CHAPTER ELEVEN
L ARK DIDN ’ T KNOW what to do after that. She didn’t know where that left them, she only knew that while he still believed those terrible things about himself, there was no hope for them. No hope for their marriage at least.
Eventually, her heart tearing itself apart in her chest, she slept, but he didn’t join her.
And she didn’t see him the next day at breakfast either. Apparently, according to one of the palazzo staff, he’d gone in to the office and didn’t know when he’d be back.
Three days later, he still hadn’t returned, and Lark began to wonder if he ever would.
It wasn’t fair. She didn’t care about herself, but denying Maya his presence was a terrible thing to do. She tried calling him to tell him so, but he wouldn’t answer. He didn’t respond to her texts either.
Eventually, after much thinking and then some hunting around, she found Aristophanes’s private number and called him instead.
‘Lark?’ Aristophanes’s deep, cold voice was full of surprise. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’
Lark took a breath. ‘I need you to talk to Cesare. He won’t answer any of my calls and I’m getting desperate.’
‘Oh?’ This time Aristophanes sounded wary. ‘Why?’
She swallowed. ‘I...um...told him I loved him and I couldn’t be his wife any more, not in the way he wanted, and we argued. Then he left.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Aristophanes said, his voice very neutral. ‘That does sound...difficult.’
‘He seems to believe he’s some terrible person,’ Lark said, fighting tears and quite unable to stop herself. ‘But he’s not. He’s the most wonderful man I know and I just want him to believe—’
‘Yes, yes,’ Aristophanes interrupted, sounding distinctly uncomfortable now. ‘I see your point. Well, we can’t have that. I’ll give him a call.’
After he’d disconnected, Lark sat with her phone in her lap, staring at it, only for Maya to come running into the salon the next moment, closely followed by Emily.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Emily said, looking apologetic. ‘Maya was trying to find Signor Donati.’
Lark swallowed. Maya had been finding Cesare’s absence difficult and that had upset Lark too.
‘It’s okay,’ Lark murmured, reaching for her daughter and cuddling her on her lap. ‘Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, Emily? I’ll look after her.’
Lark held her daughter’s warm little body after Emily had gone, rocking her gently while Maya curled up against her.
Every part of Lark hurt. Every part of her ached. She couldn’t let it break her, though. She couldn’t afford to be broken, not for Maya’s sake. And if Cesare didn’t return? Well, she’d fill in the gap he’d left in her daughter’s life. Maya had started out without a father and luckily she was young enough that she’d forget him if he never returned.
If this was what life was like from now on, then so be it. She would endure for her daughter.
But she wasn’t going to love again, that was for certain.
Cesare was the only man for her and always would be.
Cesare sat in his office in the Donati Bank building in central Rome, a nearly empty bottle of whisky sitting open on his desk, the couch he’d been sleeping on for the past few days still covered with the blanket he’d found from somewhere.
He hadn’t been back to the palazzo. He missed his daughter and his wife so badly it felt as if he’d lost part of his soul.
But he couldn’t go back, not now. He’d thought he could keep Maya and Lark safe from him, from his anger and his selfishness, but it was clear that he couldn’t.
He’d hurt Lark, he knew. He’d made her cry. And he wished he could go back and soothe her, comfort her, tell her he’d never hurt her again, but he couldn’t promise her that.
Because he would. She loved him and he couldn’t bear that, not when love always ended in destruction. Far better he steer clear of both her and Maya for the foreseeable future. That seemed to him to be the only way forward.
He poured the rest of the whisky into his glass and sipped at the fiery liquid.
Why couldn’t she have kept it to herself? Why couldn’t she not have fallen in love with him? He couldn’t give it back to her and eventually that lack would fester, and then who knew what would happen? She had a fiery temper and love could turn that toxic.
You know it wouldn’t. She’s nothing like your mother.
Maybe, maybe not. There were no guarantees.
Love ruined everything.
His phone was sitting on his desk, the screen full of missed call notifications from Lark. He hadn’t contacted her since he’d walked, mainly because he had no idea what to say to her, not when the only things he could think of would hurt her and badly.
Just then his phone buzzed, but it wasn’t Lark this time. It was Aristophanes.
Reluctantly, Cesare answered it. ‘What?’ he demanded gracelessly.
‘I see,’ Aristophanes said, as if something had been confirmed for him. ‘You’re sulking.’
Cesare glowered at his office windows, at the sun sinking over his ancient city. ‘I am not. Why are you calling me anyway?’
‘Because your lovely wife asked me to.’
Cesare’s heart contracted. ‘Why did she do that? I didn’t ask her to.’
‘I know you didn’t.’ There was the faintest hint of censure in his friend’s tone. ‘She’s desperately worried about you. Apparently she told you she loved you and you left.’
His jaw felt tight, all his muscles tense. ‘I had to. You know my past. You know that I can’t—’
‘I know that you’re lying to yourself,’ Aristophanes interrupted mildly. ‘And I know you’re being a coward.’
Cesare growled. ‘I had to leave her. She seems to think that I’m this paragon and I’m not. I never have been.’
‘No,’ Aristophanes agreed. ‘You’re not a paragon. But you’re not as bad as you seem to think you are. And anyway, it doesn’t matter what you think. She’s the one that really matters to you and I think you know that.’
Deep inside, something shifted painfully in his chest. ‘It’s my legacy that matters,’ he said, but even to himself his voice sounded uncertain. ‘Not her.’
‘What did I say about lying to yourself?’ Aristophanes said. ‘You think I didn’t see the way you looked at her at Maya’s birthday party? Your heart was in your eyes every time. You’re in love her, you fool. And I think you’re telling yourself any lie you can get your hands on so you don’t have to admit it.’
‘No,’ Cesare said hoarsely, even as the truth settled down inside him and wrapped around his heart, filling him with an icy terror. ‘No, that’s not true.’
‘It is,’ Aristophanes said, relentless. ‘You’re in love with her and you’re afraid. And I know why.’ He paused. ‘You’re not like your parents, Cesare. You do know that, don’t you?’
‘Do I?’ His voice sounded strange. ‘I am angry for what they did to me. I thought I was past that, but I’m not. And I can’t trust myself around Lark or Maya when I’m angry because—’
‘Because what? You think you’ll harm her? Harm Maya?’
He stayed silent, frozen all the way through, the terror of that thought robbing him of speech.
‘No,’ Aristophanes went on calmly. ‘You wouldn’t. You’re not that kind of man and you never have been.’
‘You don’t know that.’ His voice had gone hoarse.
‘I do,’ his friend said. ‘And if you won’t take my word for it, take Lark’s. She’s a smart woman and she’s in love with you, and I don’t think that would have happened if you’d been anything like your parents.’
Cesare took a breath, and then another, fighting his fear.
He’d always told himself he was a selfish man, but part of him had always known that was a defence. A defence against caring. Yet all the lies in the world hadn’t stopped him from caring for Maya. And he knew, in a sudden flash of insight, that they hadn’t stopped him caring about Lark either.
He’d told himself that making Lark and Maya happy was for his legacy, but that was a lie too.
He was making them happy because he loved them. He loved his daughter, and he loved his wife. He loved them so much it hurt. And he was terrified of it. Terrified that he was just like his parents...that love would turn him into someone he wasn’t. Someone toxic and violent, who would hurt those he cared out.
There was a silence down the other end of the phone.
‘What if you’re wrong?’ he said hoarsely. ‘What if I really am just like my father? Or my mother?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Aristophanes said briskly, because he’d always been uncomfortable with emotion. ‘You haven’t killed anyone yet that I know of.’
‘Ari, don’t—’
‘Cesare, stop. Your parents ruined your childhood, it’s true. But you don’t have to let them ruin your future. You have a beautiful daughter and a lovely wife. Be a shame to throw all that away because you’re not brave enough to man up.’
Cesare shut his eyes.
His friend was right. He was giving in to his fear, letting them ruin his life the way they’d always done.
His beautiful, courageous wife had set him an example. She’d had a child on her own, had loved her and cared for her despite her own doubts. She’d created a wonderful childhood for her—she hadn’t let her own run her life—and then she’d moved with him to Italy, sacrificing the life she’d made in England for Maya and for him.
She’d shown him what love was. That it didn’t have to be toxic or destructive, or full of rage and pain. She and Maya had shown him that love was happiness. Was laughter and joy and wonder and awe. It allowed for anger and hurt, gave space for those emotions, yet didn’t allow them to linger or fester. Love allowed for honesty. Love allowed for fear.
How could they give him all of that and he give them nothing in return?
His love for Maya had been instant and irrevocaable and he’d had no control over it. But Lark had been different. She’d slipped under his guards and wrapped herself around his heart and now he couldn’t get rid of her. She was there for life.
And he didn’t want to get rid of her. He wanted her to stay there for ever. Doing anything else would really make him like his parents.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered to his friend. ‘I have to go.’
‘I thought you might,’ Aristophanes said.
And laughed.
Lark was sitting in the salon, her books on the table in front of her, trying to study when Cesare suddenly burst through the door.
His hair was standing on end, his shirt half undone. He had no jacket and no tie, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept for a week.
He was also the most beautiful sight she’d ever seen.
She pushed herself to her feet, her heart beating suddenly very fast. ‘What are you doing—’ she began, but didn’t get any further, because Cesare had crossed the distance between them without a word, pulling her into his arms before she could finish.
‘I need to tell you something,’ he said roughly. ‘I’ve been a coward and a fool, and you will never know how sorry I am for running out on you the way I did.’
Lark put her hands on his chest, aching at the feel of him, at the familiar warmth of his body surrounding her. ‘Cesare, what are you doing?’
‘I’m coming home.’ The look in his eyes burned. ‘I’m coming home to you, because I love you, Lark Donati. I’ve loved you since that night we spent together, I think, but I told myself it was only physical. Because I was afraid. Afraid of my anger. Afraid of love. Afraid that I would become like them. I didn’t want to fall into the same traps of emotion, to love someone so much it became an obsession and then hatred.’ He took a shuddering breath. ‘I didn’t want to end up hurting you or Maya.’
Lark’s eyes filled with tears, her heart full and painful in her chest. ‘You wouldn’t. You never would, Cesare. I told you that you’re nothing like them, nothing . Because what they did to you and to each other wasn’t love.’
‘Yes,’ he breathed. ‘Yes, I think I’m beginning to see that.’ His arms tightened around her. ‘And I’m beginning to see what love actually is, and you taught me that. Love isn’t an ending. It’s a beginning. It’s creation. It’s joy and happiness, and my life here at the palazzo. My life ever since I married you. Love is you, Lark. You and Maya.’
Her throat hurt and she could feel tears start to slide down her face, but they were happy tears. Joyful tears. She touched his face. ‘So what does that mean?’
‘It means, little bird, that I want you to be my wife for real. I want to be faithful to you, to love, honour and cherish you, in sickness and health, until the day I die.’
Lark smiled, aching with love for him. ‘In that case, I do.’
And that’s what they did.
Lark never remembered that night they spent together, but it didn’t matter.
She lived it every night, in Cesare’s arms, for the rest of their lives.