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Lorenzo surprised her by laughing, amusement gleaming in his lustrous dark golden eyes. ‘No. I bought and renovated it. Sometimes, I forget how little you know about me now. I grew up in a splendid Venetian palazzo on the Grand Canal with my father.’
‘No mother around?’ she pressed in surprise.
‘No, sadly she died bringing me into the world. She had a weak heart,’ Lorenzo volunteered. ‘And I don’t think my father ever forgave me for being the cause of her death. He told me more than once that she was the only woman he had ever loved and that I had taken her from him.’
‘But that’s so unjust. I mean—’
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’ Lorenzo sent her a wryly amused glance at her bias in his defence. ‘He was a self-centred man. My mother wanted a baby and took the risk of getting pregnant against doctor’s orders and I got the blame for it. I believe my father could have adjusted quite happily tonothaving a son and heir. Maybe a daughter would’ve brought out a softer side to him...who knows? He died last year, and we never had a close relationship.’
‘That’s so sad, such a waste.’ Brooke sighed regretfully. ‘I wish my parents had lived long enough for you to meet them and then you could have told me something about them.’
‘Being without family never seemed to bother you. I think that it was natural for you to be a loner.’
‘Is that why you think I didn’t want children?’ she asked abruptly.
Lorenzo expelled his breath in a measured hiss. ‘No, you had multiple reasons for that. The effect on your body, the risk to your potential career, the responsibilities that would eat into your ability to come and go as you pleased.’
Brooke nodded, getting the message that in the past she haddefinitelynot wanted a child. Evidently, her career had meant everything to her and that tough decision surprised her because she had found herself watching young children visiting their relatives in the clinic and had easily and quickly warmed to their presence. But Lorenzo had to know the woman he had married best, particularly now that he was no longer glossing over the more sensitive subjects simply to keep her in the dark and supposedly protect her from herself. But how on earth was anyone to tell her how to cope with a self that she, increasingly, didn’t like very much?
‘Did I tell you that I didn’t want a family before we got married?’ she pressed.
‘No,’ Lorenzo framed succinctly. ‘KnowingthatI wouldn’t have married you but, to be fair, you didn’t lie about it either. Later, I realised that you had merely avoided saying anything that would’ve committed you.’
Brooke still saw that as sly, just as he had once labelled her, but she said nothing because the picture of their marriage she was getting was still better than the blank she had had before, even if the more she learned, the more she suspected that saving such a troubled relationship could be a steeper challenge than even she had imagined.
‘Why are we even talking about this?’ Lorenzo demanded with wry amusement. ‘The last complication we need now is a child.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed a little stiffly because it was true: they had quite enough on their plate with her amnesia. ‘So, what happened to the Venetian palazzo you grew up in? Or didn’t you inherit it?’
‘I did inherit. I converted it into an exclusive boutique hotel. I had no personal attachment to the place. My childhood memories aren’t warm or fluffy,’ he admitted.
‘I wonder if mine are,’ she murmured ruefully.
‘I should think so. The way you told it, you were an adored only child.’ Lorenzo closed a hand over her restive hands where they were twisting together on her lap. ‘Stop fretting about what you don’t know and can’t help.’
‘I’ve had a couple of flashbacks!’ she heard herself admit rather abruptly. ‘Mr Selby thinks that’s very hopeful.’
Lorenzo frowned in disconcertion, annoyed that she hadn’t told him first. ‘What did you remember?’
‘Only an image of me seated in a limo and one of me in that café where Milly Taylor worked and where I must have gone to meet her. Not very helpful or interesting,’ she remarked with a sigh.
‘But promising,’ Lorenzo commented, wondering why he didn’t feel more excited over the prospect of her reclaiming her memory and, consequently, her life. Was it possible that after so many months he had reached some stage of compassion fatigue and disappointed hopes where he was simply guilty of secretly wishing that his life would return to normal?
Dannazione, why didn’t he just admit the truth to himself? This current version of Brooke was his unparalleled favourite. He was in no hurry to reclaim the original version. As she was now, she was likeable, desirable and surprisingly appealing. Naturally he preferred her this way, he conceded with gritty inner honesty, no great mystery there. Only a masochist would have craved the old Brooke. What was wrong with being truthful about that? The woman he was with now was neither the woman he had married nor the woman he had been divorcing.
Brooke peered out of the windows as the limo drove up a steep twisting lane hedged in by dense trees and her eyes widened with appreciation as the lane opened out to frame the rambling farmhouse that sat on top of a gentle hill, presiding, she suspected, over a spectacular view of the Tuscan countryside. ‘It’s a beautiful site,’ she remarked.
‘It’s remote,’ Lorenzo warned her as he climbed out of the car. ‘You may find it quite isolated here while I’m away on business.’
‘I think I’ll be fine,’ Brooke declared, waiting for the driver to open the car and bring Topsy’s travelling carrier out. She bent down to release the little animal, accepting the frantic affection coming her way with a wide grin. ‘I can go for walks with Topsy, sit out and read, maybe even do a little exploring.’
‘I’m not planning to workeveryday,’ Lorenzo told her with a sudden flashing smile. ‘I don’t want you going too far on your own, so save the exploration until I’m here and it will be much more comfortable for you.’
Topsy bouncing at her heels, Brooke walked into the house, violet eyes sparkling with pleasure at everything she saw. Her hand stretched out to brush the weathered pale sun-warmed stone of the house as if she couldn’t resist its appeal. ‘I love old things,’ she told him cheerfully.
Lorenzo stoically resisted the urge to contradict her with his superior knowledge of her tastes. ‘She’s discovering herself again,’ the psychiatrist had told him. ‘Give her that freedom.’
‘When did you buy this place?’ she asked.
