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Beatrice felt emotion swell in her chest. He sounded tired…and while you couldn’t consider someone who was six feet five of solid bone and muscle vulnerable, his defences seemed to have lowered. Whatever internal battle he was fighting might have lowered his defences, but the dangerous explosive quality that was innate to him was much closer to the surface.
‘Maya has nothing against you.’
His eyes lifted and he smiled; it held no humour. ‘Of course she doesn’t.’
‘It’s true, she is…protective, that’s all.’
‘I get that, and I admire her for it. I admire you. You are both there for each other,’ he said broodingly.
She watched as he set his glass down with a thud and reached for the brandy.
‘We’re sisters, that’s what it’s like. You know that, you have a brother.’
The moment the words left her lips she knew she’d said the wrong thing.
She could almost smell the adrenalin coming off him as he stalked towards her, stopping a foot or so away. She couldn’t take her eyes off the muscle clenching and unclenching in his hollow cheek.
‘I was never there for my brother!’ The words came out, acrid with self-loathing.
The confusion swirling in her head deepened. She took a step towards him and laid a hand on his forearm, conscious as she did so of the quivering coiled tension in the muscle that was iron hard.
It didn’t cross her mind to be afraid or even nervous; she had never been afraid of Dante.
‘But you are, Dante. You are doing all this.’ She gestured to the room they stood in. ‘For Carl, you walked away from your life and you never blamed him once.’
‘You think I am noble…that is so far from the truth, cara, that it is almost funny. I had no idea that he was gay, let alone that he was so unhappy.’
‘Perhaps he wasn’t ready to share.’
‘I should have known,’ Dante persisted stubbornly. ‘What sort of brother doesn’t know his brother is hating his life, is so unhappy?’
‘Oh, Dante, I’m so sorry. But that is not your fault.’
‘If I’d been any sort of brother, he would have felt able to come to me. He couldn’t, he didn’t. What sort of brother, man, does that make me?’ He glanced down, seeming to notice for the first time the small hand on his arm.
He pushed it away and Beatrice, the hand he had rejected pressed up to her chest, stood there, absorbing his words. Her heart twisting in her chest for him, she felt helpless to ease the haunted guilt she could see shining in his dark eyes, but she knew she had to try.
‘It’s not your fault he was unhappy, but you could never make the decision for him, Dante. He had to find the courage in himself to do that, and he did.’
‘Oh, yeah, I was a really great person to confide in,’ he sneered. ‘My brother was crying out for help, a silent scream, but I was too busy with my own life. I did what all certified selfish bastards do. I looked after number one.’
His anguish felt like a dull blade in her heart.
This time when she laid a hand on his arm, he didn’t shrug it off.
‘Have you spoken to Carl about this?’ she asked, wary of putting too much pressure on him. ‘Asked him how he feels? Told him how you feel?’ Her hand slid down his forearm until it covered his hand, her fingers sliding in between his.
She already knew the answer to that. Dante was not a man who spoke about feelings, which made her sure that it would not be long before he was regretting sharing this much with her.
‘We don’t talk about it,’ he said, thinking of the email that remained on his phone. His brother had said all he needed in that, and neither of them had referred to it since.
‘Maybe you should…’ She paused, her heart aching as she saw the guilt that was eating him up. ‘Talk? Maybe we should talk too?’
‘I’ve always lived for myself. I can’t be the man…your—’
‘You are my man, my husband.’
‘What are you doing, Bea?’ The pupils of his eyes expanded dramatically as his glance rested on his own hand, now caught between both of hers, as she raised it to her mouth and touched his fingertips with her lips.
