The Bride's Awakening - By Kate Hewitt Page 0,64

lightly, yet Benardo regarded her with grave eyes.

‘It is, as far as Vittorio is concerned. He is not interested in anything I have to do with Cazlevara Wines.’

Ana felt a stab of pity. ‘Why? Is it simply because of what happened so long ago, when your father died?’ Bernardo looked surprised and Ana said quickly, ‘I know Constantia tried to take his inheritance, and make you Count. Vittorio told me. Yet that happened so long ago, and you were only a boy—’

‘That was merely the beginning,’ Bernardo replied. ‘I suppose he told you what our childhood was like? We were forced to take sides, Vittorio and I. At first we resisted it. We resented our parents drawing us into their battles. But after time…’ He shrugged and spread his hands. ‘I admit, I was not a sensible boy. My mother’s attention went to my head. When she so clearly preferred me to Vittorio—and my own father did not have so much as a glance for me—well, I flaunted it. I rubbed Vittorio’s nose in it. Special presents, trips…these things turn a boy’s head. They turned mine.’ His mouth twisted in a bitter smile of regret. ‘Vittorio saw it all, and said nothing. That only made me angrier. He had my papà’s attention and praise, all of it, and I wanted to make him jealous.’

‘And of course he was,’ Ana cut in. ‘Nothing can take the place of a mother’s love.’

‘Or a father’s. I don’t know which of us got the better bargain. Vittorio was my father’s favourite, but he didn’t get spoiled and cosseted like I did. He was whipped into shape.’ He held up a hand. ‘Not literally. But my father was a hard taskmaster. I remember one time he called Vittorio out of bed—he must have been ten or so, home from boarding school. I was but six at the time. It wasn’t even dawn, but my father saw that Vittorio had done poorly on a maths exam. He sat him down at the dining room table and made him write the exam all over again. He didn’t stop until every problem was correct. Vittorio worked for hours. He didn’t even have breakfast.’ Bernardo made a face. ‘I remember because I smacked my lips and slurped my juice and he didn’t even look up, though he must have been hungry.’ Bernardo shook his head, his mouth twisting in a grimace. ‘I am not proud of how I behaved over the years, Ana. I freely admit that.’

Ana let out a sorrowful little sigh. It was such a sad, pointless story. Why had Constantia rejected Vittorio so utterly? Couldn’t she see how her behaviour had affected him, how her love could have softened her husband’s harsh treatment? She’d been so blinded by her own misery, Ana supposed. Arturo’s lack of love for his wife had been the rotten seed of it all.

The food had been served, but she found she had no appetite. ‘And when your father died? What happened then?’

Bernardo steepled his fingers under his chin. ‘By that time the lines were well and truly drawn. Vittorio hated both my mother and me, or at least acted as if he did. He was only fourteen, and he had not one word of kindness for either of us. Oh, he was polite enough, icily respectful, and it drove my mother mad. I suppose Vittorio was so like our father—and my father had never had a true moment of empathy or love for my mother. He was polite, courteous, solicitous even, but there was no love behind it. He was a cold man.’

‘Even so, why did your mother try to have the will overturned and disinherit Vittorio? Simply because you were her favourite?’ Ana heard the accusation in her own voice. What could justify such cruel, callous behaviour?

Bernardo shrugged. ‘Who knows? She has told me she did it because she thought if Vittorio became Count, he would be too hard a man, like my father was. She said she could not bear to see Vittorio become like Arturo.’ He smiled sadly. ‘I rather thought she believed she was saving him—from himself.’

Ana raised her eyebrows. ‘He certainly didn’t view it that way.’

‘It made things worse, of course,’ Bernardo agreed. ‘The plan failed, and Vittorio’s enmity was cemented. Over the years we have had nothing to say to one another and—’ he paused, his gaze sliding from hers ‘—I have not always acted in a way I could be proud of.’ He turned