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'You asked me to come.' she reminded him stiffly and he gave a sigh and stabbed long fingers through his sleek, glossy hair.
'Si, I was given no choice in the matter. Chiara asked for you. That was enough for me.' Stormy black eyes clashed with hers in blatant warning. 'But not all my family share my opinion. I would ask you to keep your outspoken views to yourself on this occasion.'
In other words she wasn't allowed to step out of line. And suddenly she realized just how hard this must be for him. Not just because of Chiara, but because of her. He'd cut her out of his life. To him she'd ceased to exist except as a name on various legal papers. And now circumstances had forced him to invite her back into his life. And he clearly hated that fact.
'Your family may not approve of me but that is their problem, not mine,' she said with quiet dignity. 'You've asked me to come here. You can't expect me to change my personality as well.'
He swore fluently. 'I am not asking you to change your personality! Just to show some sensitivity to the situation. They are understandably stressed by Chiara's condition. They do not need further pressure.'
This was not going to be a happy meeting. And, with that grim thought, she unfastened her seat belt and followed him to the front of the plane.
CHAPTER THREE
They drove from the airport to the hospital without exchanging another word.
Again Rico was attached to his mobile phone, his lean hands moving in silent emphasis as he spoke in rapid Italian. In the front, his driver and a bodyguard sat in watchful silence.
Stasia knew without looking that another car with bodyguards would be travelling immediately behind them. Rico's high profile status as a billionaire tycoon made such precautions mandatory and she'd grown accustomed to having company during their whirlwind courtship and the six months of their marriage. She'd even had fun behaving outrageously, knowing that they were being watched almost all the time.
To Stasia's surprise, they avoided the entrance of the huge modern hospital and instead Rico's driver steered the car down a series of side streets before pulling up outside an alleyway. There was a fire escape at the end and at the top of the fire escape, a door.
'Why are we going this way?'
'Because all the conventional entrances to the hospital are teeming with paparazzi,' Rico explained, his handsome face grim as he led her quickly down the narrow passage. 'This route leads into a corridor near the intensive care unit. So far the press don't seem to have discovered it.'
Safely inside the hospital, he strode purposefully along the corridor and paused outside the unit, anxiety stamped on every line of his bronzed features.
'Wait here.'
Stasia stood outside the entrance to the intensive care unit, her heart thudding against her chest. The prospect of meeting his family again made her gasp for air and when he reappeared by her side and announced that he was taking her straight to Chiara, she felt a flicker of relief that the inevitable confrontation with his family would be postponed.
The teenage girl lay still, her face as pale as the hospital sheets that covered her. A bruise cast a bluish haze over one side of her face and, next to her, frighteningly high-tech machines bleeped and hummed as they monitored every aspect of her condition. Confronted by the brutal evidence of medical technology. Stasia felt a sickness build in her stomach.
Rico's brief, almost sparse, description of his sister's injuries hadn't prepared her for the horrifying reality of seeing someone so seriously injured.
Suddenly she realized just how strong he really was. He was living in a nightmare and yet he was still managing to function. To run a company, to prop up his family, to come and fetch her even though it must be the last thing he wanted—
She felt hot tears prick her eyes. Even now, he was only able to show his emotions in peripheral ways. He looked tired. He looked tense. But he still couldn't talk about how he felt. And that had been one of the fundamental differences between them.
How many times during their all too brief relationship had she wished he would really talk to her?
How many times had she waited to hear him say that he loved her?
&nb
sp; But he'd never spoken those words.
And she knew now that it was because he never had loved her. For a while he'd wanted her but not any more. Now he despised her.
The bleak reality of the situation swamped her. The tears spilled over and her legs started to shake. She didn't think she'd made a sound but she must have done because she heard him mutter something and the next moment he was by her side, a strong hand on her shoulder, a frown bringing his dark brows together.
'You are incredibly pale. Are you feeling unwell? It is very hot in here and the atmosphere is oppressive. I should have warned you.'
She struggled with the tears, wondering how there could still be tears left inside her. Surely during the past year she'd cried herself out? Mourning the death of their relationship, of her dreams. Missing him so much that the pain was almost a physical torment.
She really, really shouldn't be thinking about this now but there was something about the sterile, cold atmosphere of the hospital that made her feel more isolated and alone than ever before. More aware of just how fleeting and fragile life really was.
She felt the taste of salt on her lips and brushed away the tears with the back of her hand.
