Chapter Fourteen
DARIO STARED OUT of the window of the chauffeur-driven limousine, which had picked them up at Heathrow two hours ago, as it drove through the gates of Westwick Hall.
The last time he’d been here, he’d only had to stay for a matter of minutes.
But now he would have to remain for several days.
The thought did not appeal to him, the hollow sensation he had been running away from for years making his stomach drop to his toes.
But as the large Palladian frontage came into view—the twin staircases which led to the front entrance obscured by scaffolding—he found himself glancing at the woman asleep beside him.
She had been talking non-stop when they had boarded the jet that morning in Naples, keen to apprise him of all the different infrastructure projects she had put in motion with the investment he’d given her…
How had that simple bribe—to get her to marry him—become so damn complicated in the weeks since?
He’d started kissing her—mostly so he could shut her up about Westwick.
But of course, as soon as he’d touched her, tempted her, she’d responded with the artless enthusiasm he found so intoxicating…
And before either of them could say ‘mile-high club’ they’d been tearing each other’s clothes off in the jet’s bedroom.
He could see now he’d exhausted her, because she’d fallen asleep as soon as they’d driven away from the airport.
Her enthusiasm about this place had only deepened the chasm in his stomach which had been growing ever since he had agreed to this trip.
With her scent filling the car, though, and the thought of what lay ahead when they arrived at the Hall, it was impossible for him to switch off his brain…
or the memories which continued to torment him.
The chauffeur braked on the newly laid driveway in front of the towering edifice of his father’s house.
Even with the May sunlight glinting off the recently sand-blasted stonework, the place loomed over him—oppressive and judgemental—a miserable reminder of the grieving child, and the broken teenager he’d tried so hard to destroy.
Why did this place always yank him back to those times in his life when he’d felt so powerless and alone?
Except he wasn’t alone now, he thought, as he glanced at Tallulah, her head nestled on his chest. He pressed a kiss to her hair, knowing he should control the pleasure which welled inside him like a drug—but not quite able to today, while the shadow of his past lay over him like a shroud.
‘Wake up, bella,’ he murmured to Tallulah as a young woman bounded out of the house, a smile of welcome on her face, followed by an old man whom he vaguely recognised.
George, the groom. Was he still here?
Then an older woman appeared, and every muscle in his body tensed. He recognised her immediately, despite the greying hair. Elsa Parker—the housekeeper at Westwick the summer he’d been brought here after the accident.
He could still remember the pity shadowing her eyes that day which had made him feel so weak, so pathetic.
What the hell was she doing here? Hadn’t she left years ago?
She was one of the reasons he hadn’t had any intention of returning before this year.
She had been kind to him that summer, but he hated that she had known him as that broken boy.
And she was also the mother of the girl whose company he’d come to rely on far too much that summer.
The chasm in his stomach widened. Apparently, this damn trip was going to be even more excruciating than he had anticipated.
Tallulah stirred against him, her cornflower-blue eyes blinking open. Then she stretched and yawned. ‘We’re here.’
He found himself smiling despite the weight in his gut.
Dio, but even her misguided love for this miserable place enchanted him…
At least he would not have to suffer it on his own, not this time.
And while Elsa Parker might remember him from that summer, she would not recognise the man he had become.
He had exorcised that boy a long time ago.
And he doubted she knew of his friendship with her daughter, Tali, as she had been so busy with her new responsibilities.
He would have to be sure to keep the housekeeper well away from Tallulah.
He didn’t want his fake wife seeing that weakness or even knowing about it.
The less she knew about that messed-up kid, the better.
‘Come, your staff are already waiting to greet you…’ he said, his voice gruff as he threaded his fingers with hers, reassured by her presence again.
How had he become so reliant on her company in such a short space of time?
She looked past him, then grinned, as the chauffeur opened the door. ‘Your staff, you mean.’
But when he climbed out of the car, and helped her out, the strangest thing happened. Elsa Parker rushed up to Tallulah and threw her arms around her.
‘Tali, you’re back! How are you, love?’
Tali? The name reverberated through his consciousness.
That was her name, the name of the child who had snuck into his room, and talked to him about everything and nothing, taking his mind off the pain, the loneliness…
But who had also been there, hiding in the wardrobe, the one time his father had come to visit him.
And berated him for being foolish enough to befriend a Sicilian guttersnipe—and detailed all Sante’s crimes, crimes which had turned out to be lies.
He watched, in horrified slow motion, as Tallulah hugged the woman back. ‘Mum, you didn’t have to come and meet me. I told you I’d come to the cottage to visit this evening.’
Mum? Elsa Parker was Tallulah Whittaker’s mother?
The woman he had married, the woman who had somehow broken through the barriers he had spent so long building since that summer…was also Tali. He remembered the girl’s name. The little girl who had once seen him at his very worst, before he had been able to put those barriers in place.
The weight in his stomach plummeted, his mind reeling, the shock and anger making his heart pump so hard it felt as if it would smash through his ribs.
Suddenly, it all made a hideous kind of sense.
The way he’d gravitated towards her. The way he’d come to rely on her.
The way he’d trusted her so easily, too easily.
Because it was the same thing he had done all those years ago, when he’d spent a summer in darkness and agony and had come to depend on that cheerful, cheeky child to drag him back into the light.
There had been something about her, that first day, in the library, something familiar which he had ruthlessly ignored, because it had made him feel weak. But now it was staring him in the face, impossible to ignore.
Nausea gathered in his gut, threatening to rise up his throat like bile.
He could still see her childish face, so bright, so earnest, so sweet, telling him not to be sad, that she would be his friend, while tears of humiliation stung his eyes. And the pain in his leg had been nothing compared to the agony in his heart.
Because his best friend had betrayed him and left him to die. Because his mother had been so reckless and impulsive she’d put her addictions above the needs of her own children. Because his father saw him as nothing more than a means of continuing his own sterile, pointless legacy.
They’d all betrayed him, but somehow, in this agonising moment, the fact Tallulah, no, Tali, had remained silent about who she really was, for a month, felt like the biggest betrayal of all.
She glanced over her shoulder now. But those beautiful eyes, which still had the power to destroy him, immediately saw his anguish. ‘Dario, is everything okay…? I—I want to introduce you to my mum.’
He gave a stiff nod, letting his anger build to hide his panic. What a fool he’d been, to trust her. To let her trick him.
‘We’ve met,’ he mumbled, unable to look at the older woman.
Tallulah’s eyes widened, her face flushing.
He saw the flicker of distress cross her face, but the fear was too huge, that she would see the hurt, the anguish churning in his stomach.
If only he could get back into the car, and leave, arrange to sell this place as soon as possible. He owed her nothing. She had deceived him, wormed her way into his affections, when he didn’t want her there. When he’d never wanted anyone there. Ever again.
But somehow, he couldn’t seem to make himself walk away. Even now, he couldn’t make the clean break that would take him back to being the man he wanted to be, instead of the broken boy.
He grasped Tallulah’s upper arm—acting on impulse now—and walked past her mother and the others. The varying levels of surprise and shock on their faces was nothing compared to the guilt he saw shadowing Tallulah’s face…no, Tali’s face.
‘We need to talk,’ he said, grinding out the words past the fury and pain as he escorted her into the house. ‘About why you lied to me, Tali.’
‘Dario, stop, you’re scaring me…’ Tali tried to dig her heels into the carpet as Dario marched through the house, past the salon, where the crew of decorators had already set up. Down the hallway, then up the main staircase.
She had to jog to keep up with his long strides, the limp not slowing him down much.
She hadn’t expected him to even remember her mum, had convinced herself he’d forgotten them both. Because he’d never mentioned it…
But what should have pleased her, had devastation welling in her chest. Because she had seen the devastation on his face when he’d recognised her mother…and then her.
He hauled her into the library, slammed the door behind them, then grasped her other arm to force her face to his.
‘You lied to me,’ he said, the tone of his voice vibrating with anger, but beneath it she could hear the panic. ‘You let me marry you, let me come to rely on you, let me fuck you like my life depended on it…without ever telling me who you really were.’