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All those years he’d blithely assumed his father was a no-good junkie who didn’t want him. But he had wanted him. His father had wanted to put things right. And now it was too late and he would never know him and never be able to tell him that he forgave him. His parents had been little more than children when they’d conceived him, and immature, addicted children at that.
While they’d been talking, they’d cleared the antipasti so all that remained were the pickled vegetables neither of them particularly liked.
‘My father left me this watch.’ He rolled his sleeve up to show it to her.
She looked at it with a pained expression, taking in the shabbiness of the leather strap and the scratches on the glass, then looked back at him. Her smile was tender. ‘At least he died knowing you’d made a success of yourself. That must have given him comfort.’
He nodded and took the lids off their main courses, biting back the sudden anger that rushed through him that she could act so supportive now, when her platitudes were worthless.
Christina had given him a letter written by their father. He’d said Stefano had made him proud.
He’d never made anyone proud before.
He served the linguine con le vongole onto Anna’s plate. She beamed. ‘That’s my favourite.’
‘I know.’ He served his lemon sole onto his own plate and took a bite.
Anna, who was a real pasta lover, twisted some linguini onto her fork, stabbed a clam, and asked, ‘When did you learn all this?’ before popping it into her mouth.
‘A month ago.’
He’d learned the truth about his father while Anna was away with Melissa in Paris, the night before she’d flown back early and stormed into his boardroom to accuse him of having an affair. And he’d thought treating Anna and her sister to a few days away together would be a good thing!
She’d called and left a message but he’d spent most of the night with Christina, talking and steadily making their way through numerous bottles of wine. He hadn’t seen Anna’s message until he’d gone to bed at four in the morning; too late to call her back. Then, with hardly any sleep, he’d had to get his heavy head to the office, leaving his new-found sister in the apartment.
While he’d been reeling over the discovery of a grown-up sister and a father who had wanted him, Anna had flown home early with the sole intention of catching him with another. Why else would she have come back, armed with accusations, without leaving a message of warning?
He’d been fool enough to think she cared when all she’d ever wanted from him was his money.
They ate in silence for a while before she asked, ‘What’s Christina like?’
‘Very young, not long turned twenty but young for her age and very sheltered.’ He pushed his dark thoughts about his beautiful wife to one side and smiled wryly. ‘Reading between the lines, our father was afraid to let her out of his sight in case he lost her as he lost me. But we’re building a relationship.’
‘Has she been staying with us?’
‘No.’ Anna, damn her, was the only person he’d ever been able to stomach living with. ‘I’ve rented a flat for her in London and she’s doing some work experience at the office.’
‘She doesn’t have a job?’
‘She’d just started her second year at university when our father was diagnosed with cancer. They thought they had more time so she arranged with the university to take the year off and return next September. Until then, she’s going to stay in London and work for me and improve her English.’
‘What about her mother?’
‘She’s in Naples but will be coming to London at Christmas.’ Seeing Anna open her mouth to ask another question, he said, ‘How’s your meal?’
As with the rest of his life he had no qualms about discussing it but Anna had this way of listening that made him want to talk about more than the facts, to lay bare everything living under his skin.
It was an unburdening he’d fought to escape from in their marriage and he was damned if he would do it now when their relationship was days away from being over for good. The only unburdening he wanted from her was her clothes.
Anna was ripe for seduction, just as he wanted.
If he took her into his arms there would be only the slightest resistance. He could see it in the eyes that undressed him with every hungry look.
But something still held him back from acting on it. Whether it was the hint of vulnerability that still lingered in her eyes or the wine she’d been drinking when she really shouldn’t so soon after her concussion he couldn’t say, but, either way, not even his deplorable conscience would allow him to act on his desire yet. When he made love to her again he wanted to be certain that it was the Anna he’d married he was making love to. The vulnerability was almost gone. Almost. And when he was certain she was as well as she could be then, and only then, would he seduce her into an ecstasy she wou
ld remember for the rest of her life.
‘It’s beautiful, thank you.’
