Chapter Thirteen
‘SO…’ FLORA CAREFULLY manoeuvred the camera-phone and did a panoramic shot. ‘This is the garden. Quite a big plot for a London garden.’
‘No way! It looks more like Kew Gardens!’ Amy’s voice boomed down the line, sounding as if she were in the same room rather than ten thousand miles away. ‘Flo—it’s absolutely gorgeous! And you’ve even got staff.’
‘Well, only a housekeeper,’ said Flora, using words which wouldn’t have been part of her vocabulary a few short months ago. ‘I’m very lucky.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far,’ said Amy gloomily.
‘Very lucky,’ emphasised Flora firmly. Because she was not going to hear a single bad word said against Vito.
He was still the father of her child and he hadn’t actually done anything wrong.
He just hadn’t been the man she had wanted him to be.
If any blame was to be apportioned—then maybe she should accept her fair share, for having had unrealistic expectations.
He had never wanted to be a father, but he had done the best he could in the circumstances.
‘Anyway, I’ve got to go,’ she said, with a glance at her watch.
‘I want to go for a walk while it’s still light, but before that I’ve got some canestrelli in the oven which needs rescuing. ’
‘Come again?’
‘They’re those Italian biscuits which I’ve learnt how to make.’
‘I’m not even going to ask why you’re cooking Italian food.’
‘Because I’m taking them to the Babies and Bumps group later.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Amy darkly.
‘I know it wasn’t. But whatever has happened between me and Vito, I’m not going to deny this baby his or her Italian heritage,’ agreed Flora airily. ‘Call you tomorrow?’
‘Sure.’
Flora terminated the call, took the biscuits out of the oven, told Susan the housekeeper she was going out, and closed the front door behind her as she set off towards the park.
She had been back in England for a whole month, having flown in on Vito’s jet before being installed in a penthouse suite at the Granchester Hotel, while a house was found for her.
It was weird what money could buy. Apparently there were people whose job it was to find the ‘perfect’ property for wealthy people and rush through a quick sale, before said property was completely redecorated to exacting specifications.
Which was how Flora found herself living in Richmond—an area of London she’d always adored.
There was a park with deer, independent shops and—most important of all, the local nurseries and schools were good and there was a definite sense of community.
It would all be fine. She kept telling herself that.
And sooner or later she would start believing it.
Vito had telephoned during her first days here and initially, Flora’s heart had leapt with a stupid hope she hadn’t quite managed to kill off.
But the calls had been stilted, obviously motivated by a heavy sense of duty—and she had requested he didn’t do so again, unless it was urgent.
He hadn’t asked her reasons and she was grateful for this one small mercy, not wanting to confess that she found it unbearably poignant to hear his richly accented voice and feel the subsequent regret and longing which washed over her.
She’d wondered how she could possibly get over him, if she was constantly being reminded of him?
And somehow she didn’t seem able to maintain the distance she supposedly wanted. Why else had she sent him an unasked-for picture of her latest scan last week? Was she hoping for some sort of reaction when he discovered it was a little boy?
The scent of lilac in the park was rich and heavy in the warm May weather and Flora watched as a toddler stumbled in pursuit of a tiny white dog.
Should she get a dog, once the baby was old enough?
Would that make the house seem like more of a home?
She was so engrossed in comparisons between Labradors and terriers, that at first she only vaguely registered someone was saying her name and it wasn’t until she listened properly, that she stopped dead in her tracks.
Because only one person said her name like that.
Her heart was pounding as she turned around and there he was. Dark, and tall and utterly delicious. Right there in Richmond Park, many miles from his Milanese home.
‘Hello, Flora.’
She blinked and, for a moment, all she could do was drink in the sight of all that glorious breathing flesh, before her thoughts started flagging up a warning.
What was he doing here? She swallowed. Had he moved on with a new woman and was doing the honourable thing of telling her about it before she found out from someone else?
‘Vito!’ she said, her voice sounding miraculously calm. ‘How on earth did you know where to find me?’
‘Your housekeeper told me.’
‘Is that why you insisted I hire one, so you’d have an in-house spy?’
‘I could have employed plenty of discreet trained bodyguards if I’d wanted to spy on you,’ he offered dryly. ‘A housekeeper is supposed to make life easier for you, that’s all.’
Why on earth were they talking about the housekeeper?
‘What are you doing here?’ she continued coolly—because cool made it sound like she was in control, even though inside she was anything but. ‘And why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’
Why indeed? Vito wondered, as he met her quizzical gaze.
Had he been afraid she would make herself impossible to find if he gave her any warning?
He wouldn’t blame her. His heart pounded, his mouth growing as dry as parchment because the sight of her was like a feast to his eyes.
Her red-brown hair was piled on top of her head and she wore a dress as blue as the gentian flowers which grew in the Alps, and hinted at the curve of her belly beneath.
She hadn’t moved, standing there as confidently as a bouncer in a nightclub, her expression now slightly irritated. ‘Well?’
‘I got…’ He shrugged his shoulders with unaccustomed self-consciousness. ‘I got the scan photo you sent me.’
‘Oh, right.’ For the first time she looked a little flustered. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have—’
‘Yes,’ he interrupted urgently. ‘You should.’
‘Oh.’
She was still looking at him expectantly and he realised she wasn’t going to help him out. Or explain why she’d been living in England for the best part of a month without making a single request that he come and visit her.
Because hadn’t he hoped for that—even if deep down, he knew he didn’t deserve it?
That she would crack first and tell him how much she missed him, and could he please come to her, as quickly as possible.
And he would have instantly complied—relieved to be able to do so without the need for self-examination.
But Flora had not begged, or pleaded, or even made a careless request. She had cut him from her life with a ruthlessness which had taken him by surprise, until that photo of his unborn child had arrived last week and his heart had felt as if it were being ripped from his chest and he had asked himself if he was just going to sit back and let this happen.
‘I have been a fool, Flora,’ he said.
‘Please don’t keep pausing and waiting for me to insert some suitable response, or question,’ she said tightly. ‘I’m not in the mood to play guessing games.’
Vito nearly smiled at her waspishness, because such a retort was so outside his experience of women that it whetted his appetite for her even more.
But then he drew himself up short. Wasn’t he arrogantly making the supposition that all he had to do was utter a few cursory words of apology and everything would go back to what it had been like before?
He didn’t want it to go back to what it had been like before.
‘I told you about my early years and the secrets I was expected to keep,’ he began slowly, but her eyes had narrowed in surprise, as if this were not the opening she had been expecting.
‘About learning how to compartmentalise my feelings and my emotions. Believe me, if you do that often enough, you can shut them away entirely and I became very good at it. But there were plenty of other lessons which my childhood taught me. I learnt that men and women play games with each other, and that love is a lie. Those were my core beliefs, Flora—and it was very hard to shift them. Indeed, I saw no reason ever to do so.’ If she noticed his change of tense, she did not comment on it.
‘And then came that night with you in Scotland. The best night of my life,’ he added quietly.
‘At least, until you came out to Milan—’
‘Don’t you dare start coming out with a load of old blarney just because you’re sexually frustrated!’ she bit out and he was relieved to see some of her brittleness waver.
‘Do you really think it’s that simple?’ he demanded. ‘If this was just about sex, don’t you think I could have flicked through my address book and found a myriad of possibilities to help me ease it?’
‘How dare you say such things to me?’
‘Why, does it make you jealous, Flora?’
She stilled and tilted her chin. ‘I told you… I’m not going to obey your verbal prompts.’
‘I spent a pretty miserable skiing holiday that Christmas,’ he admitted bleakly. ‘Marco and Alessio kept asking me what was wrong and the last thing I wanted to admit—to them, or to myself—was that I couldn’t stop thinking about you. When I found out you were pregnant I was…’
‘What?’ she questioned, seeming to forget her vow not to prompt him.
Vito’s jaw tightened. This part was more difficult.
He wasn’t going to lie in order to make her feel better, because he suspected she would see right through it.
And if he was to have any kind of chance with her, she needed to trust that he would only ever tell her the truth—no matter how painful that might be.
‘Scared,’ he said, in as frank an admission as he’d ever made.
‘My own experience of family life had been hell on earth and I was terrified of recreating that toxic environment. I convinced myself that you and the baby would be better off without me, but what I hadn’t factored in was the inexplicable truth…
’ He stared into her extraordinary eyes.
‘Which was that somewhere along the way—without my permission, or even my comprehension…’ He gave a hollow laugh. ‘I had fallen in love with you.’
He thought that any other woman—suddenly secure in the knowledge of how much he cared for her—would have thrown themselves into his arms, rather than increasing his uncertainty with their continued silence.
He thought about what best to do. What did they call it?
Grovelling. Yes, that was it. Some of his friends had told him they’d been forced to do it before a woman would consent to marry them, but he’d never imagined himself joining their number.
He searched her expression for some reprieve but seeing none, was forced to press on.
‘When I came to find you in Ealing, I thought the reason I was so insistent you return to Milan with me was to ensure you and my unborn child were safe and that I was doing the right thing for you both. Which was true. But there was an undeniable element of victory there too. I was triumphant to have got my own way, because I like to win.’ He gave a bitter laugh.
‘Yet ironically, it wasn’t until you had left Milan that I realised I was no winner.
In fact, I was losing the only thing that mattered.
Which was you. Is you. Only you and always you, Flora.
’ He swallowed, the words making his throat constrict. ‘If you would have me.’
Still she said nothing and now their eyes were on a collision course, her green-gold gaze burning into him, like fire.
‘Will you have me, Flora?’ he questioned brokenly. ‘Could you love me too, after everything that I have done, or failed to do?’
Maybe Flora should have made him wait some more.
Should have taken a moment to revel in this new and shining realisation of her own feminine power and the fact that he loved her.
But the urgency of her answer was as vital to her own well-being as drawing in the next breath of air.
She didn’t underestimate what it had taken for a man like Vito Monticello to reveal these things to her.
For a buttoned-up man who mistrusted emotion, it was about as big a deal as you could get.
‘I’ve loved you for a long time, Vito,’ she answered quietly. ‘To be honest, I don’t think it’s in my power to stop loving you.’
‘Then you must marry me,’ he commanded, a low growl of exultation rumbling from him, as he pulled her into his arms.
‘Oh, yes,’ she whispered. ‘Hell, yes.’
And despite the fact that they were in broad daylight, standing in the middle of the park, Vito’s mouth was on hers and he was kissing her like a man who’d never kissed before.
In fact, people had stopped to stare at them, prompting Vito to lace his fingers with hers to take her back home, where she discovered he’d given Susan the rest of the day off.
‘Do you really think it’s your place to mess with my staff?’ she teased him.
‘Why? Is there something else you’d like me to mess with?’ he murmured.
They were both breathless by the time they reached the bedroom, to a vast bed which had only ever been occupied by one person.
Vito’s fingers were almost reverential as he peeled off the gentian dress and the look in his eyes as he drank in her fecund nakedness made Flora’s heart turn over with love and longing.
And then it was her turn to undress him, her fingers fumbling with her eagerness to have him close again.
And there, in a room filled with rich sunshine which warmed their skin and turned it to gold, Vito pulled her into his arms, and Flora knew this was the beginning of the rest of their lives.