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He was watching her, as if he sensed that she was about to discover something. Something he had guarded carefully all his life.
‘Rio?’ She frowned as her eye caught the corner of the plan. ‘What was your mother’s name?’
He was quiet, so she lifted her gaze to him. ‘It was Rosa, wasn’t it?’
She looked at another page and saw the same name printed neatly in the corner.
Rosa Mastrangelo
‘Your mother did these plans.’ She moved away from the bench and crossed to him, sitting on his lap so that she could wrap an arm around his neck and hold him. Instinctively she knew that this changed things. That she’d found something that would be hard for him to talk about.
‘And you were left this island.’ She stroked his cheek, lost in thought. ‘By your father...’
His expression gave little away; it made it impossible for her to forget that this was who he was, first and foremost. A successful tycoon who could control his emotions easily—who’d made a fortune in his ability to do just that.
‘Am I right?’
Only the pulsing in the thick column of his neck as he swallowed showed that her supposition was correct.
‘A month ago,’ he said, by way of confirmation.
His expression was a firm mask, emotionless and resonating with strength. But she knew him too well to buy it. He was hurting. This strong, powerful man was in pain and she wanted to fix it.
She shifted, straddling him so that she could stare straight into his eyes. ‘Tell me.’
His face shifted. A small shake of his head, a twist of his mouth. ‘There is not much to tell. As a rule, cara, I do not speak of him. Ever.’
‘I feel like you and I are people who would break rules together,’ she said with a small smile. ‘Who was he?’
His expression was contained. Still, she understood his struggle.
‘You don’t trust me?’ she prompted quietly, padding her thumb over his cheek.
‘The strange thing is that I do.’ His lips quirked into a downward twist as he studied her thoughtfully. ‘For the first time in my life I want to confide in someone about this.’
Warmth spread through her. She waited, enjoying her closeness to him as he searched for words.
‘My father was Piero Varelli.’ He looked at her, waiting for comprehension to dawn.
He saw the moment recognition lit her eyes. ‘The shipping guy?’
‘Ships.’ He jerked his head in a small nod. ‘Planes. Si.’
Outrage fizzed in her gut. ‘You’re saying your father was a multi-millionaire...’
‘A billionaire,’ he corrected.
‘And he let you and your mother...?’
His smile was without humour. ‘You see, perhaps, why I do not have time for him.’
‘Oh, yes,’ she agreed with true anger. ‘But I don’t understand. How could he refuse to help you?’
He expelled a harsh sigh. ‘He was married when he met my mother.’ The words rang with bitterness. ‘He tricked her into loving him because it suited him—or perhaps he thought he loved her. But he didn’t. Not enough to tell her the truth—to tell her he was married.’
With an enormous effort she kept her own guilt far from her mind. There would be a time to reckon with her choices and the consequences of them. She didn’t want to face it yet. But already remorse was washing over her, no matter how she tried to keep it at bay. She was lying to him. She was lying to him just as his father had lied to his mother.
Only this was different. Wasn’t it?
