Kitabı oku: «The Italians: Cristiano, Vittorio and Dario», sayfa 2
‘I’ll do whatever people want me to do.’ It was a performance, she thought. If she had to smile, she’d smile. If she were expected to dance, she’d dance. The outside didn’t have to reflect the inside. She’d learned that as a child. She’d learned to bury her feelings deep, so deep that few ever saw them.
Her confidence that she could cope with the situation lasted until they drove through the entrance gates and she realised the driver was taking the private road towards the Aphrodite Villa. The jewel in the crown. Cristiano’s beachside bolt-hole, his personal retreat from the demands placed on him by his thriving business empire.
When they’d built the Resort they’d used part of the land to relocate their corporate headquarters and Laurel had never ceased to drool over his office, which exploited the stunning coastal position. Cristiano had qualified as a structural engineer and his talents in that area were visible in the innovative design features incorporated into his headquarters.
As would be expected, the walls of his office were glass. What was unexpected was the floor, also glass and stretching out over the water so that a visitor to his office could find himself distracted by shoals of colourful Mediterranean fish darting beneath their feet.
It was typical of Cristiano to merge the aesthetic with the functional and there were similar touches throughout his hotels.
‘I don’t see why an office has to be a boring box in the centre of a smog-choked city,’ he’d said when she’d gasped at her first sight of his office. ‘I like the sea. This way, if I’m stuck behind my desk, I can still enjoy it.’
It was that same breadth of vision that had made the company so successful. That, and his sophistication and appreciation for luxury. Her first glimpse of the Aphrodite Villa had made her jaw drop, but going there now drew a very different response from her.
The shock of it tore a hole in her composure. ‘Why are we going this way? I’m not staying here.’ It was too reminiscent of their wedding night, when she’d been so happy and full of optimism for the future.
‘Why would you care where you sleep?’ His tone was hard and unsympathetic. ‘If what we shared was “just a wedding,” then presumably this was “just a honeymoon”, in which case the place holds no sentimental value. It’s just a bed.’
Laurel struggled to bring her breathing back to normal. She carried an asthma inhaler in her bag but there was no way she was going to use it in front of him unless she was half dead.
And now she was trapped. To admit how the place made her feel would be to reveal something she had no intention of ever revealing.
Not to admit it meant staying here.
‘It’s your premium property.’ Occasionally, she knew, he had been persuaded to loan it to honeymooning rock stars and actors. ‘Why waste it on me?’
‘It’s the only vacant bed in the place. Sleep in it and be grateful.’ His tone was so chilly and matter-of-fact that for a moment she truly believed that the villa held no significance for him whatsoever. For a man who owned five homes and spent his working life travelling the world, this was just another few hundred square metres of luxurious accommodation.
Or was it?
Was he doing this to punish her?
‘Well, at least it has a good internet connection.’ She kept her eyes ahead, refusing to let him access her secrets. She tried not to remember that gazing into his eyes had once been her favourite pastime. On more than one occasion she’d woken him just so that she could experience that incredible connection that happened whenever they looked at each other. With him, she’d discovered intimacy. But intimacy meant openness and openness meant vulnerability, as she’d learned to her cost.
He’d demanded that she trust him and gradually she’d yielded to that because he would accept nothing less. And then he had let her down so badly she doubted the bruises would ever heal.
‘You’re being treated as an honoured guest. We both know it’s more than you deserve. Let’s go.’ Without giving her the chance to argue further, he opened the door and sprang from the car with that same driven sense of purpose that characterised everything he did.
All he could focus on was the fact that she’d left him, Laurel thought numbly. It was all about his pride. Not about their relationship. He saw himself as the injured party.
She had no choice but to follow him up the pathway that led to the villa. Inside, she knew, there would be air conditioning so there would be some relief from the blistering Sicilian sun. Unless it was the chemistry between them that burned hotter than the fires of hell.
Cristiano flung open the door and she heard the sound of the car reversing as his driver retreated back to the main hotel complex.
Laurel stepped across the threshold, trying not to remember their wedding night when he’d carried her through the door, both of them frantic in their indecent desperation for each other. ‘Why isn’t he waiting for you?’
He dropped her case onto the tiled floor. ‘Why do you think? Because I’m staying here too.’
The words floated right past her because they made no sense.
‘Please tell me that’s a joke—’ Her voice sounded strange, robotic. ‘There’s only one bedroom.’ One enormous bedroom overlooking the pool and the beach. The bedroom where they’d spent long sultry nights together.
Cristiano gave a bitter smile. ‘Blame Dani again. Her wedding. Her room allocation.’
‘I’m not sharing a bed with you!’ The words flew out before she could stop them and he turned with an angry snarl that was animal-like in its ferocity.
‘You think you need to say that to me? Do you think I would have you back in my bed after what you did? Do you?’
Her heart was hammering and she took an instinctive step backwards even though she knew he’d never hurt her. Not physically. ‘I can’t stay here with you.’ The emotions she’d kept locked down during the horrendous car journey were bubbling up like milk on the boil, refusing to be contained.
‘It’s too—’
‘It’s too what?’ Something about the way he was looking at her made her heart beat faster. He’d always been frighteningly good at reading her mind and this time it was imperative that he didn’t.
She didn’t want to open up. It was way too late for that.
Grateful for years of practice at hiding what she felt, Laurel hauled her emotions back inside her. ‘It’s awkward,’ she said coldly. ‘For both of us.’
He stared at her for another few seconds and then his mouth hardened. ‘I think “awkward” is the least of our problems, don’t you? Don’t worry. I’ll sleep on the couch. And if you’re worried that I won’t be able to keep my hands off you, then don’t be. You had your chance.’ Insultingly indifferent, he strolled away from her but even that didn’t give her breathing space because there were traces of him everywhere.
A tailored jacket slung carelessly over the back of a chair. The glass of fresh Sicilian lemonade, half drunk because he’d been disturbed and too busy to finish. His laptop, the battery light glowing because he worked such long hours he never bothered to shut down. All those things were so familiar, so much a part of him, and for a moment she stood still, unable to breathe, swamped by a longing to turn the clock back.
But turn it back to when?
How could there have ever been a different outcome? Their love had been doomed from the beginning. Together they’d managed to make Romeo and Juliet look like a match made in heaven.
CHAPTER TWO
CRISTIANO downed the glass of whisky in one, trying to blunt the savage bite of his emotions as he waited on the terrace of the villa for Laurel to make an appearance.
He’d promised himself that he would be icily calm and detached. That resolution had lasted until she’d stepped off the plane. His plan to make no reference to their situation had exploded under the intense pressure of the reunion. The conflicting emotions had been like a storm inside him, made all the more fierce by her own lack of response. Laurel had turned hiding her emotions into an art form.
Wishing he had time to go for a run and burn off some of the adrenalin scalding his veins, Cristiano lifted a hand and slid a finger into the collar of his white dress shirt. Deprived of one stress reliever, he reached for another and topped up his glass with a hand that wasn’t quite steady.
She still blamed him. That much was obvious but, even now, she wouldn’t talk about it.
Immediately after the event he’d tried, but she’d appeared to be in shock, her reaction to the miscarriage far more extreme than he would have anticipated.
His own sadness at the loss of their baby had been tempered with a sense of realism. Miscarriages happened. His own mother had lost two babies. His aunt, one. It was Laurel’s first pregnancy. He’d been philosophical.
She’d been inconsolable. And stubborn.
Apart from that one message on his voicemail, the one telling him not to bother to cut short his meeting because she’d lost the baby, she’d refused to talk about what had happened.
Sweat prickled the back of his neck and he wished for the millionth time he hadn’t switched off his phone before going into that meeting.
If he’d answered the call, would they be in a different place now?
Contemplating the celebration that lay ahead made him want to empty the bottle of whisky. He was in desperate need of an anaesthetic to dull his senses and relieve the pain.
Maybe it was because his own marriage was such a total disaster that he hated weddings so much.
Part of him wished his sister had just eloped quietly, but that had never been on the cards. She was marrying a Sicilian man in true Sicilian style and he, as her older brother and the head of the family, was expected to play a major part in the celebrations. The family honour was at stake. The image of the Ferrara dynasty. He was expected to celebrate.
‘I’m ready.’ Her voice came from behind him and this time he made sure that he had himself fully under control before he turned.
Even prepared, the connection was immediate and powerful.
It was like being trapped in an electrical storm. The air around him crackled and buzzed with a tension that hadn’t been there before she’d stepped over the threshold.
Ready? He almost laughed. Neither of them would ever be ready for what they were about to face. Their estrangement had attracted almost as much attention as their wedding. There would be no cameras tonight, but that didn’t mean the guests wouldn’t be interested. With that macabre fascination that drew people to stare at the wreckage of car accidents, everyone was waiting to see how he was going to treat his scandalous estranged wife.
Looking at her, he felt the attraction punch through his gut. Her body was slim and supremely fit and wrapped in a dress of fine blue silk. On most women the dress would have been monumentally unforgiving. Laurel had nothing that needed forgiving. Her body was her brand and she dressed to showcase it and drive her business. It wouldn’t have surprised him to see her web address stamped on her hemline. Ferrara Fitness. He’d been the one who had spotted her potential and persuaded her to expand—to broaden what she offered from the personal to the corporate.
She wasn’t beautiful in a classical sense, but her guts and drive had proved a greater aphrodisiac than sleek blonde hair or a perfect D cup. Only he knew that her restrained appearance and tiger-like personality hid monumental insecurities.
From the outside no one would ever have guessed that on the inside she was such a mess, he mused, but he’d never met anyone more screwed up than Laurel. It had taken months for her to open up to him even a little and, when she had, the cold reality of her childhood had shocked him. It was a story of care homes and neglect, and just a brief glimpse into what her life had been was enough for him to begin to understand why she was so different from most of the women he met.
Had it been arrogance, he wondered, that had made him so sure that he could break down those defensive barriers? He’d demanded trust from someone who had never had reason to give it and, in the end, it had backfired badly.
Any residual guilt he might have felt about his own behaviour at that time had long been erased by his anger that she hadn’t even given him a chance to fix his mistake. She’d ended their marriage with the finality of an executioner, refusing both rational conversation and the diamonds he’d bought her by way of apology.
Dark emotions swirled inside him and he studied her face for signs that she was regretting her decision. Her features were blank, but that didn’t surprise him. She’d trained herself to reveal nothing. To rely on no one. Extracting anything from her had been a challenge.
Even now she chose to keep the conversation neutral. ‘You changed the room overlooking the garden from a gym to a cinema.’
She would have noticed, of course, because that was her job. And Laurel was one hundred per cent committed to her job. Which was why they’d wanted her involved in the business. From the moment her success with one very overweight actress had been blazoned over the press, Laurel Hampton had become the personal trainer that everyone wanted. The fact that she’d agreed to advise the hotel had been a coup for both of them. He had her name on his brand and she had his. It had been a winning combination.
Hampton had become Ferrara.
And that was when the combination had exploded.
‘I watch sport. I don’t need a gym when I’m here.’ Cristiano felt a flicker of exasperation. Their marriage was writhing in its death throes and they were discussing gym equipment?
Something glinted around her neck and he frowned at the thin gold chain. The fact that she was wearing jewellery he didn’t recognise racked his tension levels up a few more notches and drove all thoughts from his brain. He hadn’t given her the chain, so where the hell had it come from?
He pictured a pair of male hands fastening the necklace around her slender throat. Someone else touching her. Someone else persuading her to part with her secrets—
It was something that hadn’t occurred to him before now.
Only when he heard the splintering sound of glass on ceramic tiles did he realise he’d dropped the glass he was holding.
Eyeing him as she would an escaped tiger, Laurel backed away. ‘I’ll get a brush—’ ‘Leave it.’ ‘But—’
‘I said, leave it. The staff will sort it out. We need to go.
I’m the host.’
‘Everyone will be speculating.’
‘They wouldn’t dare. At least, not publicly.’
She gave a bitter laugh. ‘Sorry. I forgot you even manage to control people’s thoughts.’
Suddenly Cristiano wished he hadn’t dropped the glass. God only knew he needed something to get him through the next few hours. The gold necklace glinted in the sunshine, taunting him. Following an impulse he didn’t want to examine too closely, he grabbed her left hand and lifted it. She made a sound in her throat and tugged but he simply tightened his grip, shocked by the emotion that tore through him when he saw her bare finger.
‘Where is your wedding ring?’
‘I don’t wear it. We’re no longer married.’
‘We’re married until we’re divorced and in Sicily that takes three years—’ Teeth gritted, tone thickened, he held tightly to her hand as she twisted her fingers and tried to free herself.
‘It’s a bit late to be possessive. Marriage is about more than a ring, Cristiano, and more than a piece of paper.’
‘You are telling me what constitutes marriage? You, who treated our marriage as something disposable?’ Outrage and fury mingled in a lethal cocktail. ‘Why remove your ring? Is there someone else?’
‘This weekend isn’t about us, it’s about your sister.’
He’d wanted a denial.
He’d wanted her to laugh and say, Of course there isn’t anyone else—how could there be?
He’d wanted her to admit that what they’d shared had been rare and special. Instead she was dismissing it. She’d consigned it to the dustbin of past mistakes.
Driven by an emotion he didn’t understand, he grabbed her shoulders and yanked her against him. If he’d been more controlled he might have asked himself why he was trying to goad her, but he didn’t feel controlled. The fact that she seemed indifferent simply intensified his urge to draw a response from her.
Caught off balance, she swayed against him. That brief whisper of contact was all it took. Thin blue silk proved an ineffectual barrier and the heat spread from him to her. He heard her breathing quicken and felt the powerful surge of desire as his body acknowledged her response. It confirmed what he already knew—that the chemistry between them was as powerful as ever. Not indifferent, he thought with grim satisfaction. It was the one emotion she couldn’t mask. In a moment he’d be kissing her and he knew from bitter experience that once they kissed that was it. There was no turning back from it and it seemed that even after her betrayal that hadn’t changed.
‘There is no one else.’ Her voice reflected all those painful emotions right back at him. ‘One lousy relationship in a lifetime is enough.’
The words acted like a bucket of cold water over the flickering flames.
Cristiano released her as suddenly as he’d grabbed her. If he’d felt like laughing he would have laughed at himself. All his life women had thrown themselves at him. He’d taken it as a right that he could win any woman he wanted. And then he’d met Laurel and been slapped in the face with his own arrogance.
He stepped back from her, needing the distance. ‘We’re expected to attend this dinner. Let’s get it over with.’
For once, the mask slipped. ‘I’m going to call Dani and explain that I’m tired. She’ll understand.’
It was true that her face was pale and her eyes huge but he knew that her reluctance to socialise had nothing to do with fatigue.
Cristiano wondered how far he could push her before she stopped guarding her every word. The ridiculous thing was, they had yet to talk about what had happened. She’d refused to have that conversation. ‘Why would your conscience bother you now when it didn’t bother you two years ago? Or is it just cowardice because you’re embarrassed to meet my family? You came because of your loyalty to my sister so let’s see that loyalty in action.’ He’d never seen anyone so pale but before he could say anything she turned and walked quickly past him up the narrow path that snaked through the pretty gardens and led to the main part of the hotel. Apparently accepting her fate, she kept walking, her high heels tapping on the stones, her hair twisted into a severe knot that exposed her slender neck.
His gaze slid lower, to the dip of her waist and the curve of her bottom.
Squats, he thought savagely. She’d sculpted that bottom from squats and squat thrusts. So what?
His mood turbulent, Cristiano strode after her, resisting the temptation to flatten her against the nearest tree and demand to know what had been going through her crazy, mixed up mind when she’d smashed everything they’d created together. He wanted to force the issue she was avoiding out into the open. But most of all he wanted to rip that delicate gold chain from her throat and replace it with one of the jewels he’d given her when they’d been together. Something that announced to the world that she was his.
Unsettled by the depths to which his thoughts had sunk, it took him a moment to register that Laurel had stopped dead in the entrance to the terrace.
‘Laurel.’ Santo stood there. Santiago, his younger brother, hot-headed and overprotective, who felt responsible for the current mess because he was the one who had appointed Laurel as his personal trainer when he’d committed to run the New York City Marathon. Without that introduction, Cristiano never would have met her.
Santo glowered at her, his expression uncensored.
Laurel met that threatening stare without flinching. Despite his heightened emotions, Cristiano felt a flicker of reluctant admiration. Here she was, surrounded by people who felt nothing but animosity for her and she faced them head on. She barely reached his shoulder and yet it didn’t occur to her to back down. Laurel was a fighter.
And that was part of the problem, he thought wearily. She was so used to defending herself that persuading her to lower her guard was virtually impossible.
Knowing that if they were to stand any chance of getting through the evening without an explosion he had to be the one to keep things calm, Cristiano stepped forward and took control. ‘Is Daniela here?’
‘She’s waiting to make an entrance.’ Santo’s icy gaze was fixed on Laurel, who stared right back, almost willing him to come at her.
Eyeing the stubborn lift of her chin, Cristiano felt a flash of exasperation. ‘You’re neglecting our guests, Santo.’ Deciding that a show of solidarity would calm the situation, he forced himself to take Laurel’s hand and was shocked to find it ice-cold. Her fingers shook slightly in his. Surprised by that outward manifestation of emotion, he glanced at her face but she wasn’t looking at him. Instead she tugged at her hand but he held her fast. Perhaps if he’d done that two years ago she wouldn’t have flown, he thought grimly. Her crazy, disastrous childhood had left her with insecurities deeper than the ocean. On the surface she was a bright, competent businesswoman. Underneath she was emotional quicksand. He’d thought he could cope with that. He’d thought he was sane and well adjusted enough for both of them. He’d been wrong.
As Santo turned away to greet some guests, Laurel turned to Cristiano with a fierce stare. ‘You don’t need to protect me.’
Cristiano released her. ‘I wasn’t protecting you. I was protecting my family. This is Dani’s night and we don’t need a scene.’
‘I had no intention of creating a scene. You’re the ones who can’t hang onto your emotions. I’m perfectly in control.’
And that was the problem. It had always been the problem.
Cristiano bit back the comment he wanted to make. ‘We’re not going to do this, Laurel. Not here. Not now.’
‘I don’t want to do it at all.’
‘Laurie?’ Daniela’s voice came from behind them and then there was a flash of vivid green and a soft swish of silk as she pushed past Santo and flung her arms around Laurel. ‘You’re here! I have so much to tell you. I need to sneak you away for just five minutes so that I can show you something.’ Without giving Laurel the chance to respond, she took her hand and drew her away from Cristiano and towards the villa.
And Cristiano watched her go, wondering how his sister had managed to penetrate that protective shell while he’d been locked out.
Having dispatched the latest arrivals to the terrace with a glass of champagne, Santo joined him, his face like a storm cloud.
‘Why did you agree to this?’ ‘It was what Dani wanted.’
‘But the last thing you need. Tell me that you’re not, even for a moment, thinking of taking her back.’
Cristiano watched Laurel from the terrace, arm in arm with his sister. She moved with the grace of a dancer and the strength of an athlete, the subtle sway of her hips unconsciously sensual. Her knowledge of sports physiology was encyclopaedic and as for how she was in bed—
He clenched his jaw. ‘I’m not thinking of taking her back.’
‘No?’ Santo’s eyes followed a pretty blonde as she walked past and waved at him. ‘Some men wouldn’t blame you if you did. Laurel is undeniably hot.’
‘If you don’t want to give our sister away with a black eye,’ Cristiano growled, ‘don’t describe my wife as “hot”.’
‘She isn’t your wife. She’s your soon-to-be ex-wife. The sooner the better.’
‘I thought you liked Laurel?’
‘That was before she left you.’ Santo was still looking at the blonde. ‘My advice? She isn’t worth the effort. Let some other man have her.’
A red mist rose up from nowhere and the next minute Cristiano had smashed his fist into his brother’s jaw and had him pinned against the wall.
It took Santo a moment to recover from the shock and then he hurled his weight against his brother and switched positions. This time it was Cristiano who found himself slammed against the wall. Hard stone pressed through the thin silk of his shirt and he felt the iron strength in his brother’s hands holding him trapped. Trapped, along with all that anger.
‘Basta! Stop, the pair of you.’ It was Carlo, a lifelong friend of Cristiano’s who was also the family lawyer handling the divorce. He wrenched the two men apart and stood between them as Santo touched his fingers to his bruised jaw, his eyes on Cristiano.
Slowly, Carlo released his grip on Santo’s shoulder. ‘Calma.
Calm down. I haven’t seen the two of you fight since you were sixteen. What is going on here?’
Santo’s eyes were fixed on his brother. ‘I suggested he should let another man have Laurel.’
Cristiano stepped forward again but Carlo’s hand planted itself in the centre of his chest.
Surprisingly calm, Santo stepped back and adjusted his bow tie. ‘Help yourself to champagne, Carlo. We’re good.’
The lawyer glanced towards the terrace but mercifully no one seemed to have noticed the disturbance. ‘Are you sure? A moment ago you were out of control.’
‘I was never out of control—’ Santo licked his split lip ‘—but I wanted an answer to a question and now I have it.’ As Carlo reluctantly left them alone, Santo gave Cristiano a long, steady look. ‘If this is love I’m glad I’ve managed to avoid it for so long because it looks like hell from where I’m standing.’
Cristiano felt the back of his neck tingle. ‘It isn’t love.’
‘No?’ Blotting blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, Santo lifted an eyebrow. ‘If it’s not, you might want to ask yourself why you knocked me in the dirt for the first time in almost two decades.’
‘You suggested—’ He couldn’t even bring himself to say the words and Santo gave an unapologetic shrug.
‘It was a test of how far you’ve come in the last two years. The answer is not far.’ He grabbed two glasses of champagne from a waitress and handed one to his brother. ‘Drink. You’re going to need it. I thought you were in trouble before, but you’re in bigger trouble than even I imagined.’
‘Cristiano just punched Santo. Which is a nightmare actually because now he’ll have a bruised jaw in my wedding photos.’ Hitching up her dress so that she wouldn’t crease it, Dani knelt on the window seat so that she could get a better look at the courtyard below. ‘And now Santo’s got him pinned against the wall. I haven’t seen them fight since they were teenagers. My money’s on Cristiano but it could be a close run thing.’
Imagining Cristiano still and lifeless, Laurel flew to the window in a panic. ‘Is he hurt? Oh, God, someone should pull Santo off—’
‘Cristiano is fine. He’s still the stronger of the two.’ Dani shot her a look. ‘I thought you didn’t care about him any more?’
‘Just because I don’t love him any more doesn’t mean I want to see him hurt.’ Laurel licked her lips. ‘What do you think they’re fighting about?’
‘You, of course. What else?’ Dani glanced enviously at Laurel’s waist. ‘You look good for someone in the middle of a relationship trauma. I’d do anything for your abs.’
‘Anything except exercise,’ Laurel said drily and Dani grinned.
‘You know me so well. I lift my wine glass. Doesn’t that count?’
Laurel turned her head to look out of the window again. ‘I don’t want them fighting over me.’ The thought of Cristiano injured made her feel physically sick. Telling herself that was a perfectly normal reaction, she sank down onto the window seat next to Dani. ‘Go down there and stop them.’
‘No way. I might get blood on my dress. Do you like it? It’s by that Italian designer that everyone is wearing.’ Dani smoothed the fabric. ‘It’s traditional to wear green the night before the wedding. But you know that, of course, because you wore that gorgeous green dress the night before you married Cristiano.’
Laurel’s chest felt ominously tight. The feeling had grown gradually worse since that awful car journey from the airport. Nothing she did could calm it down.
Recognising the warning signs of an impending asthma attack, she discreetly opened her bag and checked that she had her inhaler. For her the trigger had always been stress and her stress levels had been steadily rising since she’d arrived in Sicily. ‘I don’t want to talk about my wedding.’
‘You chose a better shade of green than me. In the end I went for emerald but I’m wondering if forest would have been better. Because my hair is so dark, I decided I needed the brightness of colour.’
‘How can you even think about clothes when your brothers are fighting?’
‘I grew up watching my brothers fight so it’s not a big deal, although I must admit it’s much more fun now they’re both more muscular. You only need to worry when their shirts come off.’ Dani craned her neck to take another look. ‘You should be flattered. It’s pretty cool having men fighting over you. Romantic.’
‘It isn’t cool and there’s nothing romantic about two men who can’t control their tempers.’ Laurel wished she could just stay here. Hide away for the whole evening. ‘I don’t want them fighting.’
‘Physically they’re evenly matched, but a man defending the woman he loves is probably stronger, which is why Cristiano has the advantage. I love those shoes you’re wearing. Did you get those in London?’
Laurel sprang from the window seat and walked the shoes to the far side of the room where she couldn’t be tempted to look down into the courtyard. ‘Cristiano doesn’t love me. We barely tolerate each other.’
