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‘Come.’ He held out his hand, his command softer but imperious.
The urge to take his proffered hand was far too tempting. So she refused it, and walked past him. Only to stop when she got to the door, having no clue where the dining room was. Still she forced herself not to look at him, not to be overwhelmed all over again by the ever-morphing Rocco, who seemed to have changed from ruthless strategist in the car to something bordering on...charming?
‘This way,’ he said when he joined her, directing her down a short hallway and into another opulently appointed room with a long, antique dining table she was willing to bet had belonged to a prince or a lofty aristocrat once upon its lifetime.
At the top of the table, an elaborate setting for two was arranged with gleaming silver and crystal ware.
Rocco pulled out a chair, saw her seated and took his own seat. In silence, he uncovered dishes and served her before indicating the wine resting in the sterling silver ice bucket.
‘Would you like some wine? Or are you...?’ He paused, an almost bashful look on his face as his gaze dropped to her chest. ‘You are not still breastfeeding, are you?’ he asked, his voice curiously husky.
She spluttered, an unwilling laugh rising in her throat before she could stop it. ‘Gianni’s two and half years old, Rocco.’
His gaze lingered for another heated second on her breasts before he shrugged, a wry smile curving his lips. ‘I’m still learning, cara. So is that a yes to wine?’ he drawled.
She needed to keep a clear head for what was coming. But what harm would a small, confidence-bolstering glass do? ‘A small one, thanks.’
He poured a half-glass for her and then filled his. The first bite of poached salmon was heavenly, but anxiety over the upcoming discussion eventually killed her enjoyment of the meal. After a few minutes of pushing it around her plate, she looked up, noting that Rocco was equally uninterested in his food.
Almost in accordance, they gave up pretence of eating and sat back. When the silence stretched, she folded her napkin and dropped it next to her plate. ‘We need to discuss next steps.’
‘Agreed.’
‘So?’ she pressed when he didn’t elaborate.
‘So, you’re not returning to Hampshire, Mia.’
‘Maybe not right this minute, but I’m definitely...’ She stopped when he gave a brisk shake of his head.
‘No. To get what you want you need to give me what I want and neither of those scenarios involve you returning to the back end of nowhere. I think we need to agree on that before we go forward.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
ONCE UPON A TIME when she’d dreamed of being exonerated of these fraudulent charges, she’d imagined a scene when Rocco would grovel at her feet, beg her forgiveness for all the wrong perpetrated against her. Over time that dream had morphed, reality throwing harsh light on that fairy tale, reminding her of the ruthless being she was spinning whimsical webs around.
In the much more realistic scenario, Rocco had perhaps thrown a brusque apology her way for the treatment she’d suffered, perhaps even tossing lawyers at her, tasked with providing adequate compensation to ensure she kept her mouth shut, but ultimately Rocco had walked away, shrugging his mile-wide shoulders as if nothing besides a pesky irritation had occurred.
Nowhere in those scenarios had she accommodated sitting down to lunch as a prelude to negotiating a deal with him. ‘You want me to give you more than I already have? You don’t think what you’ve put me through is enough?’
For one blazing second, raw emotion flashed across his face. ‘What was done to you was deplorable, regardless of who perpet
rated it. For that you have my regret. Mi dispiace.’ He spread his hands in a typically Latin gesture she couldn’t help but follow before she could rein in her composure.
He was sorry.
It wasn’t the grovelling she’d dreamed of, but it was...enough to ease something inside her.
‘You will get the chance to name your price and necessary reparations will be made.’
That soft place hardened, ejecting a bitter snort. ‘This all sounds like a business transaction to you, doesn’t it?’
Another flash of emotion threw doubt on her assertion. ‘You forget that I suffered by this course of action too,’ he said, his voice a rough rasp.
Her heart lurched for a foolish moment, before she registered that he was talking about Gianni. Not her.
Never her.
‘If you would hear me out, perhaps my solution might salve your feelings of...hurt?’
