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The question confused me. Wasn’t it obvious? ‘Because I don’t want to disappoint you,’ I said, forcing myself to admit it. ‘Although I didn’t recognise any of the names on the guest list...’ Thank God. ‘Some of your guests may still have known my mother, and they may well know of me, that I’m...’ I breathed in and looked out into the night, not able to look into his eyes any more. It was hard to say the word, because I had always been sure to make certain it did not define me, but I knew I had to be honest with him because it might very well define me now and my ability to do the job he’d given me. He’d bought me an incredible wardrobe, he’d put me up in one of the villa’s guest houses, he was giving me a four-figure salary for two weeks’ work and treating me with respect—as if I were more than an employee. He was even happy to have people believe we were dating. He’d shown a faith in me that no other man had ever shown, not even my own father—especially my own father—but I didn’t want to take what he was offering under false pretences, especially as it might have an adverse effect on what he wanted to achieve here. Or that would make me as complicit as my mother in the many, many marriages she’d destroyed.
‘That you’re what?’ he prodded, forcing me to bring my gaze back to his.
‘That I’m a bastard,’ I finally managed, pushing out the hateful word on a harsh breath. ‘Mr Donnelly said one of the purposes of this event and the new expansion is to increase the public profile of your company and to give the Allegri brand additional status and respect.’ I hurried on as his expression remained tense and shadowed. I had angered him with this revelation, I could see that now, even though he was making an effort not to show it. My hopes shattered. He would fire me, of course he would—what had made me think that I could hide who I really was, even for a second?
‘I don’t want to mess that up with my presence, or tarnish your company’s brand, however inadvertently.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
I SAT STUNNED, not just by Edie’s revelation—which, of course, was not news to me at all—but by the honesty and openness and genuine anguish on her face as she related her background to me. I gritted my teeth, trying hard not to reveal my reaction. And trying even harder not to feel it.
But, despite my best efforts, the all-consuming anger—towards the bastards who had ever made her think the circumstances of her birth diminished her—was followed by an even more disturbing sense of connection—at the realisation that she had once been subjected to the same petty prejudices and insults, the same cruel judgements that I had suffered so often as a boy.
She pressed her napkin down on the table and stood. ‘I should leave,’ she said.
Wait... What?
I got up and walked round the table to grab her before she could run out on me again. ‘Where are you going?’ I asked.
‘Don’t you want me to go?’
‘Bella...’ I tried, but I couldn’t seem to stem the sympathy that overwhelmed me at the sight of her distress. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘I’ve just told you my mother was a...’ She swallowed and I could see her struggle with the ugly word she
had no doubt had levelled at her a hundred times. ‘She was notorious, Dante. I don’t want to...’
‘Shh...’ I pressed a finger to her lips. ‘My mother was a street whore in Naples, Edie,’ I said, breaking a silence I had kept since I was a child. ‘She picked up men for pennies, screwed them in alleyways. Or brought them back to the room where we lived. My earliest memory is hearing the sounds of sexual intercourse from my crib.’
Shock widened her eyes, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself from exorcising the bitter truth. Stupid that I should feel safe giving her this information. I hardly knew her, but something about the way she had confided in me, not to gain my pity or my empathy but simply to protect my company’s reputation, touched a part of me I thought was incapable of being touched.
‘Do you really think whatever your mother did or didn’t do with the men in her life could be worse than that?’
I cupped her cheek, the softness of her skin, the brutal flush igniting her cheeks making me want to capture her mouth again and devour it.
She wasn’t innocent—how could she be with a background like hers? She had grown up in the school of hard knocks, just like I had. Maybe her life had had the cushion of gentility that mine had comprehensively lacked, but we had both suffered, thanks to the weaknesses—and arbitrary prejudices—of others. It connected us in a way I might not like, but I could no longer fail to acknowledge.
‘I’m so sorry, Dante,’ she said, covering my hand with hers. The consoling words and the warmth in her eyes confused me—who exactly was comforting whom here? ‘That must have been so traumatic for you as a young boy,’ she added.
I drew my hand away, appalled by her pity, but appalled more by the way it made me feel. Not angry, or even irritated, but moved.
‘And for your mother—what a terrible life for her too,’ she added, and I recoiled.
Was she serious? I had hated my mother for so long—the life she had given me, the way she had discarded me like so much rubbish, I couldn’t quite comprehend what Edie was saying. I didn’t want her pity, but I couldn’t even understand her pity for the woman who had given birth to me.
‘It was a very long time ago, bella,’ I said, forcing an indifference into my tone that I didn’t feel. I had exposed myself by confiding the details of my childhood. Why the hell had I done that? Perhaps because I wanted this woman more than I had ever wanted any woman. ‘My childhood gave me the tools to become the man I am today.’
‘I understand,’ she said, but the sympathy still shone in her eyes. And I knew she didn’t understand.
I had meant that my childhood had made me ruthless and driven, prepared to do just about anything to get away from where I had started to arrive at where I was now.
‘You’ve worked so hard for your business,’ she continued. ‘But that’s why I wanted you to know about...’
‘I already knew,’ I said, to cut off her illogical confession and the way it was making me feel. The connection I had felt to her was not something I should encourage, so why had I, with that ill-advised confession about my background?
‘Bella,’ I added, ‘I did an Internet search on your background before I hired you.’ I could see I’d surprised her, so I continued. ‘Your social connections or the lack of them are of no interest to me.’
‘But aren’t they important if I’m to represent the Allegri Corporation at this—’
