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 forso 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 fromme,” 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?”
“Then you shouldn’t have slept with me!” She punched the air at her hip.
“I know. But, Mira.” He turned up a helpless palm.
She looked down, wondering if he was indicating her dress.
You didn’t need to come here, wearing a dress designed to kick me in the crotch.
