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There was a silence, and then finally he said curtly, ‘She’s my stepmother.’ He turned and looked at her. ‘Her name’s Alida.’
The rawness in his voice made her wince, but she said as calmly as she could, ‘Why won’t you speak to her?’
He laughed—a harsh laugh without any humour in it whatsoever. ‘Because she made my life a misery.’
She hesitated. ‘When did she marry your dad?’
His lip curled back into a snarl. ‘Just after my mother died. When I was five.’
Watching his body tense, she shivered. She knew he was remembering the hurt and the loneliness in every nerve and muscle, and the misery on his face made her feel sick.
‘Is that why you were sent to boarding school?’
His eyes, narrowed and hostile like a cornered animal’s, met hers. ‘She told my father she couldn’t manage me. That I was too difficult to handle.’
Flora felt a knot in her stomach. ‘But you were only five,’ she said slowly, ‘and your mum had just died. I don’t understand. Why didn’t your dad stand up to her...?’
Her voice trailed off as Massimo’s mouth curved into a grim smile.
‘My father always took the path of least resistance. I don’t think he wanted to oppose her. He hated rows, confrontation—’
‘But surely he didn’t want you to go away?’
A muscle jumped in his cheek and he stared out into the darkness. ‘I don’t know what he wanted. After he married Alida I barely saw him.’ His eyes glittered coldly. ‘I spent most holidays at school. When I was allowed home they went away travelling. I used to get sent to live with my father’s handyman and his wife.’
Her head was spinning. But she needed to stay focused. Her shock and horror were not important beside his pain.
‘What happened next?’
His mouth twisted. ‘He died when I was sixteen. The last time I saw him properly was about five months before his death. I was summoned so he could tell me he’d changed his will.’ The anger had faded from his voice. There was nothing in it now—no life, no feelings and tears rose in her throat.
‘You can probably guess in whose favour.’
He made a movement somewhere between a shrug and a shiver and fell silent, leaning back against the wall as though exhausted.
Flora breathed out shakily. It was cruel. More than cruel, it was abusive. How could anyone treat a child like that? It was incomprehensible. Alida was obviously selfish and spiteful, but Massimo’s father— She shivered. How did anyone survive a betrayal like that? But with shock, she realised she knew how: by offering love and support.
Except that there didn’t seem to be much of that in Massimo’s life.
He had money and power, the envy and respect of his rivals and the admiration of his staff. But nothing approximating to tenderness or care. Even his many affairs seemed to have offered him nothing more than sexual gratification.
He was like a plant that had been forced to survive in the darkest, driest corner of a garden. If only he was a plant, she thought helplessly. It would be so much easier. She would know exactly what to do.
Even before her brain had started to process that thought her body responded and, leaning forward, she slid her arms around him. For a moment he didn’t move, and then slowly he pressed her against him.
And there, wrapped in his arms, she knew.
Knew without a shred of doubt or denial that she loved him. Her heart missed a beat. Surely it couldn’t be true.
Love was dangerous. Love hurt. Even years after her mum’s death, her father was still tormented by her loss. But she saw now that none of that mattered. All her fears and all those careful plans she’d made to stay single and safe had been for nothing. She didn’t get to choose. Her heart did. And, no matter how disastrous the consequences might be for her, it had chosen Massimo.
Words of joy bubbled up inside her but she stemmed the flow. There had been enough talking for one night. Right now Massimo needing some tender loving care, and what she had in mind didn’t require words.
She felt his lips brush across her hair and, looking up, she smiled. ‘Let’s go home.’
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS THE early hours of the morning when they walked back into the palazzo.
