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Keep it to himself.
Never let it go.
But there was a saying about loving someone and setting them free. In that her grandfather had been wrong.
Stefano knew he hadn’t been able to hold her and keep her before because he’d been in no fit state to offer her anything. He only hoped he was better now, because her absence in his life had left a hole so great nothing could fill it. He’d thought the chasm between himself and Alessio bad enough. It was a mere crack in the pavement compared to this. Without Lucy, his life seemed wholly lacking, and he had no idea if he could fix what he’d deliberately, callously broken.
‘We don’t owe each other anything, Stefano. If you feel an obligation to me in any way, I’m releasing you from it.’
‘I only want to talk.’
And he hoped that words would be enough. Though he’d already hurt her terribly with his words. Words not meant. Words spat out in fear because of self-loathing. He knew his actions would need to match the true meaning of what he said tonightexactly, or he would lose her for ever.
If he hadn’t lost her already.
‘If I come up to your room and listen to what you have to say, will you then leave me alone?’
‘Of course.’
Every part of him objected to his promise, but if all he could ever have of her was her music, then that would be enough. It had to be. He’d become her most ardent yet silent supporter.
‘There are conditions.’
She stood there so fierce, dressed all in black—presumably so nothing would detract from the music she played—but all he could see washer. She filled the foyer of the hotel, luminous with her strawberry blonde hair in a flawless chignon, her honey eyes glowing with a furious fire. How everyone in this space was not as transfixed as he was, he could not explain.
‘Whatever you want, Lucy.’
She looked stricken. ‘You stay on your side of the room. I stay on mine.’
For a moment, hope flared. If she didn’t want to be close to him then maybe she felt it too—the indefinable, shimmering desire between them. And, whilst she looked magnificent, no amount of make-up could hide the bruised shadows under her eyes, which Stefano was surehe’dcaused.
He craved to touch her, comfort her, soothe away her pain. But he’d hold those demands of hers sacrosanct. It was a small price to pay if it allowed him to say what he needed to. And when he had, he’d open his arms and hope she’d walk into them.
Not sure of his voice in this moment, he nodded.
‘I need the words, Stefano.’
‘I accept your conditions.’
The antique lift door rattled open. Her eyes widened, almost as if in fear, and then she went ahead of him. He keyed in the number for his floor as she took one corner, fixing her gaze resolutely on the moving numbers as the door clanked shut before them. He stood in the other corner, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to watch those same numbers pass him by like a terrible countdown.
Probably to the end...hopefully to the beginning.
The lift eased to a stop and he followed Lucy out to the only door—that of the Presidential Suite. He opened it and motioned for her to go inside. She entered, then stopped. A mountain of a man rose from a chair. He’d forgotten about the security guard following him, and saw Lucy stare at him with concern.
‘You may go now,’ Stefano said. ‘I’ll call with further instructions if required.’
The man nodded. ‘Of course, Your Excellency.’
‘Please excuse the necessary security,’ Stefano said, as Lucy watched the man leave. He took himself to the furthest corner of the room, since that was what she wanted, and draped his jacket over the couch. ‘Would you like something to drink? I can call for tea, coffee...hot chocolate?’
‘This isn’t a social visit. You said you had things to say.’
She crossed her arms, standing straight and tall just inside the closed door of the room, but her voice... He could hear the desperation of it. Then her watchful gaze looked him up and down. Did she want him still? It was time he played the cards he’d been dealt. He hoped it was a good enough hand.
‘I have a message from His Royal Highness.’
‘Are you speaking again?’
