Devon. Faye intended to keep it that way.
‘We rowed... I accused him of...of unspeakable things.’
‘Did he deserve it?’
Faye held her breath for the longest time, then shook her head. ‘I didn’t wait for an explanation.’
‘I suspect you know he didn’t deserve it, or you wouldn’t be feeling this bad.’
Tears of remorse slid down her cheeks as she accepted her mother’s assessment. Shock and pain had stopped her from hearing Maceo out. From accepting his reasons for withholding. Six weeks of silence said she’d lost her chance.
‘You may be in luck today. Here’s the postman.’
Faye twisted in her seat, her heart hammering as the middle-aged man made a beeline for her. He pulled out a thick envelope and handed it over. Transfixed, she stared at the Casa di Fiorenti logo.
‘Is this what you’re waiting for?’ her mother asked.
Was it?
Swallowing, she tore the letter open, devouring the missive from Maceo’s lawyers, offering to buy her share. If she agreed to the sum, the formal signing would be in London in two days. If she didn’t agree, she was welcome to commence negotiations with Maceo via his lawyers.
Despite her heart sinking at the stiff formality of the letter, her insides continued to somersault. Would Maceo be in London?
Even without knowing the answer Faye knew she would be there.
Taking a deep breath, she read the rest of the document. Her mouth dropped open when she saw how much Maceo intended to offer her. It was almost twice what his lawyers in Naples had said the partial share was worth. Whether Maceo turned up or not, she would be a fool to reject it.
She looked up. Her mother was smiling.
‘Regardless of how you came into the world, you deserve every happiness. You’ve settled your past, Faye. Now go and fight for your future.’
Fighting more tears, Faye leaned over and kissed her mother. Then she rose from the table.
She was going to London.
* * *
Maceo clenched his fists, impatience bristling through him as he paced his living room. He was reduced to voyeurism—a silent participant watching Faye via the monitor in his penthouse while his lawyers took their sweet time securing her signature.
He’d given them carte blanche to offer her whatever she wanted, but evidently his instruction that the transaction should be conducted in the shortest possible time hadn’t quite sunk in.
He was half a second from picking up the phone when they finished. The moment they left, Bruno escorted Faye to the lift. Maceo was waiting when the doors parted on the penthouse floor thirty seconds later.
She was facing away from him, wearing a coral concoction, with bangles to match and a similar colour threaded through her hair, and he welcomed the much-needed moment to compose himself.
Then she turned, her breath catching when she saw him. Mio Dio, she was beautiful.
‘Maceo! I thought you weren’t... What am I doing up here?’
‘I wish to talk to you.’
‘Then why weren’t you downstairs with your lawyers?’
Because I’m a damn mess.
‘Because I didn’t want business to muddle this.’
‘And what is “this,” exactly?’ she enquired, raising her chin.
‘Would you like to come in? Per favore,’ he pleaded.
Her gaze flicked past him into the penthouse and Maceo caught the slightest wobble in her chin. It was the tiniest chink in her armour, b
ut he found himself praying it was a sign that all wasn’t lost.
She walked past him, head held high. He followed, his heart racing as her alluring scent reminded him of its absence on his pillow.
She reached the sofa and turned to face him. ‘Tell me why I’m here.’
‘Because, my beautiful rainbow, I’m a desperate man, here to plead my case,’ he stated baldly.
She reached out blindly, clutched the back of the sofa.
Maceo exhaled, his prayers intensifying. She wasn’t immune to him.
‘We said everything we had to say to one another in Italy,’ she said.
‘Did we? Are you absolutely certain I can’t say more?’
‘Depends on what the subject matter is.’
Unable to keep his distance, he took a few steps towards her. She didn’t retreat. Another mercy.
‘You were right, cara.’
‘About...?’ she queried, her eyes filming with a pain he would give his limbs to erase.
‘About how I handled everything. Regardless of my feelings on the matter, I should’ve given you the information you needed for your own closure. My conceit made me believe mine was the right way. I hurt you, Faye. And I’m here to say...mi dispiace. I am also here to make amends.’
Something close to disappointment crossed her face. ‘Is that all you’re here for?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I am a greedy man who wants more. Much more.’
She gripped the sofa harder. ‘Then perhaps this time you shouldn’t quit while you’re ahead?’
The thread of hope in her voice triggered his. He ventured even closer, heard her breath catch in the softest gasp. With every fibre of his being he yearned to hold her.
‘I’ve missed you, Faye. Desperately.’
Her nostrils quivered but she remained silent.
He took that as his cue to risk everything. ‘I held back about Pietro because I was ashamed. I’ve been ashamed of what Luigi and my parents did to cover up his activities for a very long time. Even after you showed me that there was a way forward, there was still shame. My family was responsible for letting him get away with his depravities. When you showed me his picture on the yacht, I couldn’t dismiss the possibility that he was connected to you somehow. You obviously take after your mother, since you look nothing like him, but I couldn’t tell you until I was absolutely certain.’
