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Issy’s fingers paused on the computer keyboard at Maxi’s enquiry. ‘Sorry? What?’ she asked, even though she’d heard every word.
‘I’m putting the finishing touches to the new programmes. Shouldn’t we add your Duke’s company name to it?’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she replied, as the all-too-familiar vice tightened across her torso. ‘That’s a great idea,’ she added, with an enthusiasm she didn’t feel.
She’d left Florence over two weeks ago. And she couldn’t even talk about the sponsorship without falling apart.
When was she going to get over this?
She didn’t want to think about it any more, go on replaying every little nuance of Gio’s behaviour during the hours she had spent in his house. Apart from the fact that it was exhausting her, it wasn’t going to change a thing.
She’d thought she’d made a major breakthrough a week ago, when she’d come to the conclusion that she hadn’t been crazy enough to fall in love after only three short days. She knew now she’d never stopped loving him. In all the years they’d been apart her love had lurked in some small corner of her heart, just waiting to be rediscovered.
But now she knew how hopeless it was, shouldn’t she be able to move on?
To start rebuilding her life?
Gio would have moved on the minute she’d walked out the door. And, however sad that made her, she should be grateful. At least his indifference meant his company hadn’t pulled the theatre’s sponsorship.
She’d allowed herself to get so wrapped up in Gio she’d completely forgotten about the theatre. Which had added a nice thick layer of guilt to the heartache and recriminations in the weeks since her return.
Taking a professional attitude now was essential. And if she had to deal with Gio in the future, as a result of his donation, it would be a small penance to pay. The theatre was now her number one priority.
‘Why don’t you give the Florence office a call and see what they say?’ she said to Maxi, not quite ready to take the next step.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to ring them?’ Maxi asked, a quick grin tugging at her lips. ‘They might put you through to the Dishy Duke.’
‘No, that’s okay,’ she said tightly. ‘I’m busy doing Jake’s bio.’ She turned back to her keyboard.
She hadn’t told Maxi what had happened in Florence, despite a lot of probing, and she didn’t intend to. Talking about it would only make it harder to forget.
She continued to type, glad when the hammer thumps of the keys shut out Maxi’s call to Florence. But as she tapped in the final piece of biographical information from Jake’s scribbled notes she couldn’t miss the sound of Maxi putting the phone back in its cradle.
‘Everything go okay?’ Issy asked, as casually as she could.
‘Better than okay,’ Maxi said excitedly. ‘Thank God I happened to call them. The e-mail must have got lost.’
‘What e-mail?’ Issy asked, a strange sinking feeling tugging at the pit of her stomach.
‘The e-mail informing us about his visit.’ Maxi glanced at her watch. ‘His plane touched down over an hour ago, according to his PA. He could be here in less than an hour.’ Springing up, Maxi began stacking the files on her desk. ‘We should get this place cleared up. I expect he’ll want to come up here and check out the office before he catches the afternoon show.’
The sinking feeling turned to full-on nausea. All her erogenous zones melted and a vicious chill rippled down her spine.
‘Who are you talking about?’ Issy asked, but her voice seemed to be coming from a million miles away. All her carefully constructed walls were tumbling down, to expose the still battered heart beneath.
‘The Dishy Duke,’ Maxi said confidently. ‘Who else?’
‘When did you say she’d be back?’ Gio lifted the ale glass to his lips, but the lukewarm beer did nothing to ease the dryness in his throat as he glanced round the mostly empty pub.
He noticed the autographed photos on the wall, the yellowing playbills under glass. Issy had talked about this place often during their time together in Florence. But had he ever really listened, or even bothered to ask her about it? While her assistant had showed him round this afternoon, and he’d been introduced to all the people who worked here and clearly adored Issy, he’d come to realise how much work she’d put into the place and how much it meant to her—and yet he’d been too self-absorbed, too wrapped up in his own fears to notice.
He’d been a selfish bastard about that, as well as about everything else. How could he even begin to make amends?
Issy’s assistant sent him a puzzled look, probably because he’d asked her the same damn question approximate
ly fifty times since he’d arrived at the tiny theatre pub two hours ago.
‘I’m really not sure. Would you like me to try her mobile again?’ she replied, polite enough not to mention that she’d given him the same answer ten minutes ago.
