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‘Don’t be melodramatic, Justina. A cab will take ages and my car is parked by the stables.’
In the cool shadows she could see the bright gleam of his eyes.
‘What are you so afraid of?’
She wondered how he would react if she told him the truth. She was afraid of wanting him. Of wanting him to kiss her, despite knowing that it was wrong. Because what did it say about her that she should still desire him after everything that had happened?
‘I’d hate to drag you away from the party.’
‘I’m happy to be dragged. As it happens, I’d intended driving back to London tonight anyway—I have a flight to the States tomorrow.’
Put like that, it made her continued resistance sound unreasonable—or maybe she just didn’t have the strength to oppose him any more.
Justina accompanied him outside as he handed his keys to a valet. While they were waiting for his car to be brought round he turned to her.
‘Whatever happened to Lexi?’ he asked suddenly.
Justina met his curious gaze. It was a long time since anyone had mentioned Alexi Gibson, the third member of the Lollipops—or ‘Sexy Lexi’ as the press used to dub her.
‘You know she went solo?’ she questioned. ‘That it was her desire to go it alone which led to the break-up of the band?’
‘No, I didn’t know that.’ Up until the day he’d received the wedding invitation he’d deliberately excised all references to the Lollipops from his life, as carefully as a surgeon might remove an area of diseased tissue. ‘Is she here?’
‘Nope. Nobody ever sees her since she married one of Hollywood’s biggest players.’ Briefly, Justina found herself wondering if Lexi was happy—and for the first time in a long time, she turned the question on herself. Am I happy? she wondered. The answer hit her with a jolt. She wasn’t. Successful and fairly contented, yes—and certainly fulfilled in her choice of career. But happy? No way. Not compared to the happiness she’d known in the past, with Dante.
The valet had arrived with Dante’s sports car—a low and gleaming machine which made wriggling into the passenger seat something of a challenge, despite the accommodating side-split in her cheongsam dress.
‘Name of hotel?’ he questioned steadily, as if the sight of her bare thigh hadn’t just sent his blood pressure shooting through the ceiling.
‘The Smithsonian.’
She watched as he keyed the details into his sat-nav and then sat back as the powerful car pulled away from the big house with a small spurt of gravel. The silence which descended hung heavily on the air—with what they weren’t talking about filling the space around them and making the atmosphere feel claustrophobic. The elephant in the room was alive and well, thought Justina wryly, and currently crammed into a powerful car in Norfolk.
They drew up outside the lighted hotel which stood in a pretty Georgian Square and her fingers were unsteady as she tried to unclip her seat belt. Despite her relief that the awkward journey was over, she felt strangely reluctant to get out and just walk away. It was funny, but the older you got, the more you realised the significance of goodbyes. At twenty-five she hadn’t really thought about whether or not she’d see Dante again because at that age she hadn’t been thinking beyond her heartbreak. This time she was aware that their paths were unlikely to cross again, that this was probably the last time she would ever see him—and she was unprepared for the sudden twist of pain in her heart.
‘Justina?’
The soft dip in his voice was distracting, and so was the false intimacy created by the limited space inside the vehicle. In the dim light she could see the gleam of his eyes and she became aware of just how close he was. ‘What?’
There was a pause. ‘You know that I still want you.’
She thought how blatant he was. How only Dante D’Arezzo would have the nerve to come out and say something like that. ‘Well, tough. The feeling isn’t mutual.’
‘Oh, come on. You’ve been undressing me with your eyes since you walked down the aisle and saw me at the cathedral.’
‘I think you must be mistaken. I’m not interested in a man who spreads his favours so thinly.’
There was a heartbeat of a pause, and when he spoke his voice was harsh. ‘You know damned well that it was over when I went with her! How many times do I have to tell you that?’
Justina looked down at her lap. Yes, it had been over between them—certainly as far as he’d been concerned. Her determination to go on tour with the Lollipops had led to Dante abruptly ending their engagement. But she had missed him. She had missed him more than she’d thought it possible to miss anyone. The reality of life without him had hit her hard, and his absence had felt like falling down a bottomless black hole. So she had flown back to England unexpectedly, planning to go to his hotel and ask him if they could try again, to give it one more go—because deep down she’d thought that they loved one another enough to overcome their fundamental differences. But she had been cruelly mistaken.
Her last memory of Dante was bursting into his hotel suite and seeing him in bed. But he hadn’t been alone. His eyes had been closed and something had been moving at his groin beneath the sheet. Justina’s horrified gasp had made the movement stop and a head had emerged. It had been a tousled blond head, and somehow that had only driven the knife in deeper. As if he was piling on cliché after cliché. Not just taking another lover—taking a blonde lover.
Justina had managed to turn on her heel and make it all the way to the lift. She’d even managed to hold it together enough to hail a taxi outside the hotel. But her heart had felt as if he’d stamped on it with a metal-studded boot.
She had cut all communication with him from that moment and done everything she could to try to forget him. No one could have been more assiduous than Justina in cutting all references to Dante from her life. She had destroyed every photo of him and had sold all the jewellery he had showered on her and then donated the proceeds to charity.
