spoke tremulously; he felt her uncertainty.
The future. The future scared him, and he suspected it scared her too. What could a future with Lucia look like? A future with love in it, a life he was afraid of because he didn’t really believe it could ever be his? It never had been before.
The sun had started to sink behind the church and the cemetery was lost in shadows. Angelo turned away from his daughter’s grave.
‘We should go,’ he said, and silently Lucia followed him back to the car.
An hour later, having dropped her off at her apartment, Angelo strode into his office above the Corretti Hotel. He felt restless, edgy, unfulfilled. The afternoon with Lucia had opened up old wounds, new doubts. He craved being with her, even as he hated the weakness of that craving. The need it showed in him, a need that could surely never be filled.
All you were meant to be was a stain on the sheets.
His father’s sneering voice.
You were a mistake, Angelo. It would have been better if you’d never lived.
His grandparents, sighing with weary defeat.
I’m sorry. I should never have had you.
His mother, ashamed and defiant.
No one had wanted him. No one had loved him. He’d learned to live without love, had trained himself not to want it. And now Lucia came once more into his life, with her hope and her love and her fear.
He knew she was afraid he would let her down, no matter what she said. He knew it because he felt it too. Wouldn’t it be easier for everyone if he just stopped now? Admitted it couldn’t work, it wasn’t in him? Wouldn’t it save them both a lot of heartbreak? And God only knew Lucia had had enough, with his own abandonment and the death of their daughter—
‘Signor Corretti? There have been messages.…’
Yanked from his thoughts, Angelo glanced impatiently at his receptionist, a woman who had worked for the Correttis and whom he hadn’t had time to replace, as she half rose from behind her desk.
‘Leave them on my desk.’
He stalked into his office, felt the beginnings of another migraine pulse at his temples. He snatched the scrawled messages on his desk and scanned them, the pain at his temples pulsing harder as he realised what this day had cost him.
A message from one of Corretti Designs’ shareholders, the banker from Milan who was having second thoughts about Luca remaining as CEO. Another message from Battaglia, wanting to speak to him about the regeneration bid. A message from Alessandro Corretti, his unacknowledged half-brother, who wanted to set up a meeting about that same bid.
Angelo dropped the sheaf of messages. One damned day might have set back all his plans. Who even knew what opportunities he’d missed while he’d been dallying with Lucia, chasing dreams he had no right to harbour, not even for a moment?
Dio, he’d been so stupid. So weak.
Resolutely he sat down at his desk and pulled the phone towards him. Any thoughts of Lucia, of love, had deserted him completely, replaced only by cold, hard purpose. This was why he was here. This was what he had come for.
Lucia gazed at her reflection. The dragonfly clip sparkled in her hair, which she’d styled into loose waves. The sapphire blue of the dress glowed against her skin. She wore cheap shoes.
Funny, but Angelo hadn’t thought of that. Neither had she. Dress, check. Jewelry, check. Shoes? A pair of scuffed pumps she’d had for nearly a decade. And as for her underwear…if they ever got that far, Angelo would encounter plain white cotton that had definitely seen better days.
Sighing, she turned away from the mirror.
She wasn’t even sure if any of it mattered. It had been five days since Angelo had dropped her off after their day together, and she hadn’t seen him at all. Hadn’t received so much as a phone call or text message or note. This was all starting to seem horribly familiar. The hope, the dread, the silence.
They hadn’t even lasted a week.
Stop it, she told herself. He’d been busy, of course he had. He was an important man, with important deals to make. She understood that, even if she didn’t like it. Trust was a choice.
Taking a deep breath, she went into the living room to wait for Angelo. His assistant had sent a message earlier that day that he would pick her up at five. Well, here she was. She only hoped he hadn’t changed his mind…about anything. About everything.
At