CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER SEVEN
His villa in Tuscany was like something out of a film. Having landed at Pisa Airport, they had been met by a car straight off the plane and driven for about twenty minutes, through stunning vistas of rolling green hills on either side, towards the Ligurian Sea. Eventually, the car had turned off the main road onto a smaller, dusty track lined on one side by enormous pine trees, before turning once more, this time to pass between wide wrought-iron gates. The drive was sweeping and long, showing more of the mesmerising countryside views on one side and an incomparable outlook over where the River Arno met the sea on the other.
From what she could see, the house was surrounded by a large parcel of land, bounded on all sides by those magnificent pine trees. As for the house, it was old and classically Tuscan, with earthy rendered walls, red terracotta tiles and curved architectural features. It was single story and sprawling, and when the car pulled up, an older Italian woman, slim and neatly dressed with her hair in a low ponytail, strode out to meet them.
‘My housekeeper,’ he explained.
‘You have a housekeeper?’
‘The villa is well-staffed,’ he said. ‘It has to be. I don’t spend much time here. They take care of things.’
Right on cue, two more staff members appeared, younger men, moving to the trunk to remove their suitcases, so Imogen could focus on lifting Aurora out of her car seat. After the flight and the drive, her little legs were itching to run, and Imogen put her down on the ground.
‘Is there anything on the property I need to be aware of?’ she asked, turning back to Luca, who was looking at their daughter with that same expression she’d now seen multiple times—as though he’d seen a ghost.
He glanced back at her. ‘There’s a lake, but it’s all the way down there. She’d have to run pretty fast to make it without us realising.’
‘Okay, good to know, though. Nothing else?’
He looked around. ‘Not that I can think of.’
She watched as Aurora crouched down and ran her hands over the grass then picked a flower—bright pink with lush green leaves—then ran back to Imogen and held it out to her. ‘For you, Mama.’
Imogen’s heart turned over. ‘Thank you, my darling. I love it.’ She took the flower and tucked it neatly into the band of her plait.
Luca’s voice was gruff. ‘I’ll show you around.’ He strode towards the house, not pausing to see that they were following. Imogen took Aurora’s hand rather than lifting her, to give their daughter time to use her legs and also to explore at her own pace, but it meant they lagged behind Luca, and he had to stop and wait for them inside the foyer.
Imogen was glad he’d waited, but not so glad when he began to walk again because she wanted to stop and take everything in.
‘This place is incredible,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I was about to say it’s not what I would have expected for you, but that’s not entirely accurate. It’s actually… You’re perfect here.’
He frowned, his non-comprehension clear.
‘You look completely at home. It’s as if you were carved from these hills and valleys.’ She gestured to the expansive view shown from the living room windows, of the rolling, verdant hills.
‘I grew up on the other side of Siena,’ he said, and then turned away from her. He clearly regretted giving her that information, that tiny kernel, as if it told her anything fundamental about him! Frustration swirled in her gut, but she didn’t push him further.
They walked through the house, which was every bit as charming inside as the outside had indicated. From the large terracotta floor tiles to huge glass windows and furniture that seemed to blend into the surrounds, it was a quintessentially Tuscan home, and Imogen couldn’t help but fall a little in love with it.
He left the recording studio until last. They descended a set of stairs, into a basement. ‘The wine cellar is that side.’ He nodded towards a timber door. ‘The recording studio this one.’
‘So, if recording is going badly I can wander across and grab a bottle?’ she joked.
His smile was tight. Irritation shifted inside her but she opened the door to the recording studio and looked around, then pivoted back to Luca. ‘You weren’t kidding. This is state of the art.’
‘As I’ve been told.’
They’d arranged for a producer from Florence to join them for a couple of days, while she was recording, and Imogen was glad she wouldn’t have to get to grips with the technical equipment.
The housekeeper—Anna—had made a platter and set it up on one of the terraces that overlooked the ocean side of the property. It was all so beautiful, and, in her heart, Imogen felt a small pang to imagine—for the briefest moment—what it would be like if there were more substance to their relationship.
If they were a real family.
The thought was like acid in her throat. Midway through reaching for an olive, she sat upright, her chest hurting. Growing up, her parents had been blissfully happy, and Imogen had always presumed her life would be like theirs. That she’d meet someone, fall in love, get engaged and married, have babies and live happily ever after. It hadn’t seemed like a fairy-tale to her; it had seemed like reality. A bona fide fact of life, in fact. Perhaps that had made her particularly susceptible to the fantasy of Luca. She’d been attracted to him, so it had been easy to tell herself she was falling in love with him, that she loved him—even when she could see now that she didn’t really know him. And love couldn’t exist when it was one-sided. Not real love. It had to be mutual and shared, and theirs certainly hadn’t been.
He had given her a wake-up call that morning, and not just in terms of them as a couple, but in terms of how she viewed life. Her parents’ happy relationship, far from being a given, was a gift: a rare, special form of connection and respect that had always made marriage look easy. Imogen knew, now, that wasn’t the case.
Life wasn’t easy either. It was messy and complex, and Luca had taught her that.
This wasn’t real, this wasn’t romantic, this wasn’t a family vacation. It was a gesture, from Luca, to help her with her career. She kept that at the front of her mind as they ate, refusing to be seduced by the beauty of the setting or the man sitting opposite her, even when one look at him had the tendency of turning her insides to lava.
* * *
He shouldn’t have brought her here. He shouldn’t have offered up his studio to her. Or, if he had, he should have sent Imogen alone.
Because seeing Imogen and Aurora in Italy was tugging at a part of him he’d had no idea existed. A yearning to come back to Italy, to be home.
The same country he’d run hundreds of miles from as soon as he was able, because every glance had reminded him of his parents and sister. How painful those memories had been, how awful his recollections of those happier times, because of their absence.
Every day after the accident had been torturous. All he’d been able to focus on was how badly he’d wanted to escape. How badly he’d needed to escape.
And then he’d bought this villa, as yet another form of torture. He’d come here sparingly, when he’d needed a touchstone to his grief, a reminder of why he didn’t deserve happiness.
He’d come here after Imogen.
He’d come here when he’d wanted to recommit to his intention.
He was not worthy of love. He could not be trusted with it. He did not deserve happiness.
And yet…seeing Imogen and Aurora here, set against the landscape of his youth, he wasn’t sure he knew how to fight this any longer. Not his guilt—that was an incontrovertible part of him.
But so was Aurora.
And even Imogen, because they shared a daughter.
Italy was his home, and in no small part, he wanted it to be Aurora’s home too. He wanted to claim this part of her, to make sure it existed.
Because his parents would have wanted that, he realised, a lump forming in his throat unbidden. Nothing would have made them happier than Aurora.
Becoming a father might have been the last thing Luca had ever wanted, but this would have been something his parents desperately longed for.
Didn’t he owe it to them—as much as he did his sacrifices and misery—to raise Aurora in line with her heritage?
He closed his eyes as the reality of that twisted and shaped inside of him, altering his understanding of things, and how he must now live. While Luca could never forgive himself for the past, he was no longer an island, able to exist without others, isolated and alone. And he certainly couldn’t punish Aurora for his mistakes, nor keep Imogen at a distance because she’d acted out of what she’d mistakenly believed were the best interests of their child.
Could he blame her, given how he’d been at the time? Given what he’d knowingly subjected her to?
A dark groan escaped Luca’s throat and he closed his eyes against a rush of realisation. The past had been a noose around his neck for a long time; Luca had no choice but to set it aside, at least partially, to give Aurora the life she deserved. As for Imogen…he had no idea how to navigate their relationship, but he had no choice. He had to try.
* * *
The next morning, the sun broke over the Tuscan hillside, bathing Imogen’s bedroom in gold and peach, and she pushed back the covers with genuine excitement. She felt like a child on Christmas day. Outside, the valley was every bit as beautiful as it had been the day before, but even more so now because of the dusky light and the clarity of morning. She dressed quickly, checking the time—it was still early—and then moving to Aurora’s bedroom. She was still asleep.
Excitement fizzed inside Imogen’s belly as she crept into the kitchen and made a cup of tea then moved out onto the terrace, energised by the brush of the crisp morning against her skin, the simple act of sucking air deep into her lungs somehow calming and restorative.
‘You’re still an early riser.’
His voice was gruff, and close.
She spun around guiltily, cheeks flushed, to see Luca was seated at a round table only a meter or so away, a single shot of very dark coffee before him.
‘And you still drink coffee like mud.’
One half of his mouth lifted in a wry smile.
‘It’s just so beautiful out here. I love the early morning.’
‘I remember.’
She looked away, pain in her chest as though she’d been speared with something hot and sharp. She hated that he remembered. She hated that she’d been so unguarded with him, so open and honest. She needed to say something to bring it back to the reality of what had happened, how he’d used her and discarded her when it had suited him.
‘Was I unusual?’
She kept her gaze pinned to the valley beyond them.
‘In what way?’ His voice was casual, easy, but she wasn’t fooled. Everything with Luca was a calculation. Reading her before responding.
‘In terms of waking early. I guess your usual lovers were more…sophisticated.’ She turned to face him, scanning his face. He sipped his coffee, replaced the cup.
‘I don’t have a “usual.”’
Not didn’t , she noted, but the present tense. I don’t .
She wanted to say something acerbic, to pick this fight with him. Despite the beauty of the morning, old pain had surfaced fast and she felt a pull to flex it. But before she could speak, movement caught her eye. He stood, walking towards her with his easy, confident gait. She held her breath, wondering what he would say, how he would continue the conversation. If he might touch her—kiss her. If she might weaken and do so first.
‘You’re recording today?’
She glanced up at him, frowning. It was a total conversation swerve. She sipped her tea. ‘After lunch.’
‘Then you’re free this morning?’
Her heart stammered. ‘Why?’
‘I was thinking of taking Aurora to the beach.’ He paused. To read her reaction? Or out of uncertainty? ‘Join us.’
Imogen ignored the strange sensation of pain, the feeling of being on the other side of that ‘us.’ She ignored the sense of being excluded, because that was the exact opposite of what he was doing.
Besides, she was here to work. He was trying to facilitate her recording of this demo—by offering her his recording studio, by minding Aurora while she worked. For all his faults, she could hardly charge him with anything new in the present circumstances.
She looked towards the rolling hills, wondering at the stitching sensation in the centre of her chest.
‘It’s not far. You’ll be back in plenty of time.’
It almost sounded like he wanted her to go with them. ‘You’d be fine without me,’ she said, wondering if a fear of being alone with Aurora was at the heart of it. ‘I’ve seen you with her. You’re great.’
‘This is one of the most beautiful coves in the world—though having grown up near here, I might be a little biased. Even at this time of year, it’s worth the trip, though I wouldn’t recommend swimming.’ He was quiet, thoughtful. ‘I thought you might like to see it. But of course, the choice is yours.’
Well, now she felt a little silly. She sipped her tea, torn between going with her heart, which was telling her, Heck, yes! Explore and enjoy! and her mind, which was shouting at her, Steer clear, you can’t trust him!
She angled a glance at him, wariness in the lines of her face.
‘I’ll come. But only to see the beach.’
He nodded once. No smile, but something warmed her in the middle of her chest, and she realised, after he’d left, that it was the way he’d looked at her. The same way he’d looked at her back then that had made her feel like she was the very centre of his world, his eyes laced with such admiration she could hardly blink away. He was like a solar eclipse—impossible to look back at without getting burned. Only, back then, that very same look had made her believe they were in love. It had been a lie—something she would remember this time around.
* * *
They left the villa as soon as Aurora woke, which was not long after their conversation on the terrace. Imogen only had time to pack a beach bag with some towels, hats, spare clothes and some snacks for Aurora before Luca was propelling them out the door towards his garage. When he opened it, she realised he had not just the four-wheel drive that had driven them yesterday, but a fleet of cars secured in here, including a sleek sports car with a soft top. And naturally, he’d had car seats installed in several.
She glanced across at him, a teasing expression on her features, but he simply shrugged and set about securing Aurora into the back of the sports car, leaving Imogen to settle herself in the front passenger seat.
Halfway to the beach, he pulled off the road, turning into a sleepy-looking town that was so wonderfully Tuscan.
Imogen took at least a hundred photos with her phone as they drove through it. Cobbled streets, higgledy-piggledy rendered houses, flowerpots overflowing with rosemary and lavender, window baskets with geraniums spilling down towards the ground, laundry strung from one window to another, and little shops set up with artful displays of fruit and vegetables. He pulled over near one of these shops, turned to Imogen and asked, ‘Hungry?’
She was. They hadn’t had time for breakfast, and besides the snacks she’d packed for Aurora, food hadn’t occurred to her.
He disappeared into a bar and returned a few minutes later with some paper bags and a couple of take-away coffees. She salivated as the aroma hit her nostrils and peeked into the bags to see a couple of flatbreads that were overwhelmingly garlicky, with red tomato sauce oozing into the melted cheese.
At the beach, she spread out some towels and they sat side by side, eating their piadina and watching as Aurora delightedly played in the sand. She ran it through her fingers, pressed it to her cheeks, pushed it around to make different shapes.
‘She’s never been to the seaside before,’ Imogen admitted, halfway through her flatbread.
Luca tilted a glance at her. She felt the heat of his inspection, his curiosity, and found herself letting down barriers she’d sworn she’d keep in place. Because he was here, and he’d bought her the most delicious breakfast ever. Because he’d suggested this outing. Or maybe because she felt relaxed, for the first time in a long time? Wasn’t that a problem, though? To relax around Luca was the first step towards forgetting, and she couldn’t forget.
‘Why not?’
She’d been silent for long enough that he’d been led to probe further. ‘No time or opportunity,’ she said after a pause. ‘We’ve travelled to my parents’, for Christmases, birthdays, that kind of thing. They live in the Cotswolds, so that’s kind of become our go-to holiday destination. It’s beautiful, and free, so it ticks all the boxes.’
He nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing.
‘Did you come here, growing up?’
The air crackled. Imogen could have sworn she saw a spark. She’d asked him about something she knew he didn’t want to discuss, but so what? Why shouldn’t she get to return volley?
‘From time to time.’
It was classic Luca: evasive and dismissive, all at once. But Imogen remembered. She remembered how angry she’d been after he’d dumped her, for not pushing him harder. For not making him open up to her. Maybe if she had, she’d have understood him better sooner. Been able to save herself.
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means occasionally.’
‘With your parents? Friends?’
‘My parents, and my aunt and uncle. My cousins occasionally. Friends.’
She had to concentrate on not rolling her eyes. He’d listed just about everyone under the sun, which had given her no real impression of what his life had been like in Italy.
‘Did you like to swim, as a boy?’
He had only a small piece of piadina left. ‘What boy doesn’t?’ He finished his flatbread then scrunched up the paper bag, holding it in the palm of one hand. Nearby, Aurora had stopped playing with sand and was now staring at a pair of seagulls squawking towards the shore, their beaks doing frequent inspections of the wet sand, hoping to strike gold.
‘What else did you do?’
He was quiet, moving the scrunched-up paper from one hand to another.
‘At the beach?’
‘As a boy.’
‘Typical stuff. Football. Hikes. Skiing in winter.’
Her smile was wry, but in the back of her mind, she felt a slight tremor, a thrill, because he’d told her something that was real, something biographical. Not that it was particularly interesting or important, but it was a start.
And why do you care? a voice challenged.
She was supposed to be keeping him at a distance, not trying to drill down into his past. And yet…he was the father of her child. There was some common sense in getting to know him more deeply: a necessity now, more than it ever was before.
‘Not so typical for someone like me,’ she said.
‘No? You hiked, as a child.’ There it was again. The imbalance. His memory of her, his knowledge, because she’d shared so openly and willingly in that month they’d spent together.
‘Yes. I still do, when I can.’
He nodded slowly. ‘My father taught me to hike. Not in parks, but rather in the wild. He showed me how to read the weather, look for predators’ tracks, find food if necessary.’
‘He sounds like a natural outdoorsman.’
Luca was saved from replying by Aurora, who wandered over to them with a look of such excitement it was as if she’d won some kind of lottery. She held in her tiny hand a shell that was picture book perfect, curved and a deep silvery brown in colour. ‘Look!’ she squealed. ‘Mama, look!’
Imogen smiled indulgently, taking the shell in one hand and examining it. ‘That’s very pretty, Aurora.’
She handed it to Luca to inspect. He took it, looked inside, then gestured for Aurora to come closer. ‘Let me show you something,’ he said, and the little girl trustingly settled herself into Luca’s lap, pulling at every single one of Imogen’s heartstrings. He held the shell towards her ear, but she spun to look at it.
‘No, no,’ he said, gently though, and with a smile that made Imogen’s eyes sting, because he’d never smiled at her with that look of simple pleasure. Her heart hurt. She glanced away quickly, pulling hair behind her ears and blinking rapidly, before turning back in time to see him press the shell to Aurora’s ear.
‘Do you hear it?’ he asked, watching the little girl’s face flicker with emotions.
‘Ocean!’ She pointed towards the water.
‘Yes.’ He smiled again. Imogen too, but her own was wistful. Despite the simplistic beauty of that moment, she couldn’t help but feel sad. Sad at what Luca had missed out on—and what Aurora had likewise. Because she’d made a decision based on her experiences of him. She’d judged him by how he’d treated her, as though that defined him. As though that meant he was only capable of cruelty, when in fact, towards his daughter, he was capable of…love.
Yes, love. She saw it on his face now and almost gasped. She had the strangest sense that Aurora and Luca had formed a bubble, and for the first time since Aurora’s birth, Imogen felt like an outsider with her own daughter. She stuffed the rest of her piadina into her mouth, but could no longer enjoy the complex, savoury flavours.
‘Mama, listen. Mama!’
Imogen turned back to Aurora and took the shell, held it to her ears and listened.
‘My mother used to say it was a way of bringing the beach home. She always hated leaving, and so I would collect these shells for her, so she could listen no matter where she was.’
Imogen’s heart twisted. Before she could answer, Luca was standing, dislodging Aurora, whose little hand he clasped in his. ‘Come on, bella. Let’s go feel the water in our toes.’
* * *
Luca had found himself dreading Aurora’s bedtime that night. When their daughter was with them, it was easy to focus on her, to distract himself and stay busy with the child they shared. It was easy to watch her and laugh at her and focus all his energy on her needs. But when Aurora was dispensed with for the night, it left him and Imogen here, in a place he now recognised was incredibly beautiful and…romantic.
Romantic.
God, he’d never thought of it that way before. This had always just been a good investment. A place he’d got cheap because the rock star who’d owned it had lost their fortune, come on hard times and needed to sell. Luca had paid above the asking and still got it for a steal. He’d bought it because it made solid financial sense, and he’d always viewed it through that lens.
But Imogen being here gave the place a different kind of life. It gave it a whole new light and air, a vibe that he’d never noticed before. Even the sunlight had hit the house differently from the moment they’d arrived.
It was Aurora, too, he admitted, pouring himself a glass of local red wine and cradling it in his hand, stepping out onto the terrace and looking towards the now ink-black sea. He had known she was his daughter from the moment he’d seen her. She was instantly familiar to him. But seeing her here, in Tuscany, he’d had the sense of bringing her home. Where she belonged.
Where he belonged.
Something cracked in the centre of his chest.
A pain. A comprehension. A sense of dread.
He’d left Italy on his eighteenth birthday, turning his back completely on the uncle and aunt who’d cared for him after his parents’ deaths, ignoring them to the point of callousness; turning his back on everything that reminded him of how much he’d lost, and who he’d been before. He came here sparingly, as a form of punishment. When he wanted to be most pained by the past, he visited Tuscany and he wallowed in his memories, in reflections of how perfect his life had once been.
But seeing Aurora here, dangerous promises were whispering to him. Seductive, tantalising temptations, like: What if it could be perfect again?
He knew it couldn’t be, though. It never would be. Even if, somehow, he could find happiness with Imogen and Aurora, he would never let himself enjoy it.
Being here with them was an added form of torture—that was all. Seeing Imogen smile, hearing her joke and laugh and watching her cuddle Aurora, who was as Italian as the day was long, made him want to forget his past. But Luca never would. Nor would he forget his failures and his grief. A mistake had defined him as a twelve-year-old; nothing would ever change that.
And yet, even knowing he didn’t deserve happiness in life, there were other things he had started to realise. Such as the vulnerable position he was currently in. Imogen had moved in with him, for Aurora, to ease this transition, and because Luca had insisted upon it.
They weren’t a family, but at the same time, they were. For Aurora’s sake, shouldn’t they strive to be? Shouldn’t they try to give her something like he’d known as a child? Like Imogen had known? This wasn’t about them, their attraction, nor their history. Everything now hinged on the present, and the future they wanted to create for Aurora.
They’d made the outing to the beach work.
It had been pleasant.
More than pleasant, it had been… He searched for a word and found he couldn’t come up with one to describe it. The trip had been spontaneous but also…perfect. Cathartic, perhaps. He’d loved seeing Aurora discover the things he’d discovered and adored as a child. He’d felt a heavy connection to his parents, being there with his own child, feeling things they must have felt. He wasn’t just walking in their footsteps; he was being shepherded by them. Never had he felt their presence so keenly.
He’d loved seeing Imogen there as well. He’d loved watching her watch Aurora, seeing the adoration on her face, knowing that despite everything that had happened between them, Aurora was a gift. A gift he hadn’t asked for, but one he wasn’t stupid enough to take for granted.
If anything, he’d been bowled over by how much Aurora had flooded his heart—a heart he’d sworn was cut off from the world, and would be for all time. The total, possessive love he felt for her, because she was his child, to love and protect. He was her father, a role that he knew to be sacred and important, because of how his own father had been. Atoning for the past by denying his own happiness had always been a driving force for Luca, but now there was an equally important goal in his mind: to be everything Aurora needed him to be. He would be a real father to her—not just a temporary dad, but someone who was there, day and night, whenever she wanted his advice or presence.
Yet an uneasiness crept through him as he acknowledged how temporary this situation might prove to be. He had no idea what Imogen’s life had been like in the last few years, but he’d seen her that night at the bar with another man, had seen her hug him and smile at him, and he’d felt everything slipping with the realisation that other men saw her as he did, wanted her as he did.
That had been before he’d known about Aurora. What would happen if Imogen met someone now—if she started dating, fell in love and married, and Aurora then had a stepdad? On the one hand, Luca recognised that the pain of that would serve him right—an excellent punishment for having let his family die.
Even he couldn’t go that far, though. Though punishing himself was a long-held habit, too much was at stake now to lean into those patterns. He had to protect this world they were building, this mirage of a family. He had to make sure this lasted, for Aurora’s sake alone…