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His eyes met hers. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t think that far ahead.’
In part it was true. Since he’d arrived at the palazzo his life had been turned upside down. Normally his days were micromanaged to the last minute. Now, though, he seemed to have lost the ability to think beyond the immediate present.
He frowned. It was also true that he’d deliberately avoided even thinking about the development—let alone broaching it with Flora. But so what if he had? It was nothing to do with her. And if she didn’t like that fact, that was her problem. She shouldn’t have tried to make things personal.
Flora felt something shudder through her bones. He was lying. For weeks now she’d seen him at work. He was on top of everything.
No detail escaped his eye. With a stab of misery she remembered her dress fitting. No, he knew: he knew exactly when he’d been going to tell her.
And suddenly so did she. It would have been when he took her back to Rome in a couple of weeks.
Blood was roaring inside her head and shakily she reached out to grip the back of a chair.
‘You used me!’ She was so angry that she was glad there was a table between them. ‘Of all the low things you’ve done, this is the absolute—’
‘What are you talking about?’
Her eyes met his. How could she have been so gullible? A man like Massimo could have sex every hour on the hour with a different woman if he wanted. Yet not once had she ever questioned his attraction to her. She clenched her teeth. But then she didn’t have his low morals; she couldn’t just use anything or anyone to get what she wanted.
‘I thought you wanted this house. And then I thought you wanted sex. But this was never about the palazzo. And it wasn’t about the sex either. It was always just about the deal. Building that resort.’ She gestured towards the plans in disgust.
For a moment she thought of how it could have been. Of what it might have been like to love Massimo and be loved by him. And suddenly she was fighting tears. Gritting her teeth, she breathed in sharply. It was not the end. It was the beginning. For now she knew that love was no longer something to be feared or shunned. And one day she would give her heart to someone who would treat it like the priceless gift it was.
She lifted her face and stared at him. What was she doing? Why was she having this pointless, excruciating conversation? There was nothing more to be said. And nothing more to do here.
With shock, she realised that she didn’t need to keep hiding in Sardinia. Massimo Sforza had just trampled on her heart. If she could survive that then she could face her father and her brother. It was time to go home. To England. To her family.
She held his gaze for a moment and then, turning, walked swiftly out of the room.
Massimo stared after her. Not a muscle had moved on his face but inside he felt something like panic stir inside him. Never had a conversation spiralled so badly out of his control. Every word he’d spoken had simply seemed to make things worse.
But it wasn’t his fault, he thought angrily. Last night had unsettled him—for obvious reasons. And she knew that.
So why couldn’t she just have backed off? Instead of grilling him about matters that didn’t even concern her? And telling him she loved him?
What the hell did she expect him to do with that piece of information?
It was her choice to feel like that. She could have kept it to herself. But instead she’d had to go and tell him. But why? Did she think he was going to fall down on bended knee and propose to her? Well, he wasn’t. He wasn’t the right man for her. And she shouldn’t have put him in the position of having to say so. Nor should she have got upset at hearing the truth. It was far better for both of them that he made it clear right now that their relationship was always going to be purely sexual.
He gritted his teeth. Why should he have to remind her of that, anyway? Just because he’d told her about his past it didn’t mean he owed her anything.
His stomach tightened painfully.
Except that he did.
Remembering the warmth and worry on her face as she’d listened to him talking about his father and Alida, he felt his anger slide away. She had helped him face up to his childhood. Even though he’d lashed out at her she’d stood her ground, pushing back when he pushed her away. Until finally she’d broken through the layers of protection he’d put up between himself and the world and freed him from the burden of his past.
He breathed out unsteadily.
Was he really not going to go after her?
Heart racing, he walked quickly out of the kitchen and ran up the stairs two at a time. Her bedroom was empty. His too. Mouth drying, he stepped back into her room. At first glance it looked unchanged. Her clothes were still in the wardrobe. A book she was struggling to finish lay spine-up on her bedside table.
Turning sharply, he felt a rush of pain. Her rucksack was no longer hanging on the back of the door. Nor was the folder containing her thesis on the dressing table. Blood was pounding in his ears. Feeling light-headed, he stumbled into the bathroom intending to splash his face with cold water—and then he saw it. Her dress. The blue silk lay draped over a chair, like the discarded skin of some mythical creature. And resting on top of it, scribbled on the bottom of her tenancy agreement, was a note.
Congratulations. You win. You got what you wanted. You closed the deal.
CHAPTER TEN
