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‘I didn’t. Your family is lovely and it was a treat for Luca to spend time with his cousins.’ She kept her voice bright and breezy and was so grateful for Luca, who kept up a running commentary about his cousins.
When Santo’s phone rang, she almost moaned with relief, a feeling that doubled as he told her he was going to have to go straight to his office at the hotel and do a few hours’ work.
And if there was something slightly cagey about the way he was behaving, she told herself that it didn’t matter anyway. Even if he was lying about the work part and was actually seeing a woman, it was irrelevant.
When she made no response, he sighed. ‘I might be late. Don’t wait up for me.’
Of course she wouldn’t wait up for him. He’d made it clear enough that he didn’t want her. ‘No problem at all,’ she said quickly. ‘Luca and I will have a swim in the pool and an early night.’
His mouth tightened and he started to walk away when he appeared to change his mind. He turned, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.
‘Fia—’
He was going to tell her that this wasn’t working. He was going to tell her that he wanted a divorce and she would make a fool of herself because she wasn’t ready to hear it yet. She needed to get her head round it. She needed to make plans.
‘Luca, don’t do that!’ Using their son as an excuse, she shot across the terrace and relieved a startled Luca of a toy that was offering no threat whatsoever.
She fussed over him for a few moments and the
n Luca looked past her and his face fell.
‘Papà gone.’
‘Yes,’ Fia whispered. ‘He’s gone. I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do.’
‘Sex,’ Luca said stoutly and she pulled him into a hug.
‘Tried that,’ she croaked. ‘Didn’t work.’
Somehow she stumbled through the day. She and Luca spent some time with her grandfather and then Gina took him back to the villa while Fia worked late at the Beach Shack.
Knowing that all that was waiting for her at home was a huge, empty bed, she was in no hurry to return to the villa. Instead she did something she hadn’t done for years. Not since the night when Luca was conceived.
She went to the boathouse.
The approach took her along the stretch of private beach that belonged to the Ferraras. As a child she would have been guilty of trespassing and she realised with a lurch that she was now walking on her own land.
The main doors opened straight onto the sea, and a side door allowed access from the land. Fia had always slid in through the window, but this time she paused with her hand on the door, wondering whether it was just going to make her feel worse to visit somewhere that held so many emotional memories. It wasn’t an accident that she hadn’t been back here. This had been her escape in bad times.
The moon sent shimmers of light across the calm sea, providing sufficient illumination for her to see what she was doing.
It occurred to her that it would have been sensible to fetch a torch, but she reasoned that she didn’t need a torch to just stare at a collapsing old pile of planks.
The boathouse had been in a state of disrepair for so long that there was always a risk of injury, but as she pulled open the door she noticed that it opened smoothly. No creaks. She slipped quietly inside. In the past her routine had been to simply sit on one of the old lobster pots that were stacked by the door and stare at the water.
Her foot slipped on something soft and she frowned down at the floor. Oil? Fabric of some sort?
She was about to bend down and investigate when the place was suddenly filled with light. Shocked to discover that the place now had electricity, she looked up to see what seemed to be hundreds of tiny fairy lights strung around the walls.
Enchanted, she was just wondering what it all meant when she heard a sound behind her.
Turning quickly, she saw Santo standing there. ‘You weren’t meant to arrive yet.’ His thumbs were hooked into the pockets of his jeans and he looked lean, fit and more handsome than one man had a right to be. ‘I hadn’t quite finished.’
Finished? Confused, Fia glanced around the boathouse, seeing the changes for the first time.
The place had been transformed. Those oily, splintered planks of wood had been sanded and polished. An oil stove nestled in one corner, ready to provide heat for chilly winter evenings and in another corner was a sofa, heaped with cushions and a fur rug.
It was the cosiest, most decadent place she’d ever seen. The tiny lights twisted along the walls made the place feel like a magical grotto.
