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‘These were on your desk.’
She felt it in the air first: the shift between them, the quivering rise in tension. Suddenly the room seemed to shrink around them.
Looking up, she met his gaze. ‘They’re plans for a development. Here. At the palazzo. But then you knew that, didn’t you?’ Her throat seemed to have closed up. Lifting her hand, she pressed it against her neck. ‘I’m just wondering why didn’t you tell me?’
Even saying the words hurt so much she could hardly breathe. He had held her in his arms, pushed inside her body, and yet he’d kept this from her.
How could he have done that?
Furiously, she realised how naive she’d been. At first, she’d assumed Massimo wanted the house for himself. Later, his furious determination to get her out was finally explained when the plans to convert the palazzo into a hotel were made public. But it had never occurred to her that there might be an even bigger picture.
But there was. And it was much, much bigger than she could have ever have imagined.
She looked back at the plans and shock hit her again like a punch to the stomach. Anger was rising inside her. And outrage too. These weren’t plans for a development.
They were plans for an occupation.
‘This is my home. You can’t just decide that you want to knock it down and build some massive resort in its place.’ Her voice was rising. ‘There must be nearly fifty villas on those plans. And a golf course. It’s huge—’
Massimo’s eyes narrowed, his gaze on her flushed, angry face. Part of him knew that her anger was justified. And that she deserved some kind of explanation at the very least. But something cold twisted in his stomach. Why should he have told her anything? Or explain himself then or now? This was his property and she was nothing more than a tenant.
Just because last night she’d coaxed him into sharing grisly details about his childhood it didn’t mean that he owed her anything. He shrugged.
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
Leaning back against the stove, he stared at her coldly. This was the only kind of conversation he liked. One that required cool detachment and logic. And absolutely no mercy.
Flora flinched and then her eyes flared. ‘How about, “Flora, I thought you might be interested to know that I’m going to demolish your home and build a massive resort and golf course instead”?’
‘Why would I tell you anything about the resort? It’s none of your business,’ he said coldly.
‘How do you work that out?’ She stared at him, feeling slightly sick. ‘In the first place, I live here...’
Her voice faded as he shook his head slowly.
‘Even without consulting a lawyer, I can tell you that your tenancy agreement is meaningless. It’s certainly not going to stand in the way of hundreds of jobs, or the money this resort will bring to the community here.’
There was something soft and dangerous growing in his voice, but her own anger felt more acute, more pressing and so she ignored it.
‘Is that all you think about? Jobs and money?’ Her skin was trembling with rage, and the sort of hurt she hadn’t felt since her mum died.
He shrugged. ‘What else is there?’
She almost laughed. Only the pain and anger tangling inside her wasn’t funny.
‘There’s me!’
He didn’t move, but something flared in his eyes—something dark and formless. ‘And who are you to tell me how to run my business?’
‘I don’t want anything to do with your damn business. But I thought...’ She hesitated, her hands curling into fists at her sides. Did she really have to spell it out?
His gaze met hers and her stomach plummeted.
Apparently she did.
She lifted her chin. ‘I thought I was something to do with your life. I can see why you wouldn’t tell me at the beginning, but I thought things were different now. Between us. So why didn’t you tell me after everything changed?’
‘I didn’t tell you because nothing has changed. Not with my plans for this building. Or with us,’ he said coldly. His face was expressionless, but there could be no mistaking the distance in his eyes. ‘It couldn’t. Because there is no “us”.’
