The Italians: Cristiano, Vittorio and Dario: Once a Ferrara Wife... / A Dark Sicilian Secret / Blackmailed Bride, Innocent Wife. Jane Porter
down she knew that even if he had prioritised her over work on that awful day, it wouldn’t have changed anything. They might have taken a different road, but they would have ended up in the place they were now.
They didn’t work well together. A relationship needed more than fiery chemistry to hold it fast.
With no warning he turned his head and caught her looking.
A frown touched his brows, as if he saw something in her face that puzzled him.
Those broad shoulders squared under the exquisitely cut suit.
Trapped by that searching, questioning gaze, Laurel ceased to breathe. She watched with her heart in her mouth as he tried to read her, saw him use that acute brain of his to draw a conclusion from the facts at his disposal.
One of Dani’s numerous little cousins, unsettled by the size of the gathering, nestled against his legs, seeking security. Cristiano responded instantly, dragging his gaze from Laurel’s pinched white face and swinging the child into his arms, offering that security instinctively and without question. The little girl buried her head in his shoulder and he lifted a hand and stroked those blonde curls, his hand strong and reassuring, his lips moving as he soothed and calmed.
It was like a slap, the display of masculine protectiveness so perfectly timed that it snapped the nostalgia that had rendered her immobile. This was Cristiano at his best. With everyone around him depending on him.
It was ironic, she thought, that the one time she’d allowed herself to do that he hadn’t been there for her.
Feeling control slide from her grip, Laurel slid discreetly out of the group and forged her way through the guests to the other end of the terrace. If she took the long way round she could make it back to the villa unseen. This was her opportunity to make her final exit from his life with the minimum of fuss. She’d pack now and make her way to the airport. Forget waiting until the morning. She was willing to take a flight anywhere, as long as it meant getting out of Sicily tonight.
‘What’s going on, Laurel?’
Santo stood in front of her and the fact that it should be him who witnessed her distress was all the more humiliating. ‘I need to be on my own.’
Strong fingers caught her chin and lifted her face, the frown descending like black clouds as he saw her eyes. ‘You’re crying. Now why would you be crying, I wonder?’
‘I’ve been staring into the sun.’
‘Why are you leaving?’
Desperate, she threw everything she had. ‘Because it was crazy to come here. A divorce and a wedding don’t go together.’
‘I was watching your face. When Dani said her vows, you looked as if someone was removing your skin with a knife.’
The image made her wince because it was exactly how she’d felt. ‘The death of a marriage is always sad.’
‘I wasn’t looking at a woman grieving for the death of her marriage.’
Oh, God, why now? Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? ‘You saw me upset. Was it hard for me to witness two people exchange those vows? Yes, it was hard. It doesn’t change the fact that Cristiano and I are finished.’
‘Why? You’re obviously still in love with him.’
‘I’m not in love with him!’ Her foot almost slipped on the step. ‘It’s … you’re … I’m just not.’ She didn’t want to be. She couldn’t be. That would be like almost drowning in the sea and then telling someone you loved water.
‘I have never seen a woman work so hard not to look at a man as you tried not to look at Cristiano during the wedding. Were you afraid that if you looked at him, he’d see what you felt? You always had this thing, didn’t you—’ he spread his hands in an expressive Mediterranean gesture ‘—this thing where you could read each other’s minds. You each knew what the other was thinking. He used to tease me about it—used to tell me that one day I’d find a woman I connected with, the way he connected with you.’
Laurel felt as if she was about to connect with the ground. Any moment now she was going to faint and smack her head on the concrete. ‘Worry about your own love life, Santo, and leave me to worry about mine.’ She tried to pass him but he caught her arm in a firm grip.
‘What you did almost destroyed my brother. I had to watch him drag himself through every day. Losing you was like losing the oxygen from the air. Without you, he couldn’t breathe.’
Laurel couldn’t breathe either. Her chest was tight and her lungs were burning. ‘Santo—’
‘The funny thing is, I didn’t believe in love until I saw the two of you together.’
Laurel ducked quickly under his arm and started to run.
She had minutes, she guessed. Minutes in which to pack her things and get safely away from the villa before he came after her.
Minutes to end this thing for good.
The sky had turned from fiery red to a rich velvet black, embedded with stars. If there was ever a moment to believe in romance and happy endings it was now but Laurel was a non-believer.
It was over, and she needed to get out of here.
FROM the far end of the terrace, Cristiano watched the exchange between his wife and his brother. The child in his arms said something to him and he answered automatically before lowering her to the ground and encouraging her to play with her friends. His mind was wrapped up in Laurel.
During the wedding he’d been determined to ignore her. Not to allow his own private hell to intrude on his sister’s special day. It was only when Santo had nudged him that he’d caught the expression on her face and known instantly that her mind was in the same place as his. He’d seen the betraying glisten of moisture on her cheeks and it had stunned him because in all the time they’d been together, at no time during their intense, crazy love affair had he ever seen her shed a tear. She was the toughest, strongest woman he’d ever met.
‘Go after her.’ Santo was by his side, smooth and in control, somehow managing to be the perfect host while talking to his brother in a low voice. ‘Go now, because she’ll be out of here in minutes.’
‘She’s complicated.’
‘All women are complicated. I don’t pretend to understand any of them but I do know one thing—’ Santo scooped a glass of champagne from a passing waitress ‘—if there is such a thing as love, then that woman loves you. Move. I’ll cover for you.’
Cristiano stood in frozen silence, remembering the look on her face during the photographs.
Longing. And intense sadness, as if the situation was sucking her down and drowning her.
And that didn’t make sense.
Why would she be sad if this was what she wanted? If she no longer had feelings for him, why did she find all this so stressful?
It came to him in a single blinding flash of comprehension and he pressed his fingers to his forehead, his hand unsteady, the shock of it rocking his composure.
No matter how vehement her denials, it was obvious now that she did love him. It was also obvious that loving him was scaring her to death. She was running because she was afraid of giving in to those feelings. She didn’t want to forgive him because she was afraid to forgive him. Afraid to trust him again.
Behind him he heard the music start, whoops of laughter and knew that soon there’d be dancing.
Propelled by an anger directed towards himself as well as her, Cristiano strode into the villa with the subtlety of the police carrying out