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There was an interview with Ciro in which he explained that after his injury he’d realised that any physical disfigurement, not just facial, was something that affected millions of people. And that a lot of disfigurement came about due to birth defects, injuries of some kind—whether through accident, war or gangs—or domestic violence.
His mission statement was that no one should ever be made to feel ‘less’ because of their disfigurement. His charity offered a wide range of treatments, ranging from plastic surgery to rehabilitation and counselling, to help people afflicted. To help them move on with their lives.
Lara looked at Ciro. She was seated on his right-hand side and his scar seemed to stand out even more this evening. A statement.
He glanced at her and arched a brow. She felt hurt that he hadn’t mentioned this before. ‘I didn’t know you’d set up a charity.’
He shrugged minutely. ‘I didn’t think it relevant to tell you.’
Something deeper than hurt bloomed inside Lara then. Something she couldn’t even really articulate.
She stood up abruptly, just as they were serving the starters, and almost knocked over the waiter behind her. Apologising, she fled from the room, upset and embarrassed.
Once outside, in the now empty foyer, she stopped. She cursed herself for bolting like that. The last thing Ciro would want was for people’s attention to be drawn to them.
She heard heavy footsteps behind her. Ciro caught her arm, swinging her around. ‘What the hell, Lara?’
She pulled free, her anger and hurt surging again at the irritated look on his face. ‘I know you don’t like me very much, Ciro, but we’re married now. The least you could have done is tell me what this evening is about. You’re the one concerned with appearances. How do you think it would look if someone struck up a conversation with me about your charity which I know nothing about?’
Ciro felt a constriction in his chest. Lara was right. But he hadn’t neglected to tell her about it in a conscious effort not to include her. He hadn’t told her because he didn’t find it easy to mention the kidnapping. Even now. Even here, where he was in public and talking about something that had arisen out of that experience.
Lara looked...hurt. And then she said, ‘I was there too, you know. I didn’t experience what you experienced, and I’m so sorry that you went through what you did. But they took me too, Ciro. So I do have some idea of what you went through, even if it’s only very superficial. I might not have any physical scars to prove I had that experience, but I had it.’
She turned and went to walk back into the room, but Ciro caught her arm again. For the first time, he felt the balance of power between them shift slightly.
She looked at him, her full mouth set in a line. Her jaw tight.
‘You’re right,’ he said, and the words came easier than he might have expected. ‘I should have told you—and, yes, you were there too.’
‘Thank you.’
Ciro realised in that moment that she had all the regal bearing and grace of royalty, and something inside him was inexplicably humbled. She’d been right to call him out on this. And he wasn’t used to being in the wrong. It was not a sensation he’d expected to feel in the presence of Lara.
Lara felt shaky after confronting Ciro, but his apology defused her anger. She realised now that she’d been hurt because she’d felt left out, which was ridiculous when Ciro had set up the charity well before they’d met again.
After the meal people got up to give speeches, and Lara was a little stunned when Ciro was introduced and he got up to go to the podium. He was a commanding presence. The crowd seemed far more hushed when he spoke. And how could she blame them? He stood out.
His scar also stood out, in a white ridged line down the right side of his face. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice his missing finger, too transfixed by that scar.
He spoke passionately about the psychological effects of being scarred and how, with pioneering plastic surgery treatments, people could have the option of going on to live scar-free lives. Especially children.
There was a slideshow of images of some of the children and people his charity had helped so far, and Lara had tears in her eyes by the time he was finished.
When he came back to the table Lara felt humbled. She’d seen a new depth to Ciro tonight. Ever since she’d met him he’d always projected a charming, carefree attitude to life. He was someone who’d been graced with good looks, wealth and intellect. Taken for granted—as his due. Not any more. That much was blatantly obvious.
When they had returned to the townhouse Lara said, ‘I think what you’re doing is amazing. If there’s ever anything I can do... I’d like to be involved.’
Ciro turned to face her. ‘There is something you can do...right now.’
He took her hand and tugged her towards him.
Instant heat flooded Lara’s body at the explicit gleam in his eyes. ‘Ciro...’ she said weakly.
‘Lara...’ he said, and then he stopped any more words by fusing his mouth to hers.
It was only much later, when Lara was back in her own bed, her body still tingling in the aftermath of extreme pleasure, that she realised he’d effectively dismissed her desire to help with the charity.
Clearly it was an arena, along with the kitchen, that she wasn’t allowed to enter. Which only made Lara determined to do something about it.
