Chapter Thirteen
‘WHERE ARE WE, ANYWAY?’ she said, much later that night, as they lay on a softer-than-clouds mattress, looking up into the night sky, naked limbs entwined, covered in a fine sheen of perspiration despite the cool night.
‘A winery in Frascati.’
She looked around at the silhouette of vines, now coated in milky moonlight. ‘Why here?’
‘Because the stars are never clearer than here,’ he said. ‘And because it’s private.’
She blinked up at him. ‘Is it yours?’
‘Of course.’
She bit back a smile at that. His confidence bordering on arrogance was so typically him. Her skin lifted in goosebumps as her soul recognised its pair, its partner, and her skin flushed all over.
‘I still can’t believe you did this.’
‘Can’t you?’ he asked, eyes roaming her face and practically jump-starting her heart. ‘Why is that?’
‘You just don’t seem like someone who would go to this kind of trouble.’
He reached out and touched a finger to her chin, gently angling her face to his. ‘You deserve good things, Amelia. You’ve fought hard, for too long. If nothing else, I’m glad this marriage has given you the freedom to live whatever life you choose.’
It was as though the weight of every atom in the universe were pressing down against her chest, making it almost impossible to breathe. To think. To weigh up the risks of what she now knew she must do.
‘I have to ask you something,’ she said, twisting her engagement ring between the fingers on either side of it, so his eyes glanced down at the ring before zipping back to her face.
Giving her vital seconds to rethink this.
But the weight on her chest made it impossible.
She had to know.
She’d always faced everything in life head-on. She was not someone to run and hide, nor bury her head in the sand. She was a fighter, and now she had to fight for her marriage.
If there was any chance he might feel for her as she did for him, she had to know. Because all of a sudden, not having said this aloud was suffocating her.
‘I have to ask you something,’ she repeated, because there was really no choice about it.
‘You said that already.’
She bit into her lower lip. ‘A few weeks ago, you told me that we were different in a vital way.’
His brow furrowed, as though he didn’t remember.
‘We were in the hot tub, talking about…’ she faltered slightly, gaze dropping to his chest, before lifting back to his lips, then his eyes ‘…marriage. Children.’
‘Ah, yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I remember.’
‘You said that you’ve known for a long time you don’t want marriage and kids. That your mind is made up.’
‘Sì.’
Her belly hurt, but she was a fighter, and the fight wasn’t over. ‘I guess I’m wondering how firmly made up your mind is. Like, is there any part of you that thinks maybe you’re wrong?’
In the same way she would have felt a change in the weather, a shift in the wind’s direction, she felt the change in Massimiliano. The slight tension in his arms, the look in his face.
‘No,’ he said, after an infinitesimal pause. ‘Not even the smallest part of me wonders that.’
She closed her eyes in the most instinctive reaction to his statement that her body could muster.
‘Why do you ask?’ The question seemed almost to be dragged from him against his will.
Because he knew. She could tell, he knew.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she murmured. Apparently, she wasn’t a fighter, after all.
‘If it matters to you, then you can say,’ he offered.
But she knew he didn’t want to hear. And she didn’t want to burden him with her admission.
That she’d fallen in love with him was her mistake.
Her stupidity. He’d warned her all along to take care—she just hadn’t known how.
And now she alone would live with the consequences of that.
He put up with it for a week. For a whole week after that night at his Frascati vineyard, he went through the motions of their marriage with the clarity of what she hadn’t said.
That she loved him. Or thought she did.
He watched his convenient bride, his contessina, act her part to perfection. Having dinner with his grandfather, then her grandparents, smiling at him as though her heart weren’t breaking when he could see, so clearly, that it was.
Because he knew her.
He knew her every impulse, instinct, thought and feeling. He knew her heart, her soul, her mind, her dreams. He knew and understood her.
He had known, even in London, that she was special and unique.
He’d also known that she was innocent and inexperienced, that there was a risk of her wanting more than he could offer.
A risk of her thinking she was in love with him.
He’d known, and failed to protect her. He’d taken what he wanted—her body—and destroyed her heart in the process. And it couldn’t go on any longer.
He wouldn’t allow it to.
‘Amelia?’ he called, scanning the apartment for her before he could back out of doing the right thing, simply because it felt so good having her here. ‘We need to talk.’
‘That sounds ominous,’ she said, keeping her voice neutral, acting the part of the carefree fake wife he wanted. She was midway through stepping into the dress she was wearing to dinner. She pulled it in place and zipped it up, sucking in a deep breath as she waited.
But Massimiliano didn’t play his part in return. They’d long ago abandoned separate bedrooms and now lived in his; and his face, when he stalked into the room, was like a thunderclap. She blinked in surprise, pushing down the worry that was churning inside her.
‘We need to talk,’ he repeated.
She tilted her head to the side, not sure she could trust herself to say anything in return.
‘I have good news.’ His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Something held her impossibly, completely still. ‘Oh?’
‘I’ve realised something important. We’ve done what we set out to achieve, with this marriage.’
Her heart stopped beating. ‘Have we?’ The words were barely a whisper.
‘My grandfather is euphoric. He’s been inundated with invitations by his so-called, one-time friends. You’ve met your grandparents. I don’t think there’s any need to keep going with this charade.’
She flinched. Charade?
She shook her head slightly. ‘I’m sorry. What does that mean?’
He let out a sigh. ‘I can’t be responsible for you not pursuing your dreams, Amelia. Studying medicine at your age is going to require you to start as soon as possible. I’ve organised everything. An apartment for you in London, a tutor for your UCAT; naturally I’ll pay the fees.’
It felt as though a knife were plunging into her side. ‘What?’
He moved closer then, so they were standing toe to toe. ‘You shouldn’t have to put off your life. You deserve so much better.’
She deserved him. That was all she wanted.
‘I don’t understand. What about…two years? I thought we had two years.’
A muscle jerked in his jaw. ‘You need to leave.’ For the briefest moment, the mask slipped. He sounded emotional. Conflicted.
As though he didn’t really want this.
‘If there’s an occasion that requires you, in that time, you can come back. We can stay legally married for the duration.’
She shook her head, his words making absolutely no sense.
‘This isn’t really about my degree,’ she surmised, seeing through that easily.
He closed his eyes, nostrils flaring. ‘You need to go.’
She blinked quickly, to clear the tears. ‘Why?’
He looked at her then, eyes piercing her soul. ‘Because I think you’ve fallen in love with me. Or believe you have, anyway.’
She staggered backwards.
‘And I can’t keep you here, seeing you suffer like this. Seeing you suffer through every dinner, every night, every kiss, every touch. I will not be the reason you are hurting.’
She flinched and felt her heart burst at the same time. She blinked away quickly, focusing on the view of Rome exposed through his bedroom windows.
‘I—don’t—’
He gripped her upper arms, so her gaze was wrenched back to his. ‘Do you love me?’
She opened her mouth to deny it, but how could she?
That would be the worst betrayal she could possibly know.
Defiantly, she tilted her chin, meeting his gaze unflinchingly.
‘Yes,’ she said, because he deserved to know.
‘Yes,’ she repeated, because he had to know.
Because that reality was bursting through her in glorious Technicolor, just as the whole world had been after their first time together.
‘I love you, Massimiliano Moretti, and if I had my way, I would stay here in Italy, for ever and always, as your wife. Not just in name, but in both of our hearts.’ She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the way it was beating, hard, against his ribs.
His skin paled, as though it was the worst thing he could have heard.
‘Amelia,’ he murmured softly. ‘That wasn’t our deal.’
Their deal seemed like something two strangers had made, a thousand years ago.
‘My turn to ask the questions,’ she said, lifting her hand to his lips and pressing it there. He stayed silent, even when that was not in his nature. ‘Have you ever felt this way about a woman? Have you ever been with someone as long as you have me?’
‘Our marriage is not real.’
‘No, but this is,’ she said, brushing her other hand behind his back, and holding him close.
‘Sex,’ he muttered.
But she denied that quickly, too. ‘Not just sex, and we both know it.’
A muscle jerked in his jaw as she stared at him, half daring him to contradict her. To his credit, he didn’t.
‘I realised something, a few weeks ago,’ she said. ‘I was a virgin, when I met you, but in some ways, you were too. When have you ever made love to a woman you had feelings for? When has it ever been more than sex for you?’
He stared down at her, as if silently begging her to stop.
‘Am I the only woman?’
‘No,’ he said, surprising her. No, damn near knocking her sideways. ‘I was engaged once before.’
She felt the world lurching beneath her feet. ‘What?’
‘Many years ago. It was a mistake. But at the time, I thought I loved her.’