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It was sitting on a small table and he felt his stomach tense. Imma must have left it for him. Feeling a sharp stab of guilt and misery, he picked it up, swearing under his breath.
His stomach dipped. It was Ciro.
His brother’s message was short and to the point.
I can’t talk now, but it’s all gone belly-up here so you need to pull your finger out.
For a moment he let his finger hover over his brother’s number, and then, swearing loudly this time, he pocketed the phone.
He couldn’t deal with his brother right now. He had to get his head straight first.
He was clenching his jaw so tightly that it ached.
Nine weeks ago he would have walked away.
But nine weeks ago he still had a father.
Tilting his head back, he closed his eyes. He still couldn’t believe that he would never see Alessandro again. His father had been his mentor, his defender—more than that, he had been his hero. He had been the best of men...fair, kind, generous and loving.
Opening his eyes, he breathed out unevenly. He’d given up any hope of ever being his father’s equal a long time ago, but he could do this one thing and do it right.
He had let down Papà in life; he would not do so now.
Imma was not going to have everything her own way.
He’d sat around listening to his father and Ciro talk business enough to know that she had overplayed her hand with him, and let her emotions get the better of her. In her anger, she had threatened the very thing he had wanted all along.
He would be her husband—but he was not going to walk away empty-handed. He was going to take back the Trapani Olive Oil Company and there would be nothing his future ‘wife’ could do about it.
* * *
He found her out by the pool, staring down at the smooth turquoise surface of the water. In her white dress, and with her long dark hair flowing over her shoulders, she looked as young and untested as her name suggested, and her slender body reminded him of the delicate honey-scented sweet peas that were his mother’s favourite flowers.
It was hard to believe she was the same woman who had threatened to tell Audenzia the truth about everything he and Ciro had been doing. He gritted his teeth. Hard, but not impossible.
She turned towards him, folding her arms high across her ribs. But even without the defensive gesture he would have known that she had looked at the emails on his phone.
Her eyes were slightly swollen and she looked pale, more delicate. He felt a pang of guilt, but pushed it away. The truth hurt—so what? His mother had been widowed and forced to leave her home. That was real suffering.
‘I read the emails,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t know what to say except that I’m sorry for how my father acted, and for what I said earlier about talking to your mother.’ She took a breath. ‘I was angry, and upset, but I want you to know that I would never do anything to hurt her. I know she had nothing to do with this.’ Her eyes met his, steady, accusatory. ‘I would never punish an innocent bystander.’
Her words stung. No doubt she’d intended they should. But he was surprised by her apology. He hadn’t expected that—not from anyone bearing the Buscetta surname. Only if she thought that was somehow going to be enough...
He took a step towards her. ‘And the marriage proposal?’ he said softly.
Her green eyes narrowed. ‘Yours or mine?’ she shot back.
‘Does it matter?’
‘I suppose not.’
He heard the catch in her voice, and before he could stop himself he said, ‘So tell me, Imma, if you’re not looking for revenge then why exactly do you want to marry me?’
Her arms clenched and, watching the fabric of her dress tighten over her nipples, he felt his pulse snake, remembering how just hours earlier they had hardened against his tongue.
She shrugged. ‘My father is a traditional Sicilian male. Very traditional. Now that you and I have had sex he’ll expect us to marry, and if we don’t he’ll find another husband for me.’ Lifting her chin, she twisted her mouth into a small, tight smile. ‘Essentially you’re the lesser of two evils, Vicè.’
Chewing her words over inside his head, he felt his gut tense. Wow! That was a backhander. It certainly wasn’t something he’d ever been called before.
