Chapter Eleven
CHAPTER ELEVEN
New Year’s Eve tonight, Brussels
E LEANOR C ARSON APPROAC HED the stone steps towards the gothic building that housed this evening’s New Year’s Eve party knowing that, one way or another, it would be the last time she would ever come to one of these events. And she was more than ready for that to happen.
It had been three hundred and sixty-five days since she’d last seen Santo Sabatini. Yet, despite that, she’d thought of him almost every single minute of every single day. She had been a wreck after last year. She had thought of him as her anchor, the North Star by which she navigated her life, her route through the madness of this place and these people.
But discovering that he’d lied, knowingly, willingly and continually, for their entire relationship had coloured everything. Every interaction, every exchange, look, word. All that time he had known who her real father was. And yes, she’d been devastated that he’d kept that from her, but what had been worse was that he’d kept himself from her.
Eleanor didn’t like looking back at those first few weeks. She could barely remember them, but what she could recall wasn’t pretty. She’d felt utterly empty, with nothing to numb the bone-deep ache that had settled beneath her skin and taken up residence.
Her mother had tried and cajoled but, being part of the chaos Eleanor was trying to find her way through, was unable to help. Freddie had wanted to delay his return to boarding school, but Edward refused to allow it. But her brother had sneaked back three days later, when Edward was away. At seventeen, bright blue eyes and blond hair, huge tears rolling down his cheeks, he’d begged and pleaded with her to tell him what was going on.
In that moment she’d realised that she was doing exactly what she had accused Santo of doing. She was keeping secrets from her brother in the hope that it would protect him from the fallout. From Edward. And, deep down, she was forced to face the fact that Santo had been right about that too. That what she had been really afraid of, why she hadn’t left or fought back against Edward, was the terrifying thought that her brother and her mother would let her be exiled. That they would choose Edward over her. And that she would be left alone. Truly alone in this world.
She and Freddie had spent two days talking and crying and planning. Freddie had been so angry and hurt about the secrets they’d kept, and as she’d explained how terrified she’d been of losing him she’d begun to wonder if that was why Santo hadn’t told her the truth, her mother too.
She’d returned Freddie to the boarding school and made up an excuse that wouldn’t get back to Edward. In the Easter holidays Freddie had convinced Edward to let the two of them go to ‘Europe’, Edward naively believing that he had enough control over her to stop her from doing something ‘stupid’.
Which was how it had come to pass that Freddie had accompanied her to meet her father, Pietro Moretti, in the late spring. It had been one of the scariest things she’d ever done, but that Freddie was with her meant the absolute world. She knew then that, no matter what happened, what Edward did or threatened, she would never be alone. She was loved and she loved. Greatly. And that was far more important than blood ties and truths.
Pietro Moretti was older than she’d imagined—that or time hadn’t been kind. The poor man had been as nervous as she was, but beneath the cream awning of a café in Rome, conversation unfurled in a way that swept away hesitancy and heralded a tide of familiarity that struck her bone-deep. She hadn’t expected it, but it was there. They shared mannerisms that were impossible but undeniable, and regrets that would never be healed but could be soothed.
She could tell that Pietro had been sad that Analise wasn’t there with them, but it had been important to Eleanor for this to be just for herself. Analise had understood, and that was enough. Eleanor’s feelings towards both her parents were complex. She couldn’t deny that there was a deep sadness that her father hadn’t been able to come for her and her mother hadn’t been able to be truthful with her, but she could also recognise that, had they been different, she wouldn’t have had Freddie in her life, and she wouldn’t trade him for the world.
Eleanor walked up the red carpet covered steps, wondering how many of the guests would have noticed the slight fraying at the edge, or the smears of mud and wet gathered from rain-covered streets. Not many, she decided as she presented her invitation. Now the scales had fallen from her eyes, Eleanor could see the darkness that touched everything about these people and these events, because no amount of money could hide the gluttony, selfishness and greed that were at the heart of nearly everyone here.
She hadn’t talked about Santo with Pietro. It had been too much of a sore subject for her to broach. But he had tried. Just before she’d left him that afternoon in Rome, he had told her how good a man Santo was. Tears had filled both their gazes and she’d left with a twist in her heart.
Freddie had flown back to London, but she’d decided to stay on in Italy for a while, seeing some of her father’s country. It was hard to distinguish the hope for connection with her birthright and the feel of the country as a stranger, but she’d found her way down south to Puglia almost by accident. And once she had ensured that Santo was away in London on business, she couldn’t stop herself from heading out to the olive groves where the owner of the Sabatini Group had his residence.
There had only been a few people on the public tour at the unseasonable time of year and the estate manager had proudly shown off the grand estate. Rows and rows of olive trees filled the groves, some only just planted and others established over years. There was something incredibly beautiful about the vegetation blooming beneath the spring sunshine.
The tour had passed by a villa that looked so homely and inviting she had nearly refused to believe it when the manager had told them proudly that it belonged to the owner of the Sabatini Group.
The manager had explained how Signor Sabatini spent as much time amongst the olive groves as his staff, caring for the land far beyond what was expected for such a busy man. And it was evident, not just in the health of the land, but the happiness of his staff. And she’d realised then that the things Santo chose to keep secret, the things he kept to himself, was what he valued the most, so much that he couldn’t risk any of the families seeing that and using it against him.
It was like seeing him for the first time, she’d felt, as if she’d seen him, untainted by vows and heated exchanges, untainted by them. Here, she could see the real Santo, in the soil, the work, the place that he had carved for himself in the world, and she liked that man, was impressed by him.
And it had given her hope. Hope that had led her all the way here tonight. To him .
Two suited men held the doors open for her to pass through and she entered the Black and White formal ball planned for that evening by the Fouriers. As she walked into the large ornate gothic hall, decorated in gold and cream on one side, and black and silver on the other, she squared her shoulders, a wry smile gently pulling at her lips at the gasps and whispers as she passed.
The crimson silk dress hugged every inch of her figure, and matched the slash of carnal red lipstick she wore on her lips. It was a silent battle cry, and she intended full well to wage war tonight.
She was done playing their games and by their rules.
With his back to the large entrance on the other side of the hall, Santo heard the ripple of consternation shiver out across the guests.
Only one woman could do that.
Eleanor.
He’d honestly thought that she wouldn’t come tonight. He knew that she’d met with Pietro earlier in the year, had tried to ignore the rumours and gossip about what she was up to. He’d told Mads that he no longer wanted to know about what she was doing and how she was getting on, but he’d been like an addict, desperate for a fix, and his only solution had been to cut himself off from her completely.
For months following their night together he’d been utterly unbearable. To have gone from such incredible highs to such incredible lows in the space of what had felt like minutes had been utterly devastating. But the accuracy of Eleanor’s accusations that night had been inescapable.
The dramatic contrast between what he’d thought they’d have together, the future he had constructed in his mind, and what she had shown him he had in fact offered her, had left him numb to almost everything around him. He’d let things go at the Sabatini Group, his panicked assistant and board desperately scrabbling to cover in his absence.
He’d blocked Pietro’s calls and ignored his mother as he’d cut himself off from everyone and everything. And eventually he’d found himself at his father’s grave for the first time since he’d been put in the ground.
He’d thought about bringing a bottle of whisky for the bastard who had shaped Santo’s life with fists and fury, and then decided that he wasn’t even worth it. For days he’d come back again and again, pacing and cursing him to hell and back and hating that what Eleanor had said was true; it had been safe for him to hide behind the lie. He’d made that promise knowing as much and, coward that he was, he had hidden from the truth the last time they’d been together.
Because if he could get away with showing her only what he wanted her to see, if he could cast himself in the role of her protector, he might just be able to make up for what he had never been able to do for his mother.
And by the time his mother came to find him at Gallo’s graveside, he’d realised that he would never have been able to use Eleanor to appease the hurt in his heart. Not while he was still lying to her and himself. And there, by his father’s grave, in his mother’s arms, he’d wept like the child he’d never been allowed to be. For the fears he’d never been allowed to express and the love he’d so desperately wanted, no matter how much he’d denied it.
Santo braced against the memory of it, forcing himself not to tense against it, not to push it away, but to welcome it in, to let it wash over him and accept his feelings about it. It was a hard thing to do, given that he’d spent so many years refusing to even acknowledge such a thing.
Mads and Kat glanced between him and over his shoulder, and the sympathy and concern that he saw in their gazes told him that she was getting closer. The fact that they were worried about him was enough to let him know just how awful he’d been since the last time he’d seen her.
Mads had been the first person Santo had turned to when he’d come away from his father’s grave. He just hadn’t realised, truly realised, how isolated he had kept himself, until Eleanor had accused him of it. How much he’d done that to protect himself. And the stark irony of discovering that he hadn’t been protecting Eleanor but actually only protecting himself this entire time had nearly brought him to his knees.
So he had started with Mads, letting him in, bit by bit. And Mads had paid that back in kind, slowly opening up to Santo, enabling them to form a friendship that Santo knew would last, no matter what. He had also made his peace with Pietro, realising that the reason he had clung so staunchly to his vow to the man who had been like a father to him was because he’d been convinced that it was the only reason Pietro had stayed close by. Pietro had told him that he was like a son to him, had offered his love freely, and let loose something in Santo he hadn’t realised he’d been hiding. And that had finally given him the courage to come here tonight, for the one and only thing that could make him whole.
Mads and Kat made to leave and Santo took a deep breath, slowly turning around to face the woman he loved beyond distraction.
Eleanor .
Her steps almost faltered when she saw him turn. Almost, but not quite. Because she knew. She knew that he was it for her. He was her family, her home, her heart, no matter how much distance between them, or how much time had passed. He had been that for her from the moment she’d first laid eyes on him, all those years ago.
She wasn’t quite sure of the response she would get, but she knew her love for him, she knew her own heart and her own mind.
The guests parted before her, but she barely noticed. Her gaze was on Santo, only Santo. She crossed the entire length of the ballroom while whispers grew louder and, for the first time in her life, Eleanor truly didn’t care that she was under the scrutiny of the near two hundred guests in attendance that evening—including Edward Carson.
The man she had finally released herself from the night before.
No, Freddie wasn’t eighteen yet, and no, her mother couldn’t leave Edward Carson until that happened, but Eleanor had finally stepped out from beneath his control and into her own light. A light that she desperately wanted to share with Santo.
She didn’t have much to offer him. Although her investments were good and her turnover impressive, her bank balance was truly insignificant compared to the people in this room. But she had enough to gain her own independence. Enough to know that she could and would move forward with her life alone if she had to. And that knowledge, the knowledge that she could rely on herself to recover from whatever life threw at her, to get back up and stand on her own, had given her the confidence she’d needed to come here tonight and to confess her feelings for the man she loved.
‘Santo,’ she greeted him, her gaze hungrily consuming the sight of him.
He nodded, that muscle in his jaw flickering, warning her of his restraint. But she didn’t want his restraint. She never had.
There was so much she wanted to tell him, so much that she could see in his eyes, but the most important of all was simply this.
‘I love you,’ she confessed with a shrug, as if she’d tried not to. As if she couldn’t help it. As if she were sorry for herself, when she was none of those things.
‘I...don’t need you to love me back,’ she said, her confidence wobbling, but not wavering. Because it was the truth. ‘My love for you doesn’t depend on a response. It’s not a transaction, to be bought or sold, like so much here is. My love for you doesn’t depend on what you choose to do or not do with it,’ she confessed.
She’d learned that about herself and about what she wanted from life. That she had to be happy with her choices, her decisions, her feelings, first and foremost. And, no matter what happened, she needed Santo to know that she wasn’t ashamed of her love for him and never would be.
She had been devastated that he had thought himself unworthy of her. She had heard that in his tone when he’d accused her of being with him just to disappoint Edward. Seen through his accusation to the hurt that lay beneath. And she couldn’t understand how he was unable to see that he was the best of every single person in this room.
‘I just wanted you to know that. There will never be anyone else for me. There never was. It was always you,’ she ended on a whisper.
Eleanor desperately imprinted the image of him on her memory in case it was all she would have in the months and years to come. Thick waves of dark hair making those aquamarine eyes even more hypnotic, lips almost cruelly carnal. She couldn’t linger too long on any one feature because it was nearly too much for her to bear.
The silence in the room was deafening, not even a pin drop, not even the sound of her own heartbeat. Pressing her lips together to hide the way that they wobbled, she was about to turn, when suddenly he moved. And suddenly he was there. Everywhere. All at once.
His arms wrapped around her in that way of his that made her feel worshipped and loved and precious all at the same time. His lips found hers, not even trying to prise or entice them open to him, just to press against hers as if that was all he would ever need. She felt it, the passion, the love, the sheer magnitude of what she felt herself, returned to her by him. Her heart just gave itself to him and he accepted it.
‘I didn’t believe it. I couldn’t trust that this was real, that you were real,’ he whispered into her ear, holding her to him as if she might be snatched away from him at any minute. She felt his heart racing in his chest against her own. She felt the panic, the fear, the excitement, knew those same feelings as her own.
For a moment she couldn’t believe it either, questioning whether it was real, whether she actually got to keep him this time.
‘Can you ever forgive me?’ The question exhaled from him as if it had been lodged in his chest for the entire year that they’d been apart.
She closed her eyes as the tears built, threatening to escape even as she wished them back.
‘Can you ever forgive me?’ she asked, unable to believe that she might have earned the right, having made him feel unworthy of her love.
The whispers and tittering of the people in the crowd began to grow, even as she would have been content to simply stay there, held by him, loved by him.
He pulled back to gaze into her eyes. And, just like that, the heat that had been banked behind declarations and confessions simmered into being.
‘ Cristo , Eleanor, I love you so damn much,’ he said and she couldn’t help the smile that split her heart apart and pulled it back together at exactly the same time—reformed by him, reformed for him. ‘It’s inconceivable to me that you don’t already know. That you don’t feel it. Because I can’t feel anything else. At all. All I feel is my love for you. Nothing else matters. Not these people, not my company, not even the promise I made to Pietro. They are all insignificant in comparison to how much I love you.’
But before she could say anything he dropped to one knee as a gasp of shock echoed across the guests, filling the large ornate hall. Shivers racked her body as she realised that he was going to propose to her. It was more than she had dared let herself hope for in all the years she’d known that he was the one she wanted to spend her life with. And now that it was here her heart nearly exploded from the joy of it.
‘Eleanor Carson—’
She shook her head so fast that it cut off his words. A second of doubt passed across his features before comprehension blocked it out completely. She hated that she’d put that there, but it was important to her that they got this right.
‘It’s Moretti,’ she clarified, loudly and clearly. ‘My name is Eleanor Moretti.’
Santo looked at Eleanor, the pride, the confidence shining from her as she declared herself Pietro’s daughter. As she finally turned her back on the man who had caused more damage than any one man had a right to.
Things were falling into place in a way that he’d never dared hope for. He had asked for Pietro’s approval just before flying out here, knowing that had Eleanor not come tonight, he would have searched the world for her.
And as she stood before him, beautiful beyond his comprehension, exquisite in scarlet, he held open his palm and lifted the lid on the box that his mother had given him. It wasn’t her ring—that had been buried with the man who had never earned their love—but her mother’s ring, his nonna ’s.
The women of his family were some of the strongest people he knew, and Eleanor was no different. He loved her with a fierceness that would never weaken, and it was the bare minimum of what Eleanor deserved from her future.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Edward Carson throw back his drink and make a fuss leaving the room. He knew that Eleanor had seen it too, from the way that she stilled. Outwardly, no one would have seen her move, her gaze didn’t falter from his, but Santo knew the courage that she’d needed to brave this and marvelled at how strong she had become.
‘Eleanor Moretti,’ he said loudly for the whole room to hear, ‘would you do me the greatest honour of letting me love you, honour you and worship you for the rest of my days?’
‘Only if you’ll let me do the same,’ she said with a smile that could have lit the world. The strength of her love felt like a wave of heat.
‘Do you always have to argue with me?’ he mock growled from the floor.
‘I will be needing the last word in all arguments, yes,’ she confirmed happily.
‘Only if I get to kiss that word from your lips,’ he replied, rising from his knee to his feet, his hands reaching for her as he drew to his full height, lifting her from the floor, her legs wrapping around him so that he could feel her all around him once again.
With his entire heart full, he leaned to whisper in her ear, ‘Say yes. Please,’ he all but begged. ‘I just want to hear it.’
She turned her lips to his and replied, ‘Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,’ she said, over and over again, and he would never tire of hearing it.
Mads and Kat led a round of applause that gained volume and strength throughout all the guests in attendance, aside from Tony Fairchild, who was as red as a beetroot, and Dilly Allencourt, who was practically green with envy.
Neither Santo nor Eleanor cared one bit. This would be the last time they ever attended a New Year’s Eve event with these people, they knew it, and Santo marched from the grand ballroom with Eleanor still in his arms without a second look.
‘Where are you taking me?’ Eleanor asked him, laughter and happiness filling her in the way that only Santo could make it.
‘Home,’ Santo announced. He was taking her home .