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And then he turned on his heel and did just that, leaving me alone in the hallway, reeling from everything that had happened with the stranger—and with Matteo.
After a few stunned and awful moments I went into the ladies’ and splashed water on my face. In the mirror my face was pale, my eyes wide and dazed. I still couldn’t process everything that had happened—from the odious stranger’s sneers about Matteo to his over-the-top, unprecedented response.
What had happened? What was going on?
With a shuddering breath I turned from my shocked reflection to head back to the party—mainly because I didn’t know where else to go.
It was in full swing, with everyone chatting, laughing and swilling champagne as I slipped through the crowds, instinctively looking for Matteo. I still couldn’t believe he’d just left me there. Why was he so angry with me? Did he actually think I’d invited that awful man’s attentions?
My stomach cramped and tears stung my eyes. I couldn’t believe how quickly everything had unravelled—especially since the last two days had been the sweetest we’d shared yet.
After telling Matteo about my awful experience with Chris Dawson he’d been so tender and caring. It had made my heart melt and my hope sing—because what else could this be but love? Or at least something close to it...something that was growing into it. Something I could start to trust.
We’d had a lovely leisurely dinner in a private room at the restaurant, and then strolled through the gardens in the moonlight, hand in hand, while Matteo had told me how he’d taken his grandfather’s faltering empire and turned it into the global success it was today, dominating the luxury hotel market even as he refused to take the man’s name, insisting on keeping his mother’s.
Such a contrary tangle of emotions, and I’d wondered if he saw it in himself. As much as he hated his grandfather, part of him craved something from him—perhaps even love. And it had made me more determined to show him my love, even if he persisted in believing he didn’t want it.
Back at the bungalow we’d made love tenderly, our bodies and hearts so in sync we’d needed no words as we moved and clung together.
Yes, this was love. At least it was on my part. I knew that now, and accepted it. I’d fallen in love with my husband. And I had started to hope, just a little, that he had fallen in love with me...whether he was willing to admit it to himself or not.
Today Matteo had worked all morning, and then we’d spent the afternoon lounging and laughing by the pool before getting ready for the party tonight. He’d been attentive and at my side for the entire event, save for my brief foray to the ladies’, and now it felt as if everything had exploded.
Shaking my head, knowing I was in no mood for the party, I slipped through one of the many sets of French windows that led to the cascading pools, the water silver in the moonlight, the path down the bougainvillea-covered hillside lit by flickering tiki torches.
I walked past clusters of people, heedless of their speculative glances—everyone knew I was Matteo’s wife, and they’d accepted it with varying degrees of surprise, pleasure or scepticism. I didn’t care about any of them now; I only cared about Matteo and I didn’t even know where he was.
I made my way down the hillside, past the pools, not even caring where I was going. I just wanted to get away—from the crowds, from my own clamouring thoughts.
At the
bottom of the five pools the terrace was thankfully empty, and I leaned against the stone balustrade that overlooked the sea, listening to the comforting whoosh of the tide. The cool evening breeze blew the last of the tears from my eyes as I struggled to make sense of what had happened and figure out how to go on from here.
My confidence had taken an almighty knock, with Matteo turning on me so suddenly. It had brought all my old insecurities and fears to the fore, making me wonder if I really was delusional after all, in hoping that this was going to turn into something real. A real marriage...one with affection and respect and love.
Was I a fool for believing that? For thinking it could happen? Would it be better—smarter, safer—to cut my losses and go back to Amanos and the cold convenience of our former marriage?
Our supposed trial of two weeks was up in just a few days but, as Matteo had reminded me, I might already be pregnant. And what if I was overreacting to what might be a silly argument, the kind any couple had?
But in my heart I knew I wasn’t. I knew there was something dark and hidden in Matteo, something he didn’t want me to see. For a second I had seen it, and I was afraid that it changed everything. Or maybe it didn’t. Maybe this was the reality I’d been blind to all along.
‘Daisy.’
I stilled at the sound of his voice, everything in me aching. With my hands curled around the balustrade, my face towards the sea, I steeled myself for whatever happened next.
‘What is it, Matteo?’
* * *
She looked like a sorrowful mermaid, gazing longingly out at the sea. Wisps of hair escaped the chignon one of the hotel’s beauticians had styled for her earlier in the evening, and the sea-foam-green dress, its gauzy material embroidered with gold thread, blew about her legs, emphasising her slender, almost ethereal figure. She was lovely, and she was hurting, and it was my fault.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said simply.
I had no other words. I knew I never should have asked her if she’d welcomed that slug Farraday’s attentions; it had been painfully and glaringly obvious that she had not. Of course she had not. And I’d known for years that Farraday hated me—not for the circumstances of my birth, but for my business success. He’d bid for this resort development on St Cristiano and I’d won it.
Daisy shook her head, her gaze still on the sea. ‘Why?’ she whispered.
I didn’t pretend not to understand her. ‘I don’t know. I was angry...caught up in the moment. I am truly sorry.’
