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His gaze flicked to Gianni. ‘You think our son will appreciate being cooped up in the car for another several hours?’
She answered reluctantly. ‘No. Frankly, I’m surprised he’s been this calm.’
‘Bene, we’ll stop in Knightsbridge. I’ve arranged for us to have lunch. We have further things to discuss before any of this is resolved.’
‘Like what?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Have you forgotten there is still the matter of your employment to discuss?’
‘My employment?’ she echoed, disregarding the electric cluster that formed in her stomach. ‘If you think I’m taking a job with you, you are very much mistaken.’
Hard amusement lit his eyes. ‘Perhaps you should wait until it’s offered before you refuse.’
She shook her head, unwilling to even accommodate the idea. Her last mistake of mixing business with pleasure had ended disastrously. So much so even the idea of just business with Rocco was unfathomable to her. ‘My future employment is none of your business. All I want is for my name to be cleared so I can get on with my life.’
‘And we will discuss how to facilitate that during lunch.’
She knew she was being manipulated but, short of insisting on being returned home, she had no choice.
‘We’ll come with you. But I’m catching the train this afternoon, once we’re done.’ She didn’t intend to stay in Rocco’s company any longer than was necessary.
‘We’ll see,’ he said, another enigmatic smile ghosting his lips before he turned his attention to his phone.
For the rest of the journey, Rocco conducted several conversations in rapid-fire Italian, which she wasn’t quick enough to grasp save for establishing they were all business calls.
Twenty-five minutes later they pulled up in front of a stunning house in a tree-lined avenue in Knightsbridge. Mia was vaguely cognisant of house prices, enough to know that the dwelling they stopped in front of was well into double figures in millions.
It was set over three stories with a grey slate roof, the pristine white exterior gleaming with a rarefied air of class and timeless elegance that the whole neighbourhood clung to.
Confronted by the heavy white oak door, Mia was suddenly reluctant to enter. She didn’t want to know what her life might have been like if Rocco, and circumstances, hadn’t worked against her.
If she hadn’t taken that meeting.
If someone, likely Alessandro, hadn’t perpetrated such cruelty on her.
If she hadn’t asked Rocco about his London property ten minutes ago!
But she couldn’t change any of it. So she sucked in a breath, and entered the house that Rocco claimed would’ve been hers had they married. All the while conscious of his sharp, unwavering scrutiny.
As she’d suspected, the interior was breathtaking.
Polished marble floors gleamed, reflecting lofty ceilings and crown mouldings. Stunning chandeliers and strategically placed lights spotlighted tasteful objets d’art in the entry hallway.
In the living room, bespoke white furniture with warm accessories were arranged just the way she would have done it, given the chance. But it was the white grand piano taking up pride of place at the far side of the room, with a wall of paintings behind it, that stopped Mia in her tracks.
She knew each painting by heart, having rhapsodised over her favourite English painter to Rocco over many stimulating art and cultural conversations. Just as she’d expressed the desire to learn to play piano at some distant point in her future.
She whirled towards him and encountered his expectant, mocking expression. Her lips moved, but no words emerged.
Asking him if he’d deliberately brought her here to rub her face in what she could’ve been would only invite further hurt. Not to mention be far too revealing.
‘Nothing to say?’ he invited when a terse minute passed.
She turned away without answering, her gaze rushing over the rest of the space, awed but not surprised that Rocco’s steel trap of a mind had stored away bits and pieces of her dream home wish list and effortlessly replicated it.
Sternly, she pulled her gaze from admiring the beautiful interior; reminded herself that she wasn’t her
e to gawp at the stunning paintings or the interior design plucked straight from her heart. She was here to finalise the next step of her life. A life that had been cruelly and ruthlessly halted by this man, who now leaned against the doorway, gazing at her as if he owned every cell in her body.
