Chapter Eleven #2
But Sante had never hinted that he’d want anything more and it was insane to think he would given they’d only been together a few weeks.
The truth was he hated her father and he hated her brother and he couldn’t overcome that past any more than Dario could.
Her wishing for a different future was pointless. They would end.
She was a fool for having given in to her desire in the first place. But she couldn’t regret it.
Heart aching, she turned back to walk towards the office.
The streets were crowded with both tourists and workers and she was carried along with them back towards Sante’s building.
She was relieved to get inside and into the cool stairwell.
She heard voices just above—others climbing the stairs ahead of her.
‘…they both stayed late the other night. You know they’re always last to leave so who knows what happens when we’re all gone.’
Mia stilled. There was someone on the landing above; despite talking quietly their words carried down the empty stairwell towards her.
‘Carla went in the helicopter the other day and saw the last few flight logs. Apparently, Mia’s been a passenger on the weekend trips to Sicily. She’s not been in the office the last couple Fridays. You know they’re not working all weekend.’
Horrified, she pressed back against the wall. They were talking about her. And Sante.
‘No way,’ Davide scoffed. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘You watch—you’ll see the way she looks at him.’
Shame slithered over Mia’s skin.
‘No!’ Davide was in full disbelief. ‘They’re total opposites. He wouldn’t. She’s far too—’
Mia didn’t hear what Davide said but the men’s laughter streamed down the stairwell. Amazed. Amused. Derisive.
‘He’s a guy, isn’t he? He’d totally do it. Wouldn’t you?’
‘Yeah, but—’
Mia closed her eyes and covered her face with her hands, blocking out the rest of what they said.
She’d been obvious and the colleagues whom she thought respected her clearly didn’t.
They were discussing her as a sexual option.
Staying working here now was untenable. She couldn’t—knowing they were watching her.
Mocking her. She simply couldn’t live through the humiliation of an exposed workplace affair.
But their laughter shook her. It hurt more than her brother’s concerns.
Dario believed Sante was using her—that he didn’t really want her.
But these guys knew Sante far better that Dario now did and they saw the truth.
Mia was the misfit in the relationship. She was too…
something. She didn’t need to know exactly what—it was always the same.
Too much in one way, too lacking in another.
She wouldn’t ever be considered a serious match for Sante Trovato.
And it was devastating.
* * *
Sante restlessly prowled around the open-plan area knowing he was freaking the coders out but he couldn’t stop pacing.
Mia wasn’t yet back from her lunchtime walk.
She wasn’t normally gone for this long and he couldn’t help lingering—watching, waiting, his nerves shredding more by the second.
He wasn’t even able to focus enough to have a crack at the game of the week for her league table.
Because he’d done something impulsive. He’d made a Mia-like plan.
Or so he hoped. He’d wanted to do something nice with her—for her—and the trip he’d booked definitely ticked those boxes.
They’d have to take a couple days more away from the office, but she’d not had a holiday since starting here and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a holiday that wasn’t simply a trip to his estate.
Nor could he remember the last time he’d felt this nervous.
It was a good idea. It was. She’d love it. She would smile and her cheeks would flush and they would have fun.
The door opened and Mattia, the property junior, walked in with Davide, one of the coders. Disappointed, Sante turned back and kept prowling round the room. Ten minutes passed before the door opened again.
Sante stilled. Mia looked pale and her eyes were downcast as she went to her desk. There was no smile or gentle greeting to anyone she walked past—which was weird. He immediately headed back to his office via her corner.
‘Do you have a minute, Mia?’ He nodded towards his door.
She didn’t answer but after a moment rose and followed him into his office.
She didn’t close his door behind her. She didn’t meet his eye.
Sante took in her visible attempt to hold herself together.
She was quite literally clasping her hands tightly in front of her.
While they weren’t hands-on in the office, they were friendly. They made eye contact.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked quietly, moving closer to her.
‘Of course.’ She still didn’t meet his eye; instead, she glanced at the window.
‘I, uh…’ Awkward discomfort licked through him. He was so unpractised, he didn’t know where to begin. ‘I’ve booked some tickets. For a concert. In London.’
Not just any tickets. Most expensive available.
‘London?’ She looked at him then and her eyes widened. ‘A concert? What?’
‘We’d have to take—’
‘Sante,’ she interrupted. ‘Is this a work thing?’
He blinked. No, it wasn’t. What did that matter?
She bit her lip. ‘You know the rules…’
Did those rules still matter? Really?
Her wariness raised red flags in his head.
He’d wanted to take her away. He’d booked for the band who sang her favourite songs.
It was the final concert of their world tour and the timing was insane and he’d thought she would love it.
That they both would—she’d liked dancing with him in the palazzo…
But now Mia’s creamy skin paled, even her full lips whitened.
She almost looked ill. Was it London that spooked her?
She would have friends there from when she grew up.
Others from her aristocratic background.
The school she went to. The jobs she’d worked.
She checked the window again. Sante glanced at it, too, and saw a couple of coders walk past towards the kitchenette—both of whom looked in.
Sante turned back to Mia. Now her cheeks were mottled crimson and she actually took a step back. ‘Please, Sante.’
Mia—his lovely, enthusiastic, effervescent, loud Mia, whispered.
She didn’t want to be heard discussing anything personal with him.
She didn’t want to be seen with him in a personal capacity.
And if she couldn’t handle being seen with him here, there’s no way she’d agree to be in the VIP section of one of the world’s biggest concert arenas, rubbing shoulders with celebrities and the toffs she went to school with.
‘We can’t talk about this now,’ she added.
They didn’t need to talk about it. Her answer was obvious.
It was going to be no. And he didn’t want to hear it.
He couldn’t. She’d said they came from different worlds and she didn’t want them to mix.
All of a sudden he wasn’t Sante Trovato, billionaire.
But Sante, the foundling—unwanted, parentage unknown, problematic.
‘Right,’ he said brusquely.
He was a fool for plotting this—for ever imagining she would walk out with him anywhere public. She would never want anyone to know—certainly not her brother. Hell, Sante hadn’t been to a concert since the night of their accident, and there would never be any way he could make any of this work.
‘Sante…’ she muttered. ‘Please—’
‘Sorry—oh, am I interrupting?’ Paolo paused in the doorway.
‘No, come in.’ Sante jerked his chin at the man and flatly dismissed her. ‘We’re done here, right, Mia?’
She escaped wordlessly.
His pulse pounded. She’d rejected him. She’d not needed to say a word; he’d read it in her eyes.
It was his mistake. He didn’t want to be a secret.
Not her source of shame. He’d felt so much shame in his life.
And now he’d exposed himself—made himself vulnerable to that rejection.
He’d not allowed that possibility in years but he’d just let her slice the ground from beneath his feet and he was falling—
‘What is it, Paolo?’ he asked harshly.
Desperate for distraction, Sante fell on the info that Paolo had brought in with him. A contact had just informed him about a property coming to market in Monaco. That sounded good. Sante had been considering acquiring one there.
Breathing hard, Sante nodded decisively. He’d go see it for himself. Make the decision on full information. This was important. Work was the constant. Work was the only thing that mattered. He would head there. Now.