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She moaned softly, reaching for the loofah and running it over her body.
‘When I tell you I need you, I do not mean it in the way you think. It is not sex that I am referring to. I need you as I need air, and I need water.’
She had been right to leave him. She could never trust him, and what was love without trust?
Memories of their days walking through Venice flooded her—of his sharing his gelato with the little Romani boy, of the way he’d held her hand and talked about the history of the city and his time growing up in it—and she sobbed, unable to hold her heartache at bay a moment longer.
It was here, in the night time, alone in her enormous house, that she finally allowed herself to admit that the pain wasn’t easing. That the ache inside her chest was growing wider with each day that passed. With each day she spent away from Matteo.
It was here that she always came to question her decision, even though she was certain, really, that she’d been right to leave him. To protect herself from the dangers of loving a man like Matteo and living in fear of when his favour would cease to exist.
She closed her eyes; she saw him and her heart lurched.
She banged her palm against the shower then dropped her hand to the taps, turning them slowly, easing the water. But she didn’t get out. She stood there immobile for a time. Broken. Her head bent, her back bowed, her body emptying of any hope, happiness and light.
She would gain control of this, though.
She’d known loss and loneliness all her life, and she’d always found ways to cope. She would do so again. Wouldn’t she?
In the end, she pushed the mail to one side of the bed and fell asleep naked, with no energy to so much as find a nightgown. Exhaustion was the saving grace of her current emotional state, but it was followed reliably by insomnia, so that somewhere before dawn she woke, bright and early, and she knew she wouldn’t find the relief offered by sleep again.
She sat up in her bed and reached for the stack of mail, contemplating making a cup of coffee, and decided she’d reward herself with a mug only when she’d successfully made her way through at least five of the envelopes.
The first three were invitations to parties and events. She pushed them to one side, knowing she needed to engage some kind of assistant to deal with this stuff. Usually, she was able to keep on top of it, but since Venice she’d been...well...a mess. Besides, she wasn’t in a particularly festive mood.
The fourth item was an advertising flyer. She pushed it away without looking and reached for the fifth. It was a little thicker than the rest. She slid her finger under the glued back, already fantasising about the coffee she was going to be enjoying within minutes.
She unfolded the paper and instantly caught her breath.
Her fingertips shook as she straightened the page properly.
The Vin Santo business emblem was unmistakable. A powerful VS embossed in black. She ran her fingertip over it even as her eyes fled to the words.
They were handwritten.
It means nothing without you.
Her heart raced hard and fast against her chest. And, for the first time since leaving Venice, colour was in her cheeks and something like hope and joy filled her. She flipped the page and saw what was behind it.
The contracts she’d had sent for the transfer of the hotel.
Exactly as she’d sent them, except for one vital detail.
He’d put a large, black cross through each page. And had failed to add his signature.
She shuddered, falling back against the pillows, her eyes shut, the letter clutched to her chest.
It means nothing without you.
She groaned, pushing the bed linen off her and standing, reaching for her robe. She wrapped it around her body, cinching it at the waist, and brought the letter with her as she moved back downstairs into the kitchen.
She slid a pod into her coffee machine, pressing the button distractedly as she read his words for the tenth time.
It means nothing without you.
The hotel was all he’d wanted.
It was why he’d married her.
