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His words made sense, and reluctantly she turned to face him, willing to at least listen to what Rico had to say.
‘Marco and I may have rowed on occasion, and I may have alienated myself from him to some degree because I didn’t approve of his lifestyle, but we still met up regularly. As I said before, we came to this hotel for many lunches, and whatever trouble he was in Marco knew he could always call on me. I know that he did respect me.’ His voice thickened and he swallowed hard before continuing. ‘I know in my heart that he loved me, Catherine, and I also know he would have wanted me to raise his child. So now it’s your turn. What about Janey?’
His eyes never left her face, taking in every flicker of reaction as his question reached her. ‘What would Janey have wanted for Lily?’
‘She’d have wanted me to have her…’ Her voice trailed off, her startled eyes blinking rapidly, and Rico leapt in, sensing weakness and exploiting it in an instant.
‘Because she loved you?’ His voice was so silken you might almost have missed the derisive sneer, but Catherine was like a radar where Rico was concerned, and she flinched at his insensitivity. ‘Janey would have wanted you to have Lily because she adored her big sister Catherine?’
‘She did love me; I was her sister.’ Her lips were impossibly dry and she ran her tongue over them, her head spinning as he relentlessly continued.
‘You don’t have to love your sister, Catherine,’ Rico pointed out mercilessly. ‘You don’t even have to love your husband—and Janey didn’t love Marco, did she? Did she?’ He roared the words the second time—the roar of a lion defending its territory, of a beautiful animal to be admired from a distance, but that could turn in a second. ‘In fact Marco
was just a walking, talking chequebook to his young bride…’
‘Rico, please…’ Catherine started. She wanted him to stop, wanted to end this horrible interrogation, didn’t want to sully the few precious memories she had with the awful truth—didn’t want to admit even to herself how little Janey had thought of her.
‘Janey wanted the fast cars, the nice home, the maids, the lifestyle—and I don’t doubt she’d have wanted the same for her daughter.’
‘Janey would have wanted me,’ Catherine insisted, but the lack of conviction in her voice truly terrified her. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Rico.’
‘Have I?’ His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. ‘Which part?’
‘All of it,’ Catherine whispered, pleating the tie of her robe with trembling fingers. And she knew there and then that she could never admit to the truth. Rico was right, damn him, and it hurt to admit it. Janey hadn’t loved her; Janey had hated her. More damaging than that, Janey had blatantly admitted she had married Marco for his money. If it ever got out, if Catherine ever admitted the truth, what chance would she have against the family courts? What chance would she have against the might of Rico Mancini? It would all be over bar the shouting.
Lily would be gone from her life as surely as she was standing here now.
A lion Rico might be, but the lioness in Catherine emerged then—proud and wary, sleek and refined, and willing to do whatever it took to protect those she loved. To her dying breath she would deny it. She would take Janey’s words to the grave. Would lie through her teeth if that was what it took.
Lily needed her.
‘Janey loved Marco.’
‘She told you that?’
Dragging in air through her clenched teeth, she wrenched her eyes from the floor and forced herself to do the hardest thing she had done in her life—look Rico in the eye and lie.
‘Yes, Rico. She told me that she loved him. Janey loved Marco and his money had nothing to do with it. I know in my heart that—’
‘Save it.’ A well-manicured hand flicked in the air. His eyes were more shuttered than ever, his voice almost weary, and for once there was economy in his actions, the usual extravagant Latin temperament curiously subdued as he halted her speech. ‘It is time for bed.’
‘I thought we were going to talk,’ Catherine protested, following him out of the bathroom, confused at the sudden change in his demeanour. She had braced herself for confrontation, adrenaline pumping through her veins as she geared up to defend herself, to do whatever it took to keep Lily near. But all the fight seemed to have left Rico now. Suddenly all he looked was exhausted. ‘I thought we were going to talk, Rico,’ she said again. ‘That is why I came here after all; we need to sort something out.’
‘And we will,’ Rico affirmed. ‘But I realise now is not the time. We cannot decide anything tonight; we are both tired and it has been an emotional day.’
She almost laughed—almost laughed at his detached summing up. The man who stood before her seemed curiously void of emotion.
‘Here.’ He handed her a crisp white shirt. ‘I always have a spare in my briefcase. You can sleep in this.’
‘Rico?’ Even as the word was out Catherine knew she would get no response. His apathy unnerved her and, though she was loath to admit it, somehow she preferred the angry, volatile man she was starting to get used to.
‘It is time to sleep, Catherine. You can have the master bedroom; I’ll take the other.’
* * *
It should have been uncomfortable, awkward—in any other circumstances sharing a suite with the man who had so carelessly broken her heart would have sent Catherine into a spin. But not tonight.
Tonight was for Janey.
