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She stepped into the walls of the villa and shuddered.
That fateful day, when they’d had their last argument, she’d promised herself that she would leave without looking back. And she had. She’d returned to London and returned to her maiden name. She’d worked hard to banish him from her mind and memories. But standing in the forecourt, Jane had the strangest sense of past and future colliding, to form an entirely different present. An almost ‘out of body’ sensation gripped her. She took great pains to conceal the maelstrom of feelings from Carlo. It was another skill she’d perfected during their marriage. Keeping him at emotional arms length. A tact she’d honed out of necessity that now felt like second nature.
She repressed a sigh and smiled at him with cool agreement. “Let’s go inside then.”
He nodded, his face averted from her as they strode towards the house. The door swept inwards as they approached, held in place by the housekeeper Anna. And at the sight of her, Jane smiled with genuine pleasure.
“I’m so pleased to see you,” said in halting Italian, with unmistakable warmth.
“And I you, carina,” the housekeeper replied, holding her waxen arms wide and pulling Jane close to her ample bosom. “You are too skinny,” she said, switching to English. “What happened? You no eat in London?”
Jane laughed good naturedly. “I do, I promise.”
“No, no,” Anna contradicted, putting an arm around Jane’s slender waist and winking at a bemused Carlo. “You not eat enough, I see it. I make you the Bolognese tonight, si?”
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself on my account,” Jane demurred, though her glands were already salivating at the very memory of Anna’s cooking.
“It not trouble. I got to make the food for him anyway,” she tilted her head back at Carlo and then laughed, loudly and confidently. The sound echoed across the terracotta floor tiles, and it made Jane smile.
Some things about Villa Vista were good. And Anna was one of them.
“That would be lovely then, thank you, Anna. I can come and help you?”
Anna grinned. “Like old times, no?”
“Si.” Jane had loved helping Anna cook. Especially as Carlo had never been around in the evenings. The loneliness. Oh, the loneliness. It had been a darkly pervasive fog in the year she had spent at Villa Vista. Except for Anna. And the hideous Alessandra. And Carlo, but only late at night.
They watched Anna go together. Carlo, once alone with his ex-wife, was left frowning. “I didn’t know you spent so much time with Anna.”
“Well, I did.” She fixed him with an ice-cold stare. “Shall I pick a guest room upstairs?”
Carlo’s sigh was impatient. “Even after what we shared earlier today?”
“Especially because of what happened today.” She forced herself to meet his eyes. “I am not going to let my stupid body dictate how I behave.”
His smile sent little waves of desire rolling down her spine. “There is nothing stupid about your body, mi bella.”
“Don’t.” She held up a hand and shook her head. “This is certainly not the time.”
His eyes bore into hers for what felt like minutes. She resisted the temptation to squirm, but the way he was looking at her was as though he was peeling away every layer of her being, to reveal her most inner thoughts.
“You are right. I need to speak to your London detectives and see what information they have. Go and make yourself at home again, cara.”
She nodded, but everything inside of her revolted against the idea. This was not her home. Not now, and not then. It was simply a place she’d passed through. Like another foster home. And she’d found as little true love and happiness here as anywhere else.
The guest rooms were all on the fourth floor. Carlo had designed the house to meet his business needs. From time to time, he hosted members of his staff in the Roman villa, but he preferred them to be kept a distance from his personal suite of rooms, which were on the first floor. Meaning Jane had to pass by them before reaching the top floor.
The room that had been theirs was just down from the stairs. She eyed it warily as she passed. The smart thing to do would have been to keep going. Only… her heart began to hammer against her chest as her feet, as if of their own accord, dragged across the timber floor and towards the door.
It was ajar, and with the slightest push, it opened wide, to reveal the room within.
Jane’s breath snagged in her throat, and her eyes moistened with a film of salty moisture. It was the same. Exactly the same. With a fast-beating heart, she stepped inside the room. And back into her marriage.
The four poster bed that Carlo had organised for their wedding night sat at its centre, enormous and comfortable, and capable of delivering such pleasure. Her pulse trilled as flashes of their marriage came back to her.
She stepped further inside and ran her fingers over the foot of the bed, absently feeling the fine cotton cover. Past the bed, with its matching bedside tables, were the doors that led to the balcony. She sighed as she approached the view now, her eyes enormous. How many nights had she spent with her feet glued to the carpet, her sides pressed against the wall as she worried and wondered.
That final night had been the last straw.
