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When Lara stepped out of the shower she felt lighter, in spite of the heaviness in her heart. Cleansed. At peace. She had something she could hold to her and cherish, no matter what happened with Ciro.
Because, in spite of the catharsis of the truth finally being revealed, and what he’d said about his priorities, she knew him too well. She knew he would have had time now to assess what had happened, and that he must be mortified by how much he’d revealed. Not to mention the public humiliation of being arrested at a party in Buckingham Palace.
He wouldn’t thank her for that when he realised the full extent of the repercussions. He’d worked too hard not to mind.
She pulled on a towelling robe from the back of the door and made her way downstairs to the utility room with her clothes, intending to wash and dry them.
When she was on her way back up she heard a noise in the kitchen and went in. Ciro was there, in jeans and a shirt, sipping a cup of coffee. He turned to face her and she felt shy. Ridiculously.
‘I’m sorry about that—falling asleep. I must have been more tired than I thought.’
Ciro looked stern. ‘I’m not surprised...working two jobs.’
Lara’s mouth fell open. ‘How did you know?’
‘I tracked you down a few days ago. My investigators told me.’
Lara tried not to sound defensive. ‘I need the money.’
Ciro changed the subject. ‘Coffee?’
Lara nodded. ‘Please.’
She tried to gauge his mood but it was hard. He wasn’t exhibiting any sign of the emotion of last night and her worst fears seemed to be coming true. He was regretting having said anything.
He handed her a cup. ‘Let’s talk upstairs.’
‘We really don’t have to. You must be busy. And I have to get to work at the restaurant—’
He stopped her. ‘You’re not working there again.’
‘Ciro, I can’t just—’
‘Come upstairs with me. Please.’
Lara followed him, trying not to give in to the anger and panic that Ciro was riding roughshod over her life all over again.
He led her into one of the informal living rooms, with soft slouchy sofas and chairs. She took a chair and Ciro walked to the window. She tried not to let her gaze drop to where the material of his snug jeans hugged his buttocks so lovingly.
She took a fortifying sip of coffee and put down her cup. ‘As soon as my clothes are dry I’ll get out of your hair. I know you mean well, but I really can’t afford to lose that job—’
Ciro whirled around, the first crack in his calm façade showing. ‘I said you are not going back there, Lara. Dio.’ He put down his own cup and shoved his hands deep in his jeans pockets, as if afraid he might do something bad with them.
Lara was stunned into silence. She saw a muscle beating in his jaw.
‘This house is your house, Lara. You have somewhere to live. You don’t need to work to put a roof over your head. Ever again.’
She looked at him. Totally confused. ‘You’re giving me your house?’
‘I mean, it’s ours. My home is your home.’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t... What are you saying, Ciro?’
He came over and sat down. Stood up. Sat down again. Suddenly she could see the emotion on his face.
‘I’m saying that I want us to stay married, Lara. But after everything you’ve been through... I know you deserve your independence. You’ve had people—men—telling you what to do since you lost your family, and I don’t want to just be another man running your life.’
Lara’s heart constricted. ‘You don’t want me to go?’
