An Inheritance of Shame - By Kate Hewitt Page 0,9

His gaze swept her from head to foot like a laser, searching her, revealing her.

She closed her eyes briefly, tried to summon strength. ‘Does it really matter?’

His gaze narrowed, his lips compressed. ‘Why do you ask that?’

‘Because you’ve managed to go seven years without saying sorry or speaking to me at all, Angelo. How can I help but think my opinions—my feelings—matter very little to you?’ He frowned and she shook her head. ‘I’m not accusing you. I’m not angry about it any more.’

‘You still seem angry.’

Seem, Lucia thought, being the operative word. If only it was as simple as that; if only she felt angry that he’d been so thoughtless as to leave her bed without a word. If only she felt clean, strong anger instead of this endless ache of grief. ‘I suppose seeing you again has brought it back, a bit, that’s all,’ she finally said. She couldn’t meet his gaze. ‘Why do you care anyway?’

‘I suppose…the same.’ Angelo sounded guarded. ‘Seeing you again has made me…want to make amends.’

Make amends? As if a two-word reluctant redress made up for years of emptiness, heartache, agony? Did he really think that was an equal exchange?

But he didn’t know. He couldn’t know how much she’d endured, the gossip and shame, the loss and heartbreak. He had no idea of the hell she’d been through, and she wouldn’t weaken and shame herself by telling him now.

‘Well, then,’ she said, and her voice sounded flat, lifeless. ‘I suppose that’s all there is to say.’

Angelo nodded, the movement no more than a terse jerk of his head. ‘I suppose so.’

She made herself look at him then, for surely this was goodbye. The goodbye they’d never had. They lived in different worlds now; she was a maid, he was a billionaire. And while she cherished the memory of who he’d once been, she knew she didn’t even recognise this haughty man with his hostile gaze and designer suit. He was so different from the tousle-haired boy with the sad eyes and the sudden smile, the boy who had hated her to see him vulnerable and yet had sought her out in the sweetest, most unexpected moments. What had happened to that boy?

Staring at Angelo’s hard countenance, Lucia knew he was long gone. And the unyielding man in front of her was no more than a wealthy stranger. She felt a sudden sweep of sorrow at the thought, too overwhelming to ignore, and she closed her eyes. She missed that boy. She missed the girl she’d been with him, full of irrepressible hope and happiness. The girl and boy they’d been were gone now, changed forever by circumstance and suffering.

She opened her eyes to see Angelo staring at her, a crease between his brows, a frown compressing his mouth. He had a beautiful mouth, full, sculpted lips that had felt so amazingly soft against hers. Ridiculous that she would recall the feel of them now.

‘So may I go?’ she asked when the silence between them had stretched on for several minutes. ‘Or is there anything else you’d like to say? You might as well say it now, because if you summon me to your office twice the gossip will really start flying.’

Angelo’s frown deepened into a near scowl. ‘Gossip?’

Lucia just shook her head. She shouldn’t have said that. Angelo didn’t know how difficult those months after he’d left had been for her, how in their stifling village community she’d been labelled another Corretti whore…just like his mother had. She didn’t want him to know. ‘It looks a little suspicious, that’s all. Most maids never see the CEO’s office.’

‘I see.’ He paused, glanced down at some papers that lay scattered across his desk. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you.’

‘Never mind. May I go now?’

Angelo stared at her for a long moment, and she saw that glimpse of bleakness in his eyes again, and that ache inside her opened right up, consumed her with sudden, desperate need. She wanted to take him in her arms and smooth away the crease that furrowed his forehead. She wanted to kiss him and tell him none of it mattered, because she loved him. She’d always loved him.

Pathetic. Stupid. What kind of woman loved a man who had treated her the way Angelo had treated her?

Her mother, for one. And look how she had ended up.

‘Yes,’ Angelo finally said, and he sounded distant, distracted. He was probably already thinking of his next business deal. He