Was that the root of his inability to contemplate a future with anyone?
What if he let Maddie in and she lied to him, like Claudette did? What if she stopped wanting him one day, like his own mother had? Nico would have said he wasn’t afraid of anything but the wounds he’d had inflicted at four years of age were slow to heal and stood like cautionary tales to any kind of softening he might have been tempted to do.
They’d set the rules for this affair from the outset and the smartest thing to do would be to stick to them. No matter how tempted he was to do otherwise.
When he boarded his jet, his secretary was there. “Messages, Nico.” She handed him a legal pad with handwritten names and numbers. He scrolled through them, mentally triaging the most important before turning the page. It was there that a name stood out to him and brought a small frown to his face.
“Michael Walsh called?”
She nodded. “He said it was personal. Do you want me to call him back?”
“I’ll do it.” Nico read through the rest of the list, but a heaviness settled inside of him when he thought of his friend.
In school, Michael had shown such intelligence and promise – hardly surprising given he’d gained a scholarship to the prestigious institution – but there’d been an anxiety to him Nico hadn’t, as a teenager, fully appreciated. He’d never known someone quite as driven as Michael, and yet discovering that Michael had cheated on their finals exams had shocked Nico. Cheating had never occurred to him – he would always want to rise and fall on his merits than anything else.
Michael, with all his intelligence, felt the pressure and let it get to him, so he’d gravitated to whatever means he could to succeed.
The last time they’d spoken – a couple of years earlier – had been awkward. The investment fund Michael had started had been on the brink of collapse, and with little wonder given that Michael was pulling money out to pay for his significant gambling debts. He’d wanted Nico to invest a small fortune, knowing that the Montebello name would bring credibility to the investments and encourage others to vote with their wallets. Nico wouldn’t – couldn’t – do that. Not after he’d taken a look at the portfolio. He’d bailed Michael out though, but on reflection, he wished he’d done more. Some kind of support with his gambling and the drinking Nico suspected had become an addiction.
He’d spoken to him about it, suggested Michael get help, but that hadn’t been enough, in hindsight. It was in the midst of the fallout from Gianfelice and Claudette and he’d been distracted by his own life.
Guilt at the fact he’d let down a man he’d once thought of as a friend had him reaching into the console of his leather armchair, pulling the air phone from it, and dialling the number his secretary had transcribed. When Michael answered, his voice sounded a little slurred.
“Michael. It’s me. Nico.”
“Nico Montebello, as I live and breathe. You actually called me back.”
Guilt hit him like an anvil. “Certamente.” A pause that crackled with their silence. And then, “What’s up, man?”
Another silence. Nico drummed his fingers against the leather armrest, staring straight ahead as the engines began to whir faster, the plane began to speed along the runway and finally lifted off.
“Are you in London?”
“I’m on my way to Villa Fortune. Why?”
“I wanted to meet with you. To discuss something.”
Nico compressed his lips, suppressing a groan. He knew he’d feel guilty as all heck if he put his old friend off, and yet the idea of adding anything else onto this trip was anathema to him. He wanted to get back to Maddie as soon as possible. They had seven more nights together. That was all. La Villetta had been rented to a holiday-maker and the only alternative was for her to move permanently to his place.
And while he loved the idea of having her in his home for as long as they both enjoyed their arrangement, he knew it was fraught with danger for both of them. Besides, even if he suggested that, he wasn’t sure Maddie would agree. In fact, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t. Given what she’d been through, could he blame her for wanting to be single a while?
His stomach rolled at that, though. Not of Maddie being single so much as ‘what came next’ for her. Surely she wouldn’t be alone for long. And then? Marriage? Children?
His gut clenched. He rejected the idea of that without reason to. He had every reason to suspect she wanted to leave him just as much as he knew she had to. “Can we talk over the phone?”
“It’ll be better in person. Why? Are you too busy for me?”
Discomfort needled Nico’s spine. They were in their twenties before he’d become conscious of Michael’s ability to manipulate people into doing his bidding. He used passive aggression as most people drew breath.
“I am busy.” Nico’s tone was short, bordering on dismissive.
“I could come to you? Villa Fortune?”
“No.” Then, more softly, because whatever had become of Michael, they’d been friends a long time. “It’s Yaya’s birthday. Just the family.” And, if she’d said yes, Maddie. He was cognisant of that, and didn’t want to analyse it further.
“Ondechiara then? Do you still spend summers there?”
Nico had a visceral reaction to that. The idea of sharing his home with anyone else during his last week with Maddie?
“Could it wait a week?”
“It could wait a day,” Michael said urgently. “Please.”
And only the sense that something was seriously wrong pushed Nico that extra mile. With a sigh of deep frustration and a growing sense of unease, he nodded into the empty plane carriage. “Fine. I’ll have my secretary arrange your flights.”
“I can –,”
“She’ll do it,” Nico interjected. After all, if he left it to Michael, he might choose to stay heaven knew how long. Nico wanted him gone within hours of arriving. “I’ll see you soon.”
“You like that, huh?” She smiled as Dante bit into the crisp pear, her eyes shifting from the affectionate dog to the hillside they’d found their way to, covered with the fruit. Dante had led the way, she presumed it was somewhere he came to often. Either that or the fragrance of this sun-warmed fruit had caught his nose from the villa.
She reached down and ran her hand over his shaggy mane. Beyond them, the ocean glittered, shades of turquoise and silver, with beautiful boats bobbing on its surface. The outlook was one she wouldn’t – couldn’t – forget. Looking at it now, she realised this could very well have been the vantage point for the artist of the print that she’d first seen at Michael’s. That painting had come to be a touchstone for Maddie, and looking at the view now, she couldn’t help but think there had been something almost other-worldly about her pull to this place.
Had she known, on some level, that Nico would be here? The one person on earth – surely – with the ability to stitch all the pieces of who she was back into place?
It had been the view at first, the promise of a picturesque setting with the power to heal, but meeting Nico just seemed too fortuitous. She planted her hands on her hips and turned, her eyes chasing the villa. She could make it out from here, the beautiful white-washed walls, one covered with hungry bougainvillea, the sun glinting off the top of the roof, and she smiled, because Nico would be home soon, and when he arrived, she intended to be waiting for him.
“Come on, Dante. I think I hear his car.”
Chapter 11
“CAN YOU NOT BRING your laptop here?”
“I could,” she hesitated, fork halfway to mouth, her eyes devouring Nico in that way she’d developed, as though she could somehow store up all her sightings of him and drop them like breadcrumbs through her post-Nico life to make his absence somehow more bearable.
Unless…
Yes, that word had been coming to her a lot in the last few days. Unless. Unless what? Unless she stayed a bit longer? She couldn’t. Not without officially moving in with Nico. A new tenant had already been organis
ed for la villetta, when she vacated it. Plus, she had a real life she had to get back to at some stage. Ondechiara had been the perfect balm to her soul but it was a Band-Aid. She couldn’t hide out here forever.
Unless?
Unless what?
Unless Nico asked her to?
Her heart shuttled through her body but she quelled it instantly. He didn’t want that. He’d been emphatic from the beginning and she understood it. He’d been burned – badly – by Claudette. If he wanted anything more with Maddie than he’d have to spell it out. She would never presume this had meant anything more to him than he’d suggested it would: a bit of fun over summer.
And what did she want? It was a question she’d been assiduously avoiding asking herself. The answer nearly terrified her because on some level she knew she wanted the impossible.
She wanted Nico – all of Nico, for all time.
“So?”
She drew her thoughts back to the present, forcing a teasing smile to her face. “I think I’d likely find the view a little distracting?” She pointedly glanced to his naked torso, warmed by the sun and glowing bronze.
“I could wear a shirt.”
“Don’t do that.” She shook her head, her smile lifting.
“Ever again?”
“Well, maybe once I’m gone,” she forced herself to acknowledge, as though saying the words would make that prospect hurt less. They had three nights left. How had this last week flown by so quickly?
His expression didn’t change. It was impossible to think he felt anything in response to that, whereas she felt more than enough for both of them.
She barrelled past it. “I’ll just be a few hours. I haven’t been back in days. I should check the place is okay, get a change of clothes,” she gestured to the shirt of his she wore, not admitting that she far preferred it to anything else. “These are delicious.” She rushed on, changing the subject, indicating the eggs on her plate. He’d baked them in a ramekin, adding bell pepper, spinach, and a type of hard cheese. “Another recipe of Yaya’s?”
He grinned. “Naturally. She would add prosciutto and enough chilli to make your eyes water.”
“I like it your way.” Oh, no. Out of nowhere the sting of tears was cloying at her throat so she shovelled the eggs into her mouth then reached for her orange juice, taking a sip and turning pointedly to look towards the ocean.
“What will you do when the summer’s over?” She heard herself ask, as though she were some kind of glutton for punishment. As though the idea of life going on beyond this wasn’t something that stuck in her sides.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll go to Rome?”
“Ah. I have business in New York,” he said with a nod that drew her attention back to him. “That will see me through the tail-end of the year, most likely. Then back to Villa Fortune for Christmas.”
Something panged in the region of her heart. “That sounds…nice.”
His laugh was gravelled. “It’s loud. The six of us and now Elodie, Jack and the twins, Yaya overseeing everything, telling us we’ve burned the panettone and that the custard is too sweet.”
Her smile was wistful. “It sounds lovely.”
“What’s Christmas like for you?”
“The opposite of loud,” she said, sipping her juice. “When my mother’s home, she cooks, but I’m afraid your Yaya definitely wouldn’t approve.”
“Why? Does she burn the panettone too?”
Another smile, involuntary and automatic. “No, worse. She follows the British Heart Foundation guidelines to the letter, meaning we have an absence of anything fatting whatsoever. It’s rather austere, actually.” She pulled a face. “Even the mince pies are made with filo pastry.”
“That’s bad?”
“Bad?” She made a show of clutching her chest. “It’s sacrilegious.”
His smile might have toppled her if she hadn’t been sitting down, for how powerful it was.
“Real fruit mince pies are a great British tradition. They should be made with the butteriest pastry, you know the kind that leaves a ring on the napkin if you put it down for even a second?” She closed her eyes, remembering the bliss of her first ‘real’ fruit mince pie.
“And when your mother’s not home?”
“Ah. Dad and I book into the local pub,” she grinned. “That’s a little better. They live in a small village in the Cotswolds – you know, one of those places with the tiny old houses lining the main road? The pub is called The Wandering Goose.” She shook her head affectionately. “They serve roast lunch with all the trimmings, Christmas poppers with cheesy jokes in them, and those paper crowns."
His eyes sparked with hers, amusement and shared memories flashing between them.
“Then pudding, custard, a little too much champagne and cider than is wise –,”
“Definitely than your mother would approve of?”
“Definitely,” she grinned. “In the afternoon, we do the Times crossword and wait for the Queen’s address. It’s quintessentially British, but very quiet, very ordered. Sedate.”
“And you’d prefer noise?”
“I would have preferred siblings,” she said, with a wrinkle of her nose. “You don’t know how desperately I wished for a family like yours, growing up.”
“Most of the time I’m envied for my family’s wealth, not my siblings and cousins.”
“I think wealth would come with its own problems,” she said, honestly. “I don’t really envy you that at all.” Then, her eyes shifted to the view, and she lightened her tone. “Except perhaps for your ability to own a patch of paradise like this.”
He didn’t say anything. She turned to face him to find his eyes resting on her face with an intensity that set fire to her soul.
The silence stretched and she felt a compulsion to fill it. “I always swore I’d have lots of children or none.”
Something crossed his features then, a dark look she couldn’t interpret. It was gone so quickly, banished by his smile, that she thought she might have imagined it.
“There were times when I wished I was an only child,” he said with a lift of his shoulders.
“I think all children fantasise about more space to themselves, but when you live it, it’s… I mean, for example, there’s no one to share secrets with, no one to help with mum and dad as they get older. I’m alone, really.”
Her voice, without her knowledge, had grown small, plagued with the loneliness she’d known all her life.
“Would you have told a sibling about him?”
Her eyes flared wide and an involuntary ache moved through her. “I…I don’t know.” She lifted her slender shoulders, focussing on the tabletop, trying to unscramble her thoughts. “I suppose that would depend on the sibling.”
“But in theory?”
“It’s hard to say. I have – had – friends. I’m close to my dad, in some ways. But I didn’t tell anyone because I just felt so…I couldn’t believe I’d let it happen. Even as I was still with him, believing he would change, I saw it from the outside, I saw how foolish I was.”
“Not foolish,” he contradicted.
“It’s hard to explain. I externalised a lot of it, as though it were happening to someone else.”
“That makes sense.” He reached across, putting a hand on hers, and she felt as though he was going to say something. He hesitated, and her breath snagged inside her lungs, as though it would be something important, something she desperately needed to hear. Then, he smiled, and the warmth that travelled through her was like the sun beaming into all of her pores. “I’ll run you to the cottage after breakfast.”
“I have a meeting this afternoon.”
She paused, midway through re-reading the chapters she’d written that morning, hovering her highlighter over the printed pages. “Do you need me to go?”
“Go?” He laughed. “No. Hardly.” Then, a furrowed brow. “I’m hoping it won’t take long. We’ll be in my office.” He nodded d
own the corridor. “In all honesty, it’s something I was hoping to put off until…next week.” She felt the subtext of that – until you’re gone – and it made her heart heavy. “But apparently it’s urgent.”
“I’m not keeping you here am I, Nico? I mean, if you need to go to Rome, we can…”
“We can?” He prompted, moving towards where she sat cross-legged on the sofa.
“We can finish this. Us. Early.”
He pressed a finger beneath her chin, lifting her face to his and the look of confusion on his features had her heart beating in treble time. “Believe me, cara, that is the last thing I want.”
Her pulse throbbed in her body, making her limbs heavy and weightless all at once.
“Stay here. Swim. Wait for me. As soon as my meeting leaves, I will be fully at your disposal.” She put the manuscript aside, lifting her arms and wrapping them around his neck.
“And I’ll most definitely make use of you.”
“I should hope so.”
In dozens of nightmares, she’d heard Michael’s voice. It had followed her when she’d least expected it. In the supermarkets, on busses, in her sleep, in the shower. She was used to hearing phantom versions of Michael’s voice.
So when she heard him in Nico’s lounge room, she didn’t immediately react. Not outwardly, at least. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and not just because she was wearing soaking wet bathers, not just because she’d come from the warm sun outside and the water of the pool to the relative cool of the house.
Just This One Summer: A billionaire forbidden love romance... (The Montebellos Book 2) Page 13
