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When he boarded his jet, his secretary was there. “Messages, Nico.” She handed him a legal pad with handwritten names and numbers. He scrolled through them, mentally triaging the most important before turning the page. It was there that a name stood out to him and brought a small frown to his face.
“Michael Walsh called?”
She nodded. “He said it was personal. Do you want me to call him back?”
“I’ll do it.” Nico read through the rest of the list, but a heaviness settled inside of him when he thought of his friend.
In school, Michael had shown such intelligence and promise – hardly surprising given he’d gained a scholarship to the prestigious institution – but there’d been an anxiety to him Nico hadn’t, as a teenager, fully appreciated. He’d never known someone quite as driven as Michael, and yet discovering that Michael had cheated on their finals exams had shocked Nico. Cheating had never occurred to him – he would always want to rise and fall on his merits than anything else.
Michael, with all his intelligence, felt the pressure and let it get to him, so he’d gravitated to whatever means he could to succeed.
The last time they’d spoken – a couple of years earlier – had been awkward. The investment fund Michael had started had been on the brink of collapse, and with little wonder given that Michael was pulling money out to pay for his significant gambling debts. He’d wanted Nico to invest a small fortune, knowing that the Montebello name would bring credibility to the investments and encourage others to vote with their wallets. Nico wouldn’t – couldn’t – do that. Not after he’d taken a look at the portfolio. He’d bailed Michael out though, but on reflection, he wished he’d done more. Some kind of support with his gambling and the drinking Nico suspected had become an addiction.
He’d spoken to him about it, suggested Michael get help, but that hadn’t been enough, in hindsight. It was in the midst of the fallout from Gianfelice and Claudette and he’d been distracted by his own life.
Guilt at the fact he’d let down a man he’d once thought of as a friend had him reaching into the console of his leather armchair, pulling the air phone from it, and dialling the number his secretary had transcribed. When Michael answered, his voice sounded a little slurred.
“Michael. It’s me. Nico.”
“Nico Montebello, as I live and breathe. You actually called me back.”
Guilt hit him like an anvil. “Certamente.” A pause that crackled with their silence. And then, “What’s up, man?”
Another silence. Nico drummed his fingers against the leather armrest, staring straight ahead as the engines began to whir faster, the plane began to speed along the runway and finally lifted off.
“Are you in London?”
“I’m on my way to Villa Fortune. Why?”
“I wanted to meet with you. To discuss something.”
Nico compressed his lips, suppressing a groan. He knew he’d feel guilty as all heck if he put his old friend off, and yet the idea of adding anything else onto this trip was anathema to him. He wanted to get back to Maddie as soon as possible. They had seven more nights together. That was all. La Villetta had been rented to a holiday-maker and the only alternative was for her to move permanently to his place.
And while he loved the idea of having her in his home for as long as they both enjoyed their arrangement, he knew it was fraught with danger for both of them. Besides, even if he suggested that, he wasn’t sure Maddie would agree. In fact, he was pretty sure she wouldn’t. Given what she’d been through, could he blame her for wanting to be single a while?
His stomach rolled at that, though. Not of Maddie being single so much as ‘what came next’ for her. Surely she wouldn’t be alone for long. And then? Marriage? Children?
His gut clenched. He rejected the idea of that without reason to. He had every reason to suspect she wanted to leave him just as much as he knew she had to. “Can we talk over the phone?”
“It’ll be better in person. Why? Are you too busy for me?”
Discomfort needled Nico’s spine. They were in their twenties before he’d become conscious of Michael’s ability to manipulate people into doing his bidding. He used passive aggression as most people drew breath.
“I am busy.” Nico’s tone was short, bordering on dismissive.
“I could come to you? Villa Fortune?”
“No.” Then, more softly, because whatever had become of Michael, they’d been friends a long time. “It’s Yaya’s birthday. Just the family.” And, if she’d said yes, Maddie. He was cognisant of that, and didn’t want to analyse it further.
“Ondechiara then? Do you still spend summers there?”
Nico had a visceral reaction to that. The idea of sharing his home with anyone else during his last week with Maddie?
“Could it wait a week?”
“It could wait a day,” Michael said urgently. “Please.”
And only the sense that something was seriously wrong pushed Nico that extra mile. With a sigh of deep frustration and a growing sense of unease, he nodded into the empty plane carriage. “Fine. I’ll have my secretary arrange your flights.”
