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Rising, she went to the door and pulled it open. ‘Ava?’
‘Hello, lovely. Are you OK? I came as soon as Luca told me.’
Emily froze. ‘Luca told you what?’ she said cautiously.
‘He turned up at my office, said he’d messed up, he thought you may need a friend. That he needed to make it right. Then he left.’
‘Left?’
‘Yes.’ Ava entered and enveloped her friend in a hug. ‘Tell me what happened.’
Emily tried to think, hugged her friend back and then stepped back. What was going on? Why had Luca gone to Ava?
Ava studied her best friend’s expression. ‘OMG. Have you fallen for Luca? And vice versa?’
‘No. Of course not.’
Had she? No, she’d fallen for an illusion, a fake. A man who’d only employed her for her name, had conned her. A man who had listened to her, encouraged her, held her whilst she cried and made love to her. Love...that was what it had felt like; their time together had felt full of love and caring and light and laughter. She loved him; it was so obvious, so clear...so disastrous. What was she going to do? Could something that had felt so real really have been nothing more than a con?
Ava stepped forward. ‘Hey, it’s going to be all right.’
Was it? And what had Luca meant about putting things right?
* * *
Luca rang the bell of the enormous whitewashed house, congratulated himself that he had managed to gain entry to the house of Rajiv Khatri. It had taken a certain level of determination to get through to the man himself but eventually he had succeeded, and once Rajiv believed he genuinely wanted to talk about Emily he had agreed to a meeting.
The door swung open to reveal a stately butler who studied Luca’s credentials and then led the way through a spacious hallway to an enormous lounge, filled with sofas and family paraphernalia. The room was a mix of style and comfort.
Minutes later a tall slender Indian man walked in, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, with a cautious smile on his face. ‘Good morning.’
‘Good morning.’
‘Would you like refreshments? Tea? Coffee.’
Luca declined and the Bollywood actor gestured for him to be seated and followed suit. ‘So you wish to speak with me about Emily?’
‘Yes.’ Somewhat belatedly Luca realised he should maybe have prepared better for this, had been so focused on getting in front of Rajiv he hadn’t planned what to say. ‘When is the last time you saw her?’
The actor frowned. ‘I am afraid I don’t see what business it is of yours.’
Luca forced his body to relax; he was here to act as an intermediary, not an accuser. Part of him knew that he was maybe overstepping, but he knew Emily would never take either parent to task and someone had to.
‘You’re right and I apologise.’ Luca inhaled deeply. ‘I am here because recently I...got to know your daughter and I know it saddens her that...you aren’t close. That because you have a second family who you live with, you never needed to get close to her.’
‘That isn’t tr—’
‘Yes, it is.’ A quiet voice intervened and, turning, Luca saw that a petite Indian woman had entered the room, dressed in a light blue patterned salwar kameez. ‘Hello, Mr Petrovelli. I am Neela Khatri, mother to the second family.’
Rajiv rose when he saw his wife, but his expression was still one of anger. ‘I have always treated Emily like family. She was only a baby when her mother and I split but I made sure I had proper visitation rights and when I moved back here... I...’
‘Stop, Rajiv.’ Neela spoke quietly as she moved over to her husband and took his hand in hers. ‘Let us listen to what he has to say.’ She gestured to Luca, who tried to gather his words together, as sudden panic assailed him. Perhaps he was making this worse, and Rajiv Khatri would withdraw all support.
‘Please do not be angry with Emily. She has no idea I am here, so if I am speaking out of turn please blame me. Emily has not uttered a word of anger or blame. She is just sad. Sad that she can’t be part of your extended family, doesn’t have a close bond with any of you.’
Rajiv’s expression changed, the frown indicative of a man who was listening, but it was Neela who spoke.
‘I am sorry,’ she said simply. ‘Some of the blame is mine. To begin with I saw Emily as a threat, a reminder of Marigold, and I believed that you still loved her, had married me on the rebound.’
