The Bride's Awakening - By Kate Hewitt Page 0,67

turned to stare blindly out of the window. Rows upon rows of neat growing grapes stretched to the horizon, Cazlevara’s fortune, his family’s life blood. He’d made love to Ana out there, among those vines. He’d held in her arms and loved her.

Loved her.

And now she’d betrayed him. He tried to stay reasonable, to keep the anger and hurt and oh, yes, the fear from consuming him, but they rose up in a red tide of feeling until he couldn’t think any more. He could only feel.

He felt the hurt and the pain and the sorrow, the agony of his mother and brother’s rejection, over and over again. Day after day of trying to please his father, only to strive more and more; nothing he’d ever done was enough. And then when his father had died, torn between despair and relief, he’d wanted to turn to his mother, thinking that now she would accept him, love him even, only to realize she’d rejected him utterly.

And now. This. Ana had somehow been working against him with his brother, waiting until he was gone to use the authority he’d given her on trust to discredit him. This, he acknowledged, was the worst betrayal of all.

‘Lord Cazlevara is here to see you, Signorina Vi—Lady Cazlevara.’

Ana half-rose from the desk, smiling at Edoardo. ‘You don’t need to stand on ceremony, Edoardo. Send him in!’ Yet, even as a smile of hope and welcome—how she’d missed him!—was spreading across her face, another part of Ana was registering the look of wariness on her assistant’s face and wondering why he seemed so uncomfortable.

‘Good afternoon, Ana.’

‘Vittorio!’ The word burst from Ana’s lips and, despite his rather chilly greeting, she couldn’t keep from smiling, from walking towards him, her arms outstretched, needing his touch, his kiss—

Vittorio didn’t move. Ana dropped her arms, realization settling coldly inside her. He’d heard about Bernardo, obviously. He knew what she’d done. And he hadn’t liked it.

‘You’re angry,’ she stated, and Vittorio arched one eyebrow.

‘Angry? No. Curious, perhaps.’ He spoke with arctic politeness that froze Ana’s insides. She hadn’t heard that voice in such a long time; she’d forgotten just how cold it was. How cold it made her feel. Vittorio leaned against the door frame, hands in his pockets, and waited.

Ana took a breath. She’d been preparing for this conversation, had known that Vittorio, on some level, would not be pleased. He’d try to distance himself; that was how he stayed safe. She knew that, yet she’d trusted what she felt for him—and what she believed and hoped he felt for her—that their love would make him see reason. She’d told herself so hundreds of times over the last week, yet now that the time had come and Vittorio was standing here looking so icy and indifferent, all the calm explanations she’d come up with seemed to have vanished, leaving her with nothing but a growing sense of panic, a swamping fear. She didn’t want her husband looking at her this way, talking to her as if she were a stranger he didn’t really like. She couldn’t bear it. ‘Vittorio,’ she finally said, and heard the plea in her voice even though her words sounded firm, ‘Bernardo showed me the vintage he’s created. He’s been working with hybrids—you didn’t know—’

‘Funny, I thought I knew everything that happened in my company. And, as I recollect, my brother was assistant manager, not head vintner. Or did you give him a promotion in my absence?’ He spoke pleasantly, yet Ana heard and felt the terrible coldness underneath. It crept into her bones and wound its icy way around her heart. She felt like shivering, shuddering, crying out.

This was what Constantia had lived with day in, day out. This was what Vittorio had been to her, a man who refused to be reached, whose heart was enclosed in walls of ice. No wonder the woman had gone half-mad. She already felt perilously close to the edge of reason after just a few minutes under his freezing stare.

‘No, I didn’t give him a promotion,’ Ana replied as levelly as she could. ‘I wouldn’t presume to do such a thing—’

‘Wouldn’t you?’

Ana forced herself to ignore the sneering question. ‘But I did allow him to market his own wine. He’s in Milan right now, talking to some merchants about it. I thought we could put it in the catalogue this autumn—’

‘Oh, you did, did you?’ Vittorio took a step into the room, his pleasant mask dropped so Ana saw