Chapter Twelve #3
She flinched. She knew what a deep wound that was for Rocco, but, “I don’t mean half that much to him.”
“You mean everything to him,” he insisted.
Thankfully, the muted sound of her doorbell sounded again.
“Those are the guests I was expecting.” She stood, glad he had come, but also glad to have the excuse to cut this short so she could catch her breath.
He nodded with resignation and stood to offer his hand. “I’ll be at our home on Capri for the next while. Claudina is in Australia, staying with her sister, but I know she’ll want to meet you.”
“Why?” Her laughter was a husk of pure disbelief.
“She was fond of Trude. She would never blame a child for their parents’ actions.”
“This is…” Too much. She was about to start crying again.
“I’ll go.” He patted her arm, then picked up his hat. “But please think about seeing Rocco. Please.”
She showed him to the front door, where Axel and Joy were waiting in the foyer. Mira briefly introduced them, only using their names. The men politely shook hands before Silvio gave her one more nod, set his hat on his head and left.
“Was that…?” Axel asked after the door had closed behind him.
“My father. Yes.” Mira nodded.
Then she burst into tears all over again.
Mira’s villa was finished. It felt like Rocco’s last chance. His last link to the woman he loved.
Silvio disagreed. He had come to see Rocco and told him that he had visited Mira. That he had told his children about her and they wanted to meet her. Claudina did. Everyone was scattered all over with busy lives, but they were convening on Capri in September.
“You’ll come. You’ll see her,” Silvio had said. “Claudina has come home to me, Rocco. Mira will forgive you, too.”
Rocco hadn’t had a lifetime of making good memories with Mira to balance his transgression the way Silvio had with his wife. Rocco’s crime imbued their entire relationship, coloring all the memories they had made. He didn’t blame her for losing trust in him.
But he was heartened enough by Claudina’s forgiveness of Silvio that he finished the villa himself. He had arrived three days ago to sweep and polish windows and arrange furniture, touching up any tiny imperfection he found until it was utterly perfect.
It had taken all three of those days to get a reply from Mira.
Rocco had had to relay his messages through Axel. He was on speaking terms with the new owner of Vorstoben. They had agreed to deal fairly from now on. No more moles or actively undermining the other. In fact, they were toying with a collaboration where the Visconti-Blackwood hotels were concerned.
Axel had sworn he had passed along the message to Mira and finally, an hour ago, Patrizia received a text from her, confirming she would be here at noon to take possession.
Was it fair for Rocco to lie in wait? To ambush her? Absolutely not.
But he was doing it, anyway.
Because he loved her. Because it was his last chance to win her back.
Rocco would be there. Mira had known it the moment Axel passed along the message that the villa was ready for her inspection.
She had known it when she booked her flight to Naples and she had known it when she texted Patrizia to confirm she would arrive midday.
She knew it as she took a steadying breath on the road where the hired car dropped her. The knowledge weakened her knees as she walked down the lane toward the new outdoor stairs. They were protected by a wrought-iron gate, which stood open. She started down them.
She wished she knew what she was going to say to him.
Her mind seesawed between pouring out all the angry, hurt-fueled things that had backed up behind her heart, and giving him the silent treatment as she snatched the keys from his hand.
From haughtily asking how much he’d give her for the place without even looking at it, to acting like a civilized person and ending things with a polite handshake.
At no point did she allow herself to imagine they would get back together. Despite what Silvio had said of Rocco’s feelings, she didn’t believe he truly cared about her. He might feel some guilt toward her. He was not a dishonest person by nature, but that’s all he felt.
The walls of the stairwell were taller than she was when she reached the bottom. She stepped from their shadow into the blaze of the sun, gaze snagged first by the sapphire blue of the sea with a paler aquamarine sky above, then by the bright white villa.
It was three levels, with a new balcony on the top floor, a wide terrace off the main living space and the bottom floor walking out to the pool that glimmered below.
Rocco leaned on the rail of the upper terrace, and was looking toward the horizon.
She had known he would be here, but her heart jumped all the same.
He straightened and they stared at one another.
She resisted the urge to brush a self-conscious hand down the skirt of her sundress. It was a sophisticated halter style with tailored panels that cupped her breasts and waist, and had a tasteful cross-hatch of summery colors splashed across the skirt.
He wore linen trousers and a short-sleeved button shirt open at his throat. No tie. Just hair that seemed a shade too long as it was tousled by the wind.
“You look like you’ve been forgetting to eat,” he said in a voice that produced an ache inside her.
“Flatterer.”
He also looked hollow-cheeked with dark circles under his eyes. As though he really had been eating his heart out.
No.
She walked past him, through the pair of open doors into the villa, unable to speak. Unable to look at him because it hurt too much. Her heart thudded so loudly, the sound seemed to echo off the tiled floor and plastered walls.
A sense of homecoming swelled in her as she entered. It was the sensation she’d been hoping for when she had come here months ago.
The walls and ceilings were white, the floors tiled in a pattern of slate and ivory.
There were splashes of color in the blue sofa and yellow roses that filled the room with their lemony scent.
Rocco had found a way to claim more living space by punching arched openings between rooms and pushing alcoves into other walls.
The new configuration allowed light and air to pour from one room to the next.
What had been a cavelike kitchen now had a convenient door to the back lane and a window over the sink that looked onto the olive tree planted by her great-grandfather.
The primary suite that had opened onto the pool area had been turned into two guest rooms that shared a bathroom. Her grandparents’ iron-framed bed stood in one, but the mattress, linens and the rest of the furniture had been updated.
The top floor was now the owner’s domain. The line of the roof had been changed when it was retiled. Now, there was a sizable closet and a spacious bathroom that included a claw-footed tub against a window that turned opaque with the touch of a nearby button.
The massive bed was half-covered in fluffy white pillows. It stood on a landing two steps above the sitting area, allowing anyone in bed to have an unobstructed view out the retractable doors.
The balcony was only a narrow Juliet style, but it was four doors wide and had the best view in the house.
“How could you do this to me?” she asked as she gripped the rail.
Rocco had wordlessly dogged her every step of her inspection and now stood behind her. His voice came from deep in the bedroom, over by the door.
“You don’t like it?”
“I love it. I never want to leave.”
“Good. I wanted you to be happy here.”
How could she be, though, if all she saw here was him?
Yes, she had chosen tiles and color palettes, and agreed to the structural changes, but everything about the space reflected his care for function and appreciation for beauty and his desire to create a home so welcoming that being here was like spooning into his wide frame.
As though there was nowhere safer in the world she could be.
“Mira—” His voice caught.
She stayed at the rail and looked to the endless horizon, ears straining to hear something that would make this parting with him hurt less.
“I know what it’s like to be alone. I was alone for so long. Then Silvio offered me friendship. A chance to make something of myself. I got to know his family. I love them. I never wanted to hurt any of them.”
“Then why did you get involved with me at all?” She turned to face him. “You should have left me alone.”
“I couldn’t.” He absently stood up a book that had fallen on the recessed shelf above the charming escritoire.
Were those her archeology textbooks? What was he trying to do to her?
“Why not?” she asked with a crack in her voice.
“I fell in love with you,” he said simply.
The words nearly ripped her heart from her chest.
“Don’t say that,” she pleaded, hating him for making her hope so intensely. “The only person that I ever truly believed loved me was my mother. And even she lied to me. I’ll never believe that you love me.” She wanted to believe it, though. The yearning inside her was so intense, her lungs ached.
“You don’t have to believe it for it to be true, Mirabella,” he said gently.
“I think I began falling for you the day we met in London, when you made a joke about wanting a big family. I had never imagined I could have a family. My parents died before I knew them. I was taken from my aunt. Silvio’s family treated me like I was one of them, but I knew I was a stand-in for my father.
Then I held that secret for him. How could I ever be part of their tribe, knowing that about him? ”
“You kept that secret from me,” she said with a creak of anguish.
“I did,” he said with deep regret. “But when was the right time to tell you? London? We were strangers. When you came to Rome? You were so angry, you would have blown up Silvio’s life and barely made a dent in Otto’s.
I wasn’t even sure you knew Otto wasn’t your father. How could I risk telling you who was?”