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Waiting for what, she didn’t know, but she hadn’t been able to leave all the same.
De Riero reached into his jacket and took out a cigarette, lit it, leaning on the stone parapet of the terrace.
She could step out of the shadows now, reveal herself. Show him that she was still alive—though at the moment ‘alive’ was relative. Especially when she felt so hollow and empty inside.
What do you want from him?
She didn’t know that, either. An apology? An acknowledgement? To be welcomed into his family with open arms?
Her father leaned his elbows on the parapet, his cigarette glowing.
Would he be disappointed if he found out she wasn’t dead after all? Would he be angry with her for disrupting his family? Or would he be grateful? Happy?
Does it matter?
Her throat closed and her chest ached. And she knew the truth. It wouldn’t change a thing. Because her heart was broken and it had nothing to do with her father. Nothing to do with his acknowledgement of her or otherwise. She felt nothing for him. Nothing at all.
Because her heart wasn’t with him. It was with another man. A man who didn’t want it and yet held it in his strong, capable hands anyway.
Whether her father wanted her or not, it wouldn’t change that feeling. Wouldn’t alter it. Which meant it wasn’t this man’s acceptance that would make her whole.
Only Cristiano could.
The boy came out onto the terrace, tall and already broad, joining the man. Cristiano’s son.
The sounds of their voices carried over the garden, and then their laughter. There was happiness in their voices, an easy affection, and Leonie knew she wasn’t going to reveal herself. That she would stay out of it.
That wasn’t her family. Not any more.
It felt right to melt away into the shadows and leave them behind.
Her future wasn’t with them.
A certain calmness settled inside her, along with determination.
She would find her own family and her own future. She would carve it with her bare hands if she had to, but find it she would. Her future wasn’t as a de Riero and it wasn’t as a Velazquez, but she would find something else.
She wasn’t lost. She’d found herself.
Slowly she walked down the tiny street of San Lorenzo, alone in the dark. And then a car came to a screeching halt beside her and a man leapt out of it.
‘Leonie!’ a dark, familiar voice said desperately. ‘Stop!’
She stilled, staring as Cristiano came towards her, his hair standing up on end, his wedding suit rumpled, the look on his face as raw and naked as she’d ever seen it.
He stopped right in front of her, staring at her, breathing hard. ‘Don’t leave,’ he said hoarsely before she could speak. ‘Please don’t leave me.’
Shocked tears pricked her eyes, her heart aching and burning. What was he doing here? He’d been very clear on what he’d wanted and it wasn’t her, no matter what he was saying now.
Resisting the urge to fling herself into his arms, she drew herself up instead, lifting her chin. ‘What are you doing here, Cristiano?’ Her voice was hoarse, but she was pleased with how calm she sounded.
‘What you said in the chapel...’ The look in his eyes burned. ‘About deserving more.’
‘What?’
‘You told me that we both deserved more and that you wished I could believe it, too.’ He stared at her. ‘I want to know why.’
She blinked her tears back furiously. ‘Does it matter?’
