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As he waited for the plane to draw to a standstill so they could disembark, he quickly texted her.
Missing you already. I’ve asked Raf to come and keep you company. See you tonight. I will text when I know what flight I can make. The earliest I can!
He ended it with a line of smiley faces, which would make her smile too, he knew, and then slid his phone away, seized up his briefcase and levered himself from his seat to get off the plane as soon as he could.
The sooner he was in Geneva, the sooner he could see his client, and the sooner he could turn right around and get back to the airport again.
Back with Connie.
The only place he wanted to be.
‘Connie...’
Rafaello’s greeting was friendly as he came towards her in the hotel’s opulent lobby. But when he reached her, he stopped. Scrutinised her.
Concern filled his face. ‘You look as white as a sheet,’ he said.
He took her elbow, guided her into the nearby lounge. It was possible to have breakfast there, seated in comfortable armchairs with low tables between, overlooking the glorious gardens. But it wasn’t busy, and he headed for a pair of armchairs away from the other occupants.
She sat down, as limp as a rag doll.
‘What’s happened?’ Rafaello asked quietly as he took his seat opposite her.
She looked at him. Her face wasn’t working properly, she knew.
‘I don’t know what to do,’ she said finally. The words fell from her like stones.
Rafaello’s level gaze rested on her. ‘In what respect?’ he pressed when she went silent again.
‘Dante,’ she said. And his name, too, fell like a stone.
Rafaello crossed one leg over the other. ‘Ah...’ he said.
A waiter was hovering, and Rafaello turned to Connie.
‘Have you had breakfast?’
She shook her head numbly.
‘Then you should,’ he said.
He ordered food for her, and coffee for himself, and the waiter disappeared.
Connie swallowed. There was a huge stone in her throat and needles in her lungs. She became aware that Rafaello was speaking and looked at him. He had that lawyer look about him and his eyes were resting on her, their expression guarded.
‘It was what he said at dinner last night, wasn’t it?’ he said.
Her eyes widened, stared, then dropped away.
She heard Rafaello’s voice continuing. ‘You understood what he told Bianca?’
She could only nod numbly. What use to deny it? None.
‘He...he confirmed it when I asked him about it later...in our room. He said he’d told her we weren’t married. At first I didn’t understand why he’d said that to her...’
She lifted her heavy gaze to Rafaello—his face was impassive, unreadable.
‘And then...then he...he explained. Oh, not in relation to Bianca. But what he said about us. About him. About...’ she swallowed, and it hurt to swallow over the stone in her throat ‘...me.’
