CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SIX
Three years ago , he’d kept her at a distance using his work as an excuse. Now it was by mutual understanding, and a healthy sense of self-preservation. Imogen didn’t try to get close to him. Not like she had then. She didn’t try because she didn’t want to.
Three years ago, he’d smashed her heart into oblivion, and it didn’t matter how great he was with Aurora—he was still that same cruel-hearted man. He was still someone who was capable of blowing hot and cold, of making her feel things that seemed so much like love, and then coldly dismissing her from his life.
She would never trust him again, and without trust, there could be no true relationship. They were parents, and somehow, despite their past, they’d found a way to interact that was respectful and courteous. But neither pushed the other for personal information. Neither tried to have deep and meaningful conversations.
They were like strangers in many ways, despite the intimacy they’d once shared.
On Imogen’s first night back in the bar, she felt a churning of butterflies in her belly.
She and Luca had formed a sort of arrangement that worked for them, but having Genevieve in the house was like the cracking open of the past, a reminder of her wounds, and Imogen didn’t particularly want to think about that.
Gen could not have made her own feelings about Luca more apparent.
‘Genevieve, welcome,’ he’d said.
‘Thanks,’ she’d responded, as though she’d have preferred to be just about anywhere else.
Imogen grimaced, but she didn’t have a chance to speak to Genevieve before leaving. She squeezed her hand though, leaned in for a kiss and whispered, ‘Be nice. For Aurora’s sake.’
Genevieve rolled her eyes in response.
Luca had organised for his driver to take her to the bar—it made a nice change from public transport—and she nestled back in the comfort of the four-wheel drive, watching London pass by in a streak of lights and autumnal beauty.
The bar was packed, and she lost herself to the music of her set, singing some of her own songs, some covers, playing whatever she wanted, aware that the crowd was in the palm of her hand and loving the feeling.
She wanted to do this for a living. To make music, to sing it, to offer it to the world as her contribution to the creative landscape. It had been her calling for longer than she could remember.
But there was also Aurora, and until she’d been born, Imogen hadn’t realised that being a mother could also be a passion. She loved being with her daughter. She loved having the flexibility to spend time with her, to play with her, to teach her to play piano. And with Luca in the picture, she had even more flexibility to pursue both. If he wanted to be an engaged father, she could rely on him for so much more than she ever could Genevieve. While her sister had been an amazing support, Imogen had often felt bad for leaning on her so much, even though Gen had insisted she didn’t mind.
Luca was Aurora’s father and if he was willing to play that role, to help take care of her, then Imogen would conceivably have more freedom to pursue her career. All the dreams she’d put on hold when she’d discovered she was pregnant were suddenly viable again.
She finished her set, took a bow, waved at the crowd then made her way off stage, towards the bar.
‘Great set, Im. What’ll it be?’
She couldn’t say why she was delaying going back to Luca’s, only that it was the first time she’d been out of the place in a week, and with it came a sense of relief. She was glad to be away from him, glad to prove to herself that she could stay away. Because everything was so complicated, and she needed to make sure she didn’t lose herself again. No matter what she said to him, she wasn’t an idiot. She knew there was risk here.
She knew there could be risk, anyway, unless she was very, very careful. She could be with him. She could spend time with him, she just couldn’t ever forgive him.
If she didn’t forgive him, she wouldn’t fall for him again.
‘Glass of white.’
‘Pinot Gris?’
‘Perfect.’
She watched as Leon, who was always behind the bar, poured the drink and slid it across to her. ‘No charge, superstar.’
She frowned. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘No way. The nights you play are always our busiest. I owe you.’
‘You pay me to play,’ she reminded him.
‘Nowhere near enough.’ He winked, then moved off to serve someone else.
She sat at the bar, listening to the next act, forcing herself to stay right where she was. There was no better way to prove to herself, and Luca, that she was totally her own woman than by staying out just a little later and enjoying another musician. Even when her nerves were stretching taut, and she was itching to get back to his place.
She finished the glass and stood up, weaving through the crowd and out the side door, where Luca’s car was waiting, the driver reading a book behind the wheel. She tapped lightly on the window, clearly startling him, for which she apologised.
He moved quickly but she waved him away. ‘I can open my own door,’ she said with a smile.
‘All part of the service,’ he quipped, opening it for her regardless.
She slipped in and sighed, pleased that she’d passed this milestone, pleased that she was being mature enough to make this work. Pleased all round, that what had seemed like a disaster a week ago wasn’t actually turning out to be so bad.
* * *
‘Your sister hates me too.’
‘Too?’
‘In addition to you, remember?’ he reminded her, when she walked back into the room, having farewelled Genevieve—who did indeed despise Luca, more than words could say.
‘Oh, right.’ She lifted one shoulder. ‘She’s protective of me.’
His eyes lingered on Imogen’s face a moment, long enough for her heart to thump and her skin to prickle with goose bumps, then walked towards an armchair and took a seat opposite.
‘How was it?’
She smiled. ‘Great.’
His eyes roamed her face. ‘You’re an excellent performer.’
Heat flushed her cheeks. ‘I love it.’
‘How many nights do you play at the bar?’
‘Just three per week at the moment.’
‘And you teach piano, you said?’
She nodded.
‘Is that what you aspired to, Imogen?’
Her eyes widened.
‘This. Your work. Is it what you dreamed of?’
‘To make a living from music? Absolutely.’
He frowned though, a quick quirk of his lips.
‘You don’t approve?’
‘It’s not my place to approve or not.’
‘Nonetheless, you’re clearly thinking something. What?’
‘I seem to remember you wanting to move to America, to get a recording deal with one of the big labels.’
Her heart thudded against her ribs. He remembered that?
Of course he remembered. He was smart and switched on, and she’d opened her soul to him, including her professional aspirations.
‘I got pregnant,’ she reminded him. Then, realising that might sound like a criticism, she softened her tone a little. ‘And it was a blessing. It didn’t feel like it at the time, but Aurora turned everything around for me. I still have aspirations, but they’re not the only thing I focus on now. Maybe when she’s older,’ Imogen said with a lift of one shoulder.
His frown deepened. ‘I didn’t know about her,’ he said, needlessly. Imogen was well aware of the facts. They’d discussed them ad nauseam, after all. ‘I wasn’t there to help you, but I am now.’
Imogen’s eyes widened. It was exactly what she’d been thinking in the bar. Everything was different now that Luca was in the picture. Seeing how great he was with Aurora had opened up a door for her she’d been reluctant to look for earlier. While Genevieve was an amazing help, Imogen was reluctant to impose too much. With Luca, she didn’t have the same concerns. Aurora was his child, and he’d made it abundantly clear he wanted to help.
‘There is kind of an opportunity,’ she said, her lips pulling to the side. ‘A label that’s interested in me. They want me to submit a demo.’ She waved a hand through the air, tamping down on the instant rush of excitement, keeping her feet firmly planted in reality. ‘It’s not a big deal. It probably won’t come to anything, but it’s an opportunity at least. It would mean a bit of time in a studio. A few days, probably…’
He didn’t smile. He didn’t congratulate her. But he leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, and said, ‘I have a recording studio you could use.’
Her heart kerthunked. ‘You do?’
‘Sure.’
‘Um, where?’
‘It’s at my place in Tuscany—I bought the villa from a musician—the recording studio is state of the art, though obviously I’ve never used it.’
‘You have a place in Tuscany?’
‘Does that surprise you? I’m Italian.’
‘But you live here.’
‘My businesses are headquartered here. My home is in Italy.’
She stared at him, surprised by that. Surprised that it had never occurred to her. Surprised, most of all, by his willingness to help her. Then again, it was easy for him to do. He had a home with a recording studio, and the means to travel the world at the drop of a hat. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a flood of warmth at how quickly he’d extended his support to her. Like he cared about her life, and her career.
‘Let me do this for you,’ he said, intensely, as though mistaking her silence for hesitation. ‘I owe you this.’
‘You owe me?’
‘Who knows what your life would be like if I’d been a part of Aurora’s from birth?’
She shook her head, dispelling that sentiment. ‘I didn’t tell you about her, remember?’
‘I remember,’ he replied, but without the sting of their prior arguments on the matter. This was almost conversational. ‘I do not believe our daughter should ever be a reason that you have not succeeded in your career.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t see it that way. I love what I do—’
‘You have a gift.’ His words slammed into her. They were emphatic and insistent, as though he needed her to see it his way. ‘You should share it with as many people as you are able. Of course you should record a demo, and the recording label would be stupid not to snap you up.’
His blind faith in her almost brought tears to her eyes. She hadn’t expected such passionate support from Luca, of all people.
‘For years, your voice has been in my mind,’ he muttered. And now, a hint of his resentment was back, a rush of darkness that he hadn’t been strong enough to blot her from his memory. ‘Your songs, your sound, the way you can sing as though yours is the only voice to ever find a melody. It is…mesmerising.’
‘Mesmerising,’ she whispered, thinking that, if anything, it was his words that were addictive, his voice that had cycled around and around in her mind until she’d almost lost touch with reality.
‘Addictive,’ he added, his eyes boring into hers, like he was as bound by the power of this stare as Imogen was. She couldn’t look away; she was powerless in the face of his offer, and his admission. ‘I woke up hearing you.’
The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.
‘Come to Italy with me, Imogen,’ he implored again, throatily, raw, and her heart palpitated against her ribs.
How could she say no? Setting aside the fact he was taking away any practical barrier to her recording this album, there was something else tightening inside her chest, making her yearn to agree with him. If Imogen were honest with herself, she’d admit that it wasn’t just about recording the demo.
Here was Luca, a man who had fiercely guarded every aspect of his private life from her, even as they’d been as intimate as any two people could ever be, offering her a glimpse behind the curtain. His home in Italy must mean something to him, as it was where he was from.
Something like hope surged inside Imogen, but she tamped it down, just as she did when she thought of her music.
‘Aurora…’ she said thoughtfully.
‘Will come with us, naturally,’ he interrupted, misunderstanding.
Imogen swallowed. ‘She doesn’t have a passport.’
‘Leave that to me,’ he said with easy authority.
Imogen bit down on her lip. ‘Luca—’
‘We can go to Italy as soon as that’s organised.’
Imogen toyed with her fingers, nervous suddenly. But there was nothing for it; he’d find out for himself soon enough. ‘There’s something you should know about Aurora.’
He waited with the appearance of patience.
‘She has my last name. You’re not… I couldn’t put you on her birth certificate.’
His eyes briefly closed. She could feel the tension emanating from him. ‘Okay,’ he said after a moment, and there was no sign of anger in his tone. ‘We can fix that.’
Fix it.
Because she’d messed up. It hadn’t felt like it at the time, and she couldn’t have put his name down, anyway, without having Luca there. She’d made her peace with that situation, but having seen the two of them together now, she felt that lapse deep in her heart. ‘You have a high profile. I thought…’
‘You wanted to hide her from me.’ The words lacked emotion, but Imogen had an abundance of them.
‘I—didn’t want you to be blindsided.’
‘How did that work out?’ he responded, then shook his head, as if to dismiss the subject. ‘You made a decision. We’ve dealt with that.’
She nodded slowly, knotting her fingers together, glad he was apparently so accepting of that, finally. ‘Do you have any other homes, Luca?’
‘Sì.’
Her lips twisted into a smile without her consent. She’d always loved it when he slipped into Italian. Usually it was in bed, in the heat of passion, when a string of foreign words would curl around her, warm and delicious.
‘Where?’ She settled back into the sofa, strangely relaxed now.
‘New York, Paris, Sydney, Singapore.’
‘So, just the usual then?’
His grin surprised her. It warmed her. She tamped down on the feeling, sat up straighter, let the feeling of relaxation go, to be replaced by wariness. She couldn’t do this again. She wouldn’t let herself soften towards him, to see things that weren’t there. Wishful thinking had no place in their relationship; Luca was being kind to her, but that didn’t mean he was a changed man. As far as she was concerned, the man opposite her, who was now bending over backwards to help her career, was the same bastard who’d broken her heart, utterly and completely, three years earlier.
‘Anyway, I’m beat,’ she lied, standing then, brushing her hands over the front of her jeans. She needed a break from the emotional juggernaut that was careening her from one emotion to the next, but mostly, she needed to escape the temptation of spending any more time with this man she’d once loved… ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
She slipped away, her heart pounding, trying not to think how good it had felt to just sit and talk with Luca. That was most certainly not a safe path to travel.
* * *
She knew he was wealthy. Obviously. His house in London was huge and in one of the most exclusive areas, he had a fancy car and a full-time driver, he wore suits that were made for his frame—hand stitched and clearly expensive—and there was an air about him that spoke of money and luxury. But it wasn’t until the trip to Tuscany that she really comprehended the sheer scale of his wealth.
They boarded his private jet at City Airport. It was as big as a commercial plane, shiny white with a jet-black tail and a bold white ‘R’ there, denoting it as his. Inside was like the lobby of a five-star hotel. Elegant armchairs, coffee tables, lamps. Walls partitioning the front section of the plane from the middle, which boasted two bedrooms, either side of the aisle. Beyond that, there were bathrooms, but unlike the usual airline offerings, these had proper showers, space to get changed, lovely lighting and décor. Right in the back there were seats more akin to a commercial airline’s business class seating section—wide and with full recline abilities.
‘For staff,’ he said. ‘Or if I need to convey multiple guests.’
‘Do you do that often?’
‘I use the plane for business,’ he said with a lift of his shoulders. ‘Meetings around the world. That involves taking members of my team with me sometimes.’
Imogen settled Aurora on one of the plush seats and buckled her in. ‘You know, I have no idea what you do, Luca.’
‘I invest.’
She glanced at him, scanning his face. ‘What does that mean?’
‘Putting money behind something I believe in.’
Imogen rolled her eyes. ‘I know what it means, as a dictionary definition. I mean, what do you personally invest in?’
‘A number of things. Property, commercial interests, the tech sector.’
She sat beside Aurora and clipped her seat belt together. Luca took the seat opposite them, his long legs permanently at risk of invading Imogen’s space, of brushing against her own legs, if he wasn’t careful. Aurora made a gabbling noise, and tried to reach for the lamp. Imogen distractedly reached into her handbag, pulled out an old, much-favoured picture book and passed it to the little girl.
‘Do you enjoy it?’
He looked at her as though she’d asked if he spoke Martian. ‘It’s what I do. I’m good at it.’
It was Imogen’s turn to look confused. ‘Is it what you wanted to do as a kid?’
His eyes darkened momentarily and he glanced towards the window. It was a lovely autumnal day, clear blue skies, crisp and cool. ‘I don’t remember.’
Liar.
‘We’re ready for take-off, sir.’ A pretty woman in her twenties clipped efficiently into the cabin. She wore a business suit, and her bright blond hair was secured into a fiercely tight bun. Imogen’s stomach popped with unwelcome jealousy.
‘I will replace you.’
She flipped the page on Aurora’s book, pointing at a picture of a witch with big warts on her nose and enormous pink shoes. Aurora laughed, as she always did, at the absurdity of the image.
‘Would you care for any refreshments?’ The woman glanced from Imogen to Luca, her cherry-red lips curving into a full smile when she glanced at him.
‘Imogen?’ He looked at her though, and her stomach popped for a different reason.
She bit into her lip, shook her head once.
‘Some champagne,’ he said. ‘And strawberries for Aurora.’
Imogen’s heart turned over. She pointed at another picture and pulled a face that made Aurora giggle once more, then turned the page again. Aurora said the words that were on the page, not because she could read them but because she’d been read the book so many times it was rote for her now.
When Imogen glanced at Luca, he was staring at them with an intensity that made her pulse go haywire.
‘Do you just travel with a buffet of fruit on board?’ she asked, simply for something to say.
‘There’s a selection, yes.’
Imogen glanced around. ‘This plane is incredible.’
The crew member returned with a glass of champagne, a coffee and some strawberries.
‘You’re not having one?’ Imogen asked, curling her feet up beneath her on the plush armchair.
‘You seemed nervous.’
She tried not to care that he’d noticed. ‘I’m…overawed, I guess. This is incredibly opulent.’
‘You get used to it.’
She shook her head, marvelling at the sheer volume of things she didn’t know about Luca. ‘Did you grow up like this?’ she asked, gesturing around the plane.
‘No.’
Imogen tried not to be shocked by the fact he’d actually answered her question instead of hedging around it. When they’d first started dating—or, rather, sleeping together—she’d searched his name on the internet and found a heap of dry biographical information to do with his company, but even that hadn’t really told her what he did on a day-to-day basis. It was all corporate speak and for Imogen, who existed in a musician’s bubble most of the time, it had just bored her. But there’d been nothing more personal about Luca anywhere, and she’d looked. Oh, there’d been some photos of him at events—fundraising dinners and the like—and yes, she’d noticed that he was always with a beautiful woman. Back then, she’d felt a hint of pique that he hadn’t invited her to any of those events, but because she’d had her rose-coloured glasses on, she’d invented a narrative that it was because he didn’t want to share her.
What a fool she’d been.
‘Your parents aren’t wealthy like this?’
A slight pause. ‘No.’
‘So you just invested your way to this lifestyle?’
‘Sì.’ The engines began to whirl, and the plane pushed back from the hangar. Aurora looked around, slightly alarmed, but with a reassuring smile from Imogen, she relaxed.
‘You’ll like it, I promise,’ Imogen said. ‘We’re going to climb all the way up into the clouds. Look out the window, little one. Watch and see.’ Aurora craned towards the window, her sweet little fingers pressing to the glass.
‘Do your parents see her often?’ Luca asked, and Imogen recognised what he was doing. Driving the conversation in a parallel direction, subtly shifting it from his family to hers. Irritation barbed beneath her skin but she didn’t show it.
‘They’ve been great. Very supportive. But mainly it’s Gen who helps out on a day-to-day basis.’
He made a gruff noise.
‘Don’t be annoyed at her for not liking you.’
He arched a brow. ‘Did I say I’m annoyed?’
‘You look unimpressed.’
‘If I’m unimpressed, Imogen, it’s because you had to rely on anyone to help you, rather than turning to me, her father.’
‘Oh.’ Chastened, she focused all her attention on Aurora, not brave enough to look at him for the anger and disapproval she might see in his eyes. She couldn’t bear it. Just like that, the conversation was dead in the water, Imogen’s attempts to draw him out flattened by the immutable reality that would always exist between them, no matter what he said to the contrary. He would never really forgive her for keeping Aurora a secret.
And so what?
She’d never forgive him for how he’d treated her, so they were even.
Except they weren’t, because no matter how badly he’d hurt Imogen, she knew she was comparing apples and oranges. To keep a baby from a parent seemed, now, like a terrible decision.
But at the time, it had all made sense. She’d weighed up her options and had known Luca wouldn’t want to be a father.
Or was it just that she couldn’t risk that he might?
That despite all the horribly cruel things he’d said to her, she might have to raise their baby with him at her side anyway? Had she pretended the decision was based on what was best for Luca and Aurora but, in actuality, she’d chosen the path that most suited her?
Her skin was pale as they lifted into the skies, and Imogen only hoped that if Luca noticed, he’d put it down to a slight aversion to air travel and not the ice-cold sensation in her veins, a conviction that she’d made a terrible mistake three years ago—a mistake she could never truly fix.