CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER NINE
Everything was different now . She still hated him—at least, she hated what he’d done to her, how he’d treated her—but she pitied him too, and she ached for him. She now knew him in the way she’d been wanting to know him all this time. More than knowing small details about him, she understood him.
His pain was such that one could not easily recover from it. His pain was a burden he’d carried since he was twelve, and it had shaped him, formed him, formed his beliefs and opinions, his thoughts about himself.
‘Oh, Luca,’ she sighed wistfully, because it was all so very sad. She went to bed thinking about him, and woke the next morning in the same headspace, but Luca was back to being Luca—closed off, acting as though they were polite acquaintances. Acting as though he hadn’t asked her to marry him the night before.
It drove her wild, but a new level of sensitivity had entered her thoughts, and so she let it go, treating him with the same cool reserve as she made a cup of tea. Aurora woke, and they spent the morning exploring the grounds of the villa, but the vibe was completely different from the day before. Imogen hung back, allowing father and daughter to bond, to spend time together, to get to know one another.
The same sense that she was an outsider to their bubble permeated Imogen. His marriage proposal twisted in her mind. At first, she’d dismissed it as impossible. It was an idea so totally out of left field that she’d been blindsided. Yet it wasn’t totally unrealistic.
‘Tell me what you need to make this work.’
That was a good question. What did she need? He was obviously an excellent father, but would he continue to have this kind of time for Aurora when life resumed a more normal routine? It was still a novelty. What if she agreed to marry him and found that he became as unavailable to Aurora as he had been to Imogen during their relationship? Somehow, back then, he’d subtly created the expectation that his days were his own, and she hadn’t even noticed, far less minded. She’d come to care for him, to rely on him being a part of her life, and he’d let her down. What if he let Aurora down too?
Did she want to be married to someone who was capable of partitioning her and Aurora so completely from his life?
But why did she think he’d do that with Aurora? How he’d treated Imogen had nothing to do with his decisions as a father. It was, nonetheless, something to discuss with him—what did he imagine his role would be? What would this possible marriage even look like? Who would have what responsibilities?
Out of nowhere, she saw Genevieve’s face and shivered, because her twin sister had been her guiding light for so much of her life. Genevieve’s judgement was flawless—and she would not condone even the discussion of a marriage to Luca. She’d tell Imogen to scoop Aurora up and run a mile.
Only, Genevieve hadn’t really seen Luca with Aurora. Not for more than a few hours when she’d come to help out, and Imogen was pretty sure that just by her presence, she would have changed the dynamic. She also didn’t know Luca, outside of how he’d made Imogen feel three years earlier. That wasn’t unimportant, but it also wasn’t everything.
Wasn’t it?
Imogen stopped walking, frowning. Was she actually starting to let that pain go? To admit that it wasn’t the be-all and end-all of the lens through which she should see Luca?
She couldn’t. Self-preservation made her cling to it, to remember the hurt, his coldness, his awful dismissal of her.
But it was overlaid by his confession the night before. His throaty, raw voice as he’d talked about his parents, and losing them, and how he felt he’d failed his whole family. Had he got professional help back then, to deal with his grief? Had he spoken to anyone about it since?
A breeze rustled past, cold enough to make her shiver and wrap her denim jacket more tightly around her frame, her fingers lingering over her flat stomach.
Aurora had grown in there. New life, Luca and Imogen’s child, and Imogen had felt their baby inside of her, swirling and swishing around. She had known and loved Aurora for almost as long as her heart had been shattered by Luca. Every decision she’d made in life from the moment she discovered she was pregnant, had been in Aurora’s best interests.
For their daughter, she would do anything—even step back into the lion’s den.
Only, he didn’t seem like such a lion now—or at least, she couldn’t see the lion without also recognising the cub he’d once been, badly hurt by events in his life, and unable to escape their long, dark shadows.
Shadows, though, were not impenetrable. She watched as Aurora said something, pointed and clapped and Luca crouched down to lift her up, holding her higher, so she could see the fruit on the tree. She touched it, and Luca nodded and smiled, so his eyes creased at the corners. Imogen’s pulse ratchetted up.
Aurora had been named with care, for the Roman goddess of dawn, because Imogen had known she would be just that: a new dawn after so much bleak sadness and grief. And she had been.
Aurora had been her dawn, her morning light, her sunshine and warmth, and as she watched father and daughter together, she had no doubt she would be for Luca as well. And Imogen smiled at the exact same moment he turned to look for her, so their eyes met, and her heart flooded with warmth, as a new hope crested inside of her once more. Genevieve’s warning was forgotten—for now at least.
* * *
After two days of recording, Imogen had laid down enough tracks for a decent demo, and the producer had promised to get the finished files to her the following week. Luca insisted on dinner on the terrace to celebrate, and Imogen found she couldn’t refuse. The sky was dark with hints of mauve lingering like streaks, whispers of dusk and the day that had passed. The stars were shining, and the trees formed perfect silhouettes, reminding Imogen of the picture books she’d read as a child.
It was nothing to the terrace itself though, as ancient as it was beautiful, with the hip-height columns forming a railing over which ivy had begun to scramble many years earlier, covering it now with verdant green tendrils. The table had been set with white linen and a candle sat in the middle, only just lit, so it was still tall and proud, casting them in a flickering golden light, and an ice bucket held a bottle of expensive champagne, the cork already removed.
‘It’s really not worth celebrating yet,’ she said, shaking her head a little. ‘Not until the demo’s been sent in and they like it.’
He poured her a glass of champagne regardless, then lifted his own to salute it. ‘Have you done this before?’
She shook her head a little. ‘Not specifically. I recorded a couple of demos when Aurora was much younger.’
‘And?’
She flushed pink, remembering the day she’d got the call from the major label. ‘I sold one of the songs.’
‘You sold a song?’
‘It was the sound they’d been looking for, for one of their artists. I was in a fog of looking after Aurora, I was exhausted, and then this call came through—I couldn’t believe it.’
He was quiet, watchful.
‘It all happened so fast. One minute, I’m signing a contract, and the next, the song was on the airwaves. It was the strangest feeling, to hear my words, my music, being sung by someone else.’
‘That’s an incredible achievement. You must have been so proud.’
She tilted her head a little. ‘I was a thousand things. Proud, excited, shocked, overwhelmed.’
‘Have you sold anything since?’
‘I haven’t wanted to. I was flattered and excited—to have a bona fide pop star singing my song was such a rush. But it’s my song, and I want to be the one to sing my songs. If I can.’ She gestured towards the house, where the recording studio was situated. ‘This is my dream. I know it’s a long shot, but I have to at least try.’
‘It’s not a long shot,’ he denied, shifting his gaze thoughtfully to his champagne flute, as if transfixed by the bubbles rioting inside the fine glass. ‘The first night I heard you sing, I was transported. Your voice is ethereal and at the same time completely grounding. I didn’t know, until I heard you sing, that music could make you feel , deep in your soul.’
She stared at him, a thousand feelings exploding through her. He’d praised her singing before, but now she understood why he almost seemed to resent the impact her voice had on him. So much of Luca was an act—an effort to keep himself from showing pleasure, so that he couldn’t feel it. To keep himself walled off. Sympathy softened her.
‘You have a beautiful voice,’ he said, without expanding further.
She stifled a small sigh, but wrapped his praise in her memories. ‘If I can’t get a deal, I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing. Teaching and singing gigs. I love that too, you know. Connecting with an audience, watching them sing along and dance, it’s very rewarding.’ She sipped her champagne. ‘Anyway, we’ll see what comes of this.’
‘What’s the label?’
She named a big American-based company. ‘One of their executives has been coming to watch me sing for a few months now. We’ve become friends, I guess. He’s really supportive and thinks I have a good chance.’
Luca was still, his eyes probing hers, as if remembering something, or thinking it. ‘Tall guy? Dark hair, beard?’
She frowned. ‘How did you know?’
His laugh was without humour. ‘Let’s just say I’ve been having persistent fantasies about punching the guy in the face.’
Imogen blinked across at him. ‘What are you talking about?’
He gripped his glass, then released it. ‘I came to see you, a few nights after we were together. You came off stage and I saw you go to some other man. Hug him, smile at him.’
‘That’s just Brock,’ she said, lifting one shoulder. ‘But why would you want to punch him, Luca? You can’t seriously have been jealous?’
His smile was cynical. ‘Can’t I?’
She told herself it meant nothing. A person could absolutely be possessive of another without it suggesting that emotions were involved.
‘Of what? You and I hadn’t seen each other for three years before that night. We were nothing to each other.’
His frown was contemplative. ‘I don’t know if that’s true.’
She sipped her champagne simply so she had something to do with her hands. ‘Then what is true?’
He looked at her without responding, a frown continuing to etch across his face.
‘Why did you come to see me?’ she persisted, a little breathily.
He arched a brow, as if to imply the answer was obvious.
‘Sex?’ It flashed in her gut like a flame. She glanced away from him, towards the inky black void where the ocean would be, so she missed the expression that very briefly crossed his face—one of uncertainty. ‘Of course, how stupid of me.’
She felt hollowed out and exposed. She was raw and hurt, all over again. She felt that the person she wanted to be with him—strong and unemotional—was far from who she really was. She ground her teeth, trying not to think about her weakness with this man, and how stupid it made her.
‘Like I told you, you’re a fire in my blood. I didn’t think about it. I just knew I had to see you again. Like a moth…’
Her heart raced. Her body trembled. She felt the power of his admission, what it had cost him; she knew how hard that had been. And how much it meant? Could it really mean anything when he wasn’t prepared to dig deeper and analyse why she was a fire in his blood?
‘We need to talk,’ she said thoughtfully, pausing as his housekeeper brought out a tray of food. Italian delicacies, fresh seafood, crostini toscani , panzanella . Once she’d left, Imogen leaned a little closer. ‘If, and that’s a huge if, we were to get married, I would need to understand what it would look like.’
He was very still. ‘Okay. What would you like to know?’
Heat suffused her cheeks, but she knew she had to get past her embarrassment and be brave. ‘Well, where we’d live, and how we’d live—would we share a bedroom or each have our own? Who would get to make the decisions in Aurora’s life? For example, who chooses where she goes to school, and who takes her to swimming lessons? Are you going to be hands on with her, or will it go back to being like it was before—with you working from dawn ’til late and us relegated to just the briefest moments in your evening?’
His features tightened and he looked towards the ocean, but when he spoke, his voice was level.
‘I presume you’ll want to live in London, to be near your family.’
She toyed with the corner of her napkin before reaching for her fork and pressing it into a perfectly seared scampi.
‘We’re very close,’ she admitted.
‘That’s fine by me. I rarely come to Italy. Though I must admit, seeing Aurora here—’
Imogen’s breath caught in her throat. ‘I’ve felt it too.’
Their eyes met and the air between them sparkled.
‘It’s like she’s of this place in some way,’ Imogen continued unevenly. ‘Seeing her at the beach the other day, it was the strangest sensation of her having come home.’
Luca’s jaw shifted, and he made a grunting noise.
‘When did you leave Italy?’
‘When I was eighteen. As for bedrooms—’ he quickly pirouetted the conversation back to their potential marriage ‘—is there any point in not sharing? We both know how things are between us. Do you want to keep fighting it? Because I sure as hell don’t.’
She bit her lip. The problem for Imogen was her inability to separate sex from love. She’d fallen victim to that weakness in the past, and despite everything that lesson had taught her, everything he’d taught her, she wasn’t sure history wouldn’t repeat itself.
‘I’ll have to think about it,’ she responded with caution. ‘Why did you leave Italy?’
He looked at her and it was as though she were torturing him, asking him to walk across a bed of nails towards her or something, but he answered, even though the words seemed to have been dredged from his soul against his wishes.
‘There was an opportunity in London.’
‘No.’ She’d had enough of his obfuscation. ‘Why did you really leave?’
Again that look of torture. Or terror. ‘You know why.’
Yes, she realised, she did. ‘You wanted to get away.’
His eyes swept shut.
‘Everything here reminds you of your parents, and you were running away from that. You’re still running.’
He opened his eyes and lanced her with the directness of his gaze. It was agreement. An admission.
‘Luca.’ She leaned forward a little, scanning his face, her heart twisting in a way that made her wary, for it indicated in a way that was deeply problematic that his pains were in some way hers. ‘I searched you up on the internet, you know. Back then, I mean. There was nothing about your parents, your sister. It was all very bland.’
He nodded once. ‘I’m glad.’
‘But why isn’t there something online? I mean, just a news article, or a mention of you having been orphaned?’
‘For the simple reason that I didn’t want there to be.’
‘That’s not really how the internet works.’
His lip quirked in mocking acknowledgement of that. ‘After the fire, I went home, and everyone knew about it. Everyone wanted to talk about it, to make sure I was okay. I got tired of pretending I was. My aunt and uncle moved me to a different school, and I began to use their surname. My mother’s brother is my uncle, so I didn’t see it as a betrayal. Romano is my mother’s maiden name.’
‘Oh.’
‘I couldn’t face the constant inquiries. Everywhere I went, someone brought it up. I wanted to be someone else, someone different. And so, Luca Romano was born.’
‘But your aunt and uncle must have wanted to talk to you about it.’
‘They wanted to do whatever they could to help me. I just wanted to be left alone.’
Imogen frowned. ‘Did you see a therapist, Luca?’
He pulled a face. ‘Once. It wasn’t helpful.’
A lump formed in her throat. She saw him again as a little boy, a twelve-year-old on the cusp of manhood, grappling with huge emotions and trying to shape them around his ideals of manhood, maturity, masculinity and responsibility.
‘Oh, Luca,’ she sighed.
‘Don’t pity me. I don’t want it.’
‘How can I not pity you? What you went through was awful.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
She shook her head. ‘But look at how it still affects you.’
‘Is there a statute of limitations on grieving your parents, your sister?’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘Then what do you mean?’
She bit into her lower lip, food forgotten. ‘Grief left unexplored metastasises and forms a hard, hard lump. That lump gets bigger and bigger as time goes on.’
‘Speaking from experience?’
She glanced down at her plate, her heart thumping. She couldn’t compare her grief to his. She’d been heartbroken, it was true, but that was nothing compared to having lost your parents and sister.
She shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know.’
‘What is it, cara ?’
The term of endearment slipped through her, landing dangerously close to her heart. She pushed it aside, assuring herself it was just the way he spoke. Just the way he was sometimes. It didn’t mean anything; none of this did. But when she tried to reassure herself that she still hated him, because of how he’d treated her, she found it harder to believe than she had even a week ago.
‘Nothing. I’m just saying you need to process what happened, to let yourself off the hook.’
‘Why?’
‘So you can live without guilt. So you can live at all.’
‘I don’t want to live.’
She took in a sharp breath.
‘Not in the way you mean it. I don’t deserve to.’
Her heart trembled. ‘How can you say that?’ She was aghast, pained.
‘Easily. If it weren’t for me, they’d still be here. I should have died with them that night. I didn’t, but that gives me no pleasure.’
‘You really wish you’d died?’
‘Of course.’
‘No,’ she denied hotly, food forgotten as she stood and crossed to him, sitting on his lap and grabbing his cheeks in both hands. ‘Don’t you dare say that. Your parents would be devastated to know you felt that way.’
A muscle jerked in his jaw. ‘It’s how I deserve to feel.’
‘Luca, stop. You deserve to be here, you deserve to live—and not just to live but to live well.’
‘I deserve niente . This is not self-pity. I am certainly not looking for your pity. I’m simply stating the facts.’
‘As you perceive them, yes,’ she agreed quickly, because she could tell there was no artifice to this, no bravado. He felt as he said he did—he felt it to his core—and that dreadful belief had guided his each and every move from when he was a boy. She pressed a kiss to his forehead.
‘You survived, and if your parents could tell you anything, it would be that they are glad for that. You said it yourself—you lit up their lives, just by walking in the room. That you are here would mean everything to them.’
He didn’t respond. All she could hope was that on some level he’d heard her words, and that he might even let them filter through to his mind, to begin changing his perception of things.