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She loved him.
Not that she could tell him that, for she had to work out what to do with this wretched secret first.
But Dante’s patience had long since run out. He would not be waiting for Mia to gather her thoughts, for he could hear his helicopter making its approach. ‘If you won’t tell me, then I shall find out for myself.’ He dropped contact then, turned on his smart heels and stormed off across the yard.
‘Where are you going?’ she shouted.
‘I don’t have to tell you things either,’ Dante retorted over his shoulder.
‘Dante, please...’ She was running after him, suddenly frantic. ‘Don’t leave me here...’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He shrugged her off. ‘We’re not joined at the hip.’
‘But you don’t understand,’ she begged. ‘I don’t want to be here at night on my own.’ But either Dante didn’t hear her or he ignored her, for he was already gunning the car towards the helipad.
A few minutes later Dante’s helicopter lifted off, and Mia was alone, with no staff, and no idea when Dante would be back.
If at all.
With rising panic, Mia dealt with Massimo and the rest of the horses, and then on legs that felt like jelly she headed back to the house, starting to run as she saw the darkening sky.
It felt as if shadows were chasing her and all bravado left when she saw that the little car belonging to Sylvia and her husband wasn’t there. They must have taken the unexpected night off as a chance to go out.
She really was alone.
‘Get a grip, Mia,’ she told herself as she went in, flicking on lights and closing the drapes. She had to get over this fear because soon she’d be a mother; soon it would be her chasing away shadows and things, as Dante would say, that went bump in the night.
Except there was nothing soothing about Suite al Limone just before a storm. She stripped off her riding clothes and stood in the shower, willing the water to warm her, yet she felt chilled to the bone.
And as she stepped out of the shower and pulled on her robe, birds were screeching as they came home to roost and to hide from the storm. It was then that a window blew open.
It was the wind, of course it was the wind, but, instead of closing it, Mia gave in to her fear and sank to her knees.
She had never been more terrified in her life.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
DANTEARRIVEDAThis mother’s apartment, this time without warning.
His pilot had skilfully dodged the storm and it was a surprisingly sunny Rome evening that Dante looked out on as a driver took him to his mother’s apartment. Less of a surprise were the reporters and photographers across the street, waiting for the reappearance of the errant Romano son.
‘Hey, Dante!’ they called as they snapped away with their cameras. ‘Where’s Mia?’
‘How did you get the bruise, Dante?’
But Dante turned angry eyes straight at them and the questions rapidly faded.
His mother, though, wasn’t daunted by his brooding and was suitably furious! Fresh from her cruise but less than relaxed, she hurled open the door.
‘Dante, howcouldyou?’ she shouted. ‘I have the press outside, reporters calling, and you are all over the papers withher. She ruined my life, Dante! How the hell could you do this to me?’
Dante responded by greeting her lover. ‘Signor Thomas,’ he said, ‘would you excuse us, please?’
Signor Thomas stood tall, but far less imposing than he had appeared to Dante a couple of decades ago, and Angela was adamant that he remain.
‘He is to stay. We both want to hear how you defend your actions with the woman who wrecked my marriage.’
When she offered a rather choice word, the bear had been poked enough, and though Dante did not growl, his voice held an unmistakable threat. ‘Never, and I meannever,speak of Mia that way again,’ he warned, and then pulled his mother aside and spoke only for her ears. ‘Know this—if he does stay, I shall not be moderating my questions to suit the audience.’
