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“Yes.” What was the point in going into their sordid history? She opened her mou
th to say something else but the sound of a door opening had them both turning, right as Max stepped out onto the balcony, just as she’d known he would, in search of her. His expression of inquiry shifted instantly to one of surprise then dislike, then enmity, before settling on cool disinterest. How did he do that? He had a billion facial muscles, his features so expressive, and yet he could discipline them into whatever order he wished so quickly!
“Alessia.” He strode towards her, hands in pocket, his demeanour relaxed. But she knew him better than that – his body was radiating tension, his back ramrod straight, and his eyes skimmed Sam with a natural-born antipathy, as though he somehow knew her history with him.
“Max,” she forced a smile to her lips, exhausted suddenly, and wanting only to be at home. His home, she reminded herself, but it was forced. An approximation of how she used to feel. Somewhere, somehow, that line had been eroded by the life they now shared. His home had become their home. The only place she wanted to be. It scared her and warmed her all at once.
“Massimo Montebello,” he said, leaning towards Sam, hand outstretched. It was a bizarre moment – her husband and her ex-fiancé shaking hands, meeting like two random strangers.
“Yes,” the other man nodded. “I know.”
Massimo’s eyes narrowed a little, a warning expression on his face. Great. They were going to get all territorial. She needed to put a stop to that. “You’re involved with the charity?” Max prompted suspiciously. Did he think Sam had come to see her? That he’d somehow known she’d be here.
“My cousin is chairman of Infinito Banking.”
“Renato diNova?”
Sam dipped his head forward then turned to look at Alessia, a smile lifting his lips. “That’s how we met.”
“Yes.” Heat flushed her cheeks. She looked from one to the other, and for the second time that night, felt a desperate need to escape. Her past and present were mixing, filling her with a sense of being pushed underwater. And yet, when she looked at Massimo, she could breathe again, as though a scuba mask was being pressed to her face. He was her salvation – somehow, he’d become that when she hadn’t expected it; hadn’t prepared for it. She loved him.
She inhaled slowly, and then turned to Sam. “Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I’m going to freshen up. And then do you mind if we go, Max? I’m tired.”
“Of course not,” his eyes remained on Sam’s face a moment before flicking to hers. “I’ll meet you at the door in a few moments.”
Alessia pushed away from them, stepping back into the ballroom before remembering she was still wearing Sam’s jacket. She shrugged out of it, marvelling at the obvious quality – Sam had hated expensive fashion but this was undeniably couture – and moved back towards the door. It was still ajar. She pressed a hand to it.
“I told you not to speak to her ever again.”
Alessia froze, the words making no sense. They were issued in Max’s voice, but why would Max be saying that? And to Sam? Tension underscored his statement; she felt it reverberating towards her.
“I had no idea she’d be here,” Sam responded. “I simply agreed to attend with my cousin.”
“And you just had to follow her out here?”
“What? Are you afraid I’ll break the confidentiality agreement you made me sign? Afraid I’ll tell her what a manipulative son of a bitch her husband is?”
Silence. Deafening, thunderous silence. None of it made sense. A confidentiality agreement? What the hell was Sam talking about? When had he and Max met? And why would Max get him to sign any damned thing? She felt hot and cold all over, and her heart was slamming into her ribs in a way that made her want to press a hand between her breasts and forcibly calm it.
“You know the penalty if you do.”
Chapter Thirteen
A FRISSON OF SOMETHING like fear ran down Alessia’s spine. She took a step backwards, into the madness of the ball, and spun away. She knew Renato. She’d met him a handful of times, and he just happened to be walking within twenty metres of Alessia. She made a beeline for him, stopping him mid-step.
“Signora,” his smile showed he remembered meeting her, the deference in the dip of his head showed he knew who her husband was.
She ignored that. If he wanted to ingratiate himself with the Montebellos he’d chosen a lousy receptacle for that. “Would you mind giving this to Sam?” She held the jacket out.
“Certo. Can I get you a drink? Something to eat?”
“I’m just leaving,” she apologised. “Thank you.” She walked to the door, her shoulders squared, unconscious of the way peoples’ eyes seemed to follow her steps.
At the door, she turned for a moment, just as Massimo entered the ballroom. She had a few moments to watch him unobserved. Her stomach rolled, doubts spun through her, but oh, her heart. Her stupid, disloyal heart. Even as the conversation she’d overheard made it impossible not to understand that there were things afoot of which she had no knowledge, her heart was telling her not to jump to conclusions. To have faith. This was Max. The man who knew her better than anyone else on earth, the man she knew inside and out. But her pulse was frantic because that wasn’t necessarily true, was it?
She wanted to believe in him, she wanted to trust him, but the past was right there, enormous and looming, reminding her of their first marriage and the disaster it had been. Reminding her that only hurt had come from trusting him. He’d lied to her then, he’d preyed on her innocence, naivety and obvious love for him.
And now?
