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Besides, she told herself, she didn’t want to stay in London anyway. She wanted to see more of the world, more than just Italy.
Even if she’d rather see more of Dominic.
‘You’re going to say no, aren’t you?’
Faith gave him an apologetic smile, and he shook his head.
‘Is this because of the Lord thing?’
She blinked. ‘The Lord thing?’
Shifting to face her, Dominic’s expression was serious. ‘Yeah. I saw the way you were at Beresford Hall today. You hated every minute of it. So, what’s the problem? You hate the aristocracy?’
I was the aristocracy. ‘Of course not.’
‘So, what, then? Trust me, whatever it is, I’ve heard it before. That I’m an over-privileged, spoilt brat who only got where I am because of my family. That I’m stealing from the mouths of others by having so much. That—’
‘Dominic.’ Faith spoke as calmly as she could, placing her hand against his arm again. ‘I didn’t say any of those things.’
He sighed. ‘But you did hate being there today.’
No point lying about that one. ‘Yeah.’
‘So, why?’
Faith drew in a deep breath while she considered her answer. Obviously she couldn’t tell him the truth—that it reminded her too much of her own home. But he clearly wasn’t going to be fobbed off with a blatant lie, either. Besides, even if she couldn’t stay, she wanted him to think well of her when she was gone.
‘I guess I...I don’t know how to explain it, really. It made me feel uncomfortable. All that history and opulence.’
Dominic frowned. ‘Uncomfortable? Why? I mean, I’ve had people be angry about the privilege, had people be jealous or bitter. But why uncomfortable?’
‘Does it really matter?’
‘It does to me.’
He was very close now, closer than even Jerry had been before she maimed him. When had she shifted so close? When had the hand on his arm become a gentle caress rather than a calming gesture? When had his thigh pressed so closely against her legs, his arm along the back of the sofa just behind her?
She didn’t ask why it mattered to him; it was enough that it did. And she wanted him to know the truth, to have one moment of honesty from her before she left, taking all her lies and secrets with her.
‘It made me feel trapped. Like all that history, tradition, expectation were weighing down on me, instead of you. Like there was no room for you to be yourself or explore what you wanted. Because the family name, upholding what that means, would always make you follow a certain course. That’s why it made me uncomfortable.’
* * *
Dominic stared at her, realising too late that he was close enough now to see every fleck of green and brown in her hazel eyes. He could kiss her without moving more than a few centimetres.
But he wouldn’t. Because of Jerry, because she was leaving, and because the very basis of his life made her ‘uncomfortable’.
‘That’s not how it is.’ Sitting back, he slid his arm back along the sofa, tucking his elbow in at his side, keeping his hands far away from her tempting skin. ‘What I’ve done at Beresford Hall...that’s all me. When my father died, he left things in a less than ideal condition.’ Had she ever heard the story? he wondered. Everyone he met in society knew; he could see it in their eyes when he was introduced. After all, it was such a good story—the Lady of the Manor who went wild, running off to the Med with a billionaire tycoon, leaving behind two children and a distraught husband. A husband who barely got over the loss enough to look after the children, let alone the estate. Who could blame people for telling it over and over again?
Of course, they didn’t see beyond the pictures in the society pages. His mother, living it up on some yacht, flaunting her adultery, her betrayal. And his mother never had to see what it did to the family she left behind. How Sylvia cried and screamed and then went silent for two long months. How the husband she left behind faded to a shadow of a man.
Or how Dominic dealt, every day, with the photographers and the journalists, at the door and on the phone. And with the constant humiliation of every single person in his life knowing how little he meant to his own mother.
It came up less in the business world, at least—one reason he preferred to keep his focus on building up the business and the brand, rather than attending the compulsory charity galas and events that he’d inherited with the title. But did ordinary people really care? Did Faith?
She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Less than ideal? What does that mean?’
Did it matter any more? The shame he burned with at the memories? Had he done enough, finally, to set it all behind him? Would he ever?
