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His eyes were loaded with enmity.
‘How did their son die?’ she murmured softly.
‘An accident. Drink-driving.’
‘He was hit?’
‘He was the drunk. He collided with a tree. Thankfully it was only him who died.’
How awful for Rio—to have discovered his father and also a brother he might have known and loved if only things had been different.
‘When you met with your father, did you feel anything?’
‘No.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Niente.’
‘And yet,’ she said softly, cautiously, ‘she loved him. And he is in you.’
She tapped a finger against his heart, her lips pressing against his gently.
His rebuke was swift and determined. ‘I am who I am because of my mother. Not him.’
She ran her fingers over his cheek. ‘And he died a month ago?’ she murmured.
At this, Rio’s face briefly flashed with an emotion she didn’t comprehend. Regret? Sorrow?
‘And he left me Prim’amore.’
She expelled a soft breath. ‘I suppose he felt it was the least he could do.’
‘I don’t know. I think he was a stubborn, selfish man who wanted to make sure I faced this.’ His eyes glittered. ‘Because it suited him that I should.’
Tilly stroked his cheek. ‘His wife must have been devastated when he died and she found out about you.’
‘She still doesn’t know,’ he said, with a flicker of something in his eyes.
‘But...he left you Prim’amore.’
‘And a lot of money I will never touch.’ It was a dark admission.
‘But surely when she saw his will...?’
‘They were divorced,’ he reminded her gently. ‘She did not go to his funeral.’
‘Did you?’
Something like disappointment marked his face. ‘Si.’ And then, as though he needed to defend the action, he said angrily, ‘I know my mother would have wished it. It felt like I was closing the chapter on them.’
Her heart squeezed with anguish. ‘I’m so sorry for you, Rio.’
‘I do not want the link between that bastard and me to become known. Not now. Nothing would be served by it being made public. I certainly see no benefit in hurting Carina’s feelings.’
‘That’s why you’re hurrying to sell the island. Why you’re handling it yourself,’ she said, remembering the way his face had been so adamant when she’d first stepped off the boat. ‘No agents,’ he’d said, as though the very idea was anathema to him.
‘You know what the press is like.’ His eyes met hers, grey to green. ‘You, of all people, understand about their intrusion into things that do not concern them. I want a quick, private sale. Only three people in the world know about this—you, me and your father.’
