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She just shot him a long, disapproving glance. There was risk, and there was risk. He was a smart man. He had to know the difference.
“I’ll take you back,” he said.
She nodded woodenly. That was that then. She exhaled slowly as she walked with him to his car.
They rode in silence as he drove back to Cap Ferrat. As he pulled through the villa’s wrought-iron gates, she glanced at him. His jaw was thick, hard, tight. In front of the villa, he shifted into park, but he didn’t turn off the engine.
During the drive she’d stared out the window, not letting herself think, not letting herself feel, but now that they were here, she was afraid to get out of the car. Afraid of what would happen next. “You’re not coming in?”
“No.”
“What will you do?”
“Go back to Monte Carlo.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, rubbed her hands together, the friction keeping her distracted long enough to keep herself together. “When will we see you again?”
“We’ll have to make arrangements regarding Gabby. I’m not going to lose her, or give her up. We’ll just have to share her—”
“No.”
“Yes.” He made an impatient sound. “Sam, things are going to change. But we have to do what’s best for Gabby.”
“And what’s best for Gabby?”
“Both of us. Which means, she’ll spend part of each week with me, part with you. When I’m on the road, she’ll stay with you, of course.”
“We could always spend time with her together.”
“I don’t see us doing things together. I don’t want to try to do things together, not if it’s over.” He looked at her, expression shuttered. “I tried, Sam, I really did.”
She opened the car door, slid out. This was crazy, absolutely crazy. Only yesterday was Gabby’s party. Only yesterday everything had been wonderful. Magical. Sam’s eyes burned and she drew a quick breath, and then another. “I’ll need a place to stay in Monte Carlo when I’m there with Gabby.” Her voice broke, and she bit ruthlessly into her bottom lip. “Is Johann’s villa still available?”
“That place is a dump.”
“I don’t mind.”
“I do. I don’t want Gabriela there.”
Sam closed her eyes, wondering how on earth she’d explain any of this to Gabby. My God. It would break Gabby’s heart. “What do we tell her, Cristiano?” Tears fell and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. “She loves you, she loves me, she loves the idea of us together.”
Cristiano looked at her so long, his hazel-green gaze penetrating, it felt as though he’d pierced his heart. “So did I.”
He revved the engine, reached for his sunglasses in the center console. “Stay here at the villa for now. Once I leave for Australia you and Gabby can have the penthouse. I’ll get a place of my own.”
“And what will I tell her—when you’re off traveling for weeks at a time?”
He shrugged. “Tell her what most fathers who travel for business tell their kids. I’m working.” He shifted gears and drove away.
Those first few days after Cristiano left were unreal—hard, hard, heartbreaking, lonely.
She couldn’t sleep at night, she couldn’t focus during the day. She wanted to call him, wanted to talk to him, wanted more than anything to hear his voice, to have him talk to her, miss her, love her.
But he didn’t call and he didn’t reach out to her and it seemed—as difficult as it was to believe—that he really intended for it to be over.
The weeks passed, slowly, very slowly until it had been a month since Cristiano left and by the end of March Sam felt like the walking dead.
The villa on Cap Ferrat was still gorgeous, the gardens still perfectly manicured, the views as breathtaking, but Sam couldn’t find pleasure in it anymore. In bed at night, she tossed and turned. She’d try to sleep but couldn’t stop thinking long enough to let sleep come. Some nights she just gave up pretending sleep would come and then she’d leave bed to go out on her balcony. Sitting there, wrapped in a blanket, she’d look at the stars and listen to the ocean and fight tears.
