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The dance was beautiful and compelling. The pulsating rhythm of the drums filled the air, and the dancers swirled and undulated without restraint. But as Chloe sat at a table with Lorenzo, watching him tap out the infectious beat with his fingers, she was beginning to think that what she really needed was to go home.
‘You’ve had your hair cut.’ He lifted his hand to touch Chloe’s sleekly styled bob. ‘I like it,’ he added, tracing his fingers lightly over her newly exposed neck.
‘Thank you.’ She trembled as he caressed her sensitive skin. She was wearing a strapless dress and she felt his eyes settle on her naked shoulders.
‘I don’t recall noticing those freckles before,’ he said, leaning closer so that she could feel his breath on the skin of her shoulders. ‘Did the sun bring them out, like the ones on your face?’
‘I don’t know,’ Chloe replied as the touch of his warm breath sent a delicious shiver quivering down her spine.
‘You have beautiful skin—I adore your freckles.’ He brushed his thumb lightly over her cheek.
‘I ran out of foundation.’ As soon as she spoke, it seemed a silly thing to say and she felt herself start to blush.
‘I wondered why I noticed your freckles more,’ he said, leaning forward to drop a feather-light kiss on her cheek.
‘I think it’s time to go home,’ Chloe said, looking deep into his blue eyes.
‘Of course.’ He stood up immediately and led her out of the door into the hotel’s lovely garden, which was their preferred route back towards their suite of rooms.
A warm, scented breeze brushed across Chloe’s skin and she could hear the gentle sound of the ocean. She looked up to see the palm trees swaying against an inky black sky studded with twinkling stars. It really was a beautiful place—a true tropical paradise. But she knew Lorenzo had misunderstood her request.
‘No, I mean really go home,’ she said, turning and catching both his hands in hers. ‘I’m grateful for this wonderful holiday—but it’s time to go back home and get on with our lives.’
One day almost two weeks later, Chloe stood on the palazzo’s main balcony overlooking the Grand Canal, holding Emma in her arms. She was chatting to the baby, pointing out the various boats that went past on the water—and keeping out of Lorenzo’s way.
Things between them had become strained again and, apart from at night, when they continued to make love, she’d spent very little time with him. She thought that might be part of the reason she’d found it much harder to settle in to life in Venice than she had expected.
But the main reason for her disquiet was that almost every day she had found herself thinking about the devastating argument she’d had with Lorenzo on their wedding day—and him swearing that he did not believe in love.
In fact, virtually every room in the palazzo held memories for her, and now as she looked back she found herself second-guessing everything that had ever been said and done between Lorenzo and herself.
If she’d been so wrong about the one thing that mattered the most—what else had not been as it seemed?
‘I wonder where Daddy is now?’ she said to Emma.
Since they’d been back in Venice he always seemed to be working—either at his offices or locked up in his study, or occasionally striding around the palazzo talking rapidly into his mobile phone, which was exactly what he was doing now.
She found it disconcerting to hear him bearing down on her while firing away in a language she still didn’t fully understand—especially when spoken quickly by locals. The Venetian dialect seemed particularly impossible to learn.
She hugged Emma to her and listened carefully, trying to ascertain if Lorenzo was close. It was not that she was afraid to bump into him—it was just that she remembered from when she worked for him that if he was talking and striding like this, it probably meant he was in a bad mood.
‘I’m here.’ Lorenzo’s deep v
oice coming from right behind her made her catch her breath. ‘Did you want me for something?’
‘Oh!’ Chloe gasped, turning to see him stepping out onto the broad balcony with her. ‘No, not really. I heard your voice and I was just chatting to Emma. I’ve been showing her the boats on the Grand Canal.’
‘Isn’t she a little young for that?’ Lorenzo asked, staring at her with a crease between his black brows.
‘No,’ Chloe responded, suppressing her irritation at the way Lorenzo was studying the baby—as if she were a strange little being of some kind. Not at all as if she was his adopted daughter. ‘It’s always good to chatter to babies, even if they are too young to understand. That’s how they learn things.’
She pressed her teeth into her lower lip and looked at him, starting to worry that, despite his good intentions, he was having difficulty accepting another man’s child into his home. The brief flash of interest he had shown in Emma that one particular afternoon on the beach in Mauritius had not been repeated, and he’d never made even the slightest effort to make a connection with the baby.
‘I have something for her in my study,’ he suddenly surprised Chloe by saying.
‘Really?’ she said, feeling a tiny spark of relief. She hoped that she’d been wrong, and that Lorenzo’s aloofness had been no more than overwork. He’d taken a lot of time off to be with them, both in England and then in Mauritius. No doubt he had a good deal of work to catch up on. ‘What is it?’
‘I’m not entirely sure,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you should come with me and see for yourself.’
