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And in a way he was grateful for his flustered assistant for finding him something to legitimately take his anger out on, because he’d been spoiling for a fight ever since he’d left Valentina this morning.
What better reason? Because without Lily’s signature in that spot on that contract, the palazzo was still legally hers, regardless of all the other papers that had been signed and countersigned. Regardless of the fact that his people had been working on the palazzo to shore it up and get it stable before the real work began. And despite the fact that she now owned the apartment lock, stock and barrel.
Maybe it was his fault for taking too much time off lately to spend with Valentina and trusting his staff to do the jobs they should, and that thought didn’t make him any happier.
He needed that signature.
Carmela let him into the apartment and showed him to the salone, where he paced its length while he waited. He glanced at the caller ID when his cellphone rang and pressed the receive button. ‘Matteo. Sì!’
He grunted when Matteo complimented him on the photograph of him and Valentina at the opera in the online papers this morning. He didn’t want to be reminded of Valentina, even if his plan to have their romance followed by the papers and have them openly speculating about the possibilities of a new Barbarigo bride had worked supremely well. ‘But that’s not why I’m calling,’ Matteo continued. ‘I was wondering if you and Valentina would come to dinner on Friday evening.’
‘Sì. I can make it, but Valentina will be gone by then.’
‘Gone? Gone where?’
‘Home.’
‘A shame. So when is she coming back?’
‘Never.’
‘Why? I like her, very much. It’s time you settled down, Luca. She seems perfect for you.’
Luca laughed. ‘Forget it, Matteo, I’m not looking for a wife. Least of all someone like Valentina.’ He tried to remember why. Tried to dredge up all the reasons why it had once seemed so true. Tried to bundle them all up into some kind of argument that might convince his cousin. Failed, and changed tack. ‘This is sport, nothing more. Rest assured, she won’t be in Venice come Friday. I’m making sure of it.’
He heard a polite cough behind him and turned. ‘You wanted to see me?’ Lily offered, one eyebrow arched, her fingers laced elegantly together in front of her.
He cut the call and slipped his phone into his pocket and pulled out an envelope from another. ‘I have some paperwork for you to sign,’ he said, wondering how much she’d heard. ‘It seems you missed a signature before.’
‘I spoke to Valentina yesterday,’ she said, ignoring him as he placed the paper down on a nearby desk and held out a pen for her. ‘Her flight is on Monday. What exactly is this “sport” you are planning?’
‘Who says I was talking about Valentina? Now, if you would just sign here...’
‘I heard what you said. What game are you playing, Luca?’
‘Just sign the form, Lily.’
‘Tell me. Because if you are planning on hurting my daughter...’
‘You expect me to believe you, of all people, care? You, who shipped her out here to bail you out of the mess you’d made of your own life? You, who would sell your daughter to the devil if it profited you?’
‘Guilty,’ she said, ‘on all charges,’ surprising him with her easy admission. ‘But these last few weeks I’ve got to know my daughter properly, and I like her. I like her a lot, so much so that I will miss her terribly when she’s gone. And I know I have no right to even ask, but I so wish she did not have to go.’
The world had gone mad! Nothing was as he had thought it would be. Nothing was how it should be. Valentina was going. He should feel happy. He would be happy. Just as soon as this black cloud lifted from his shoulders.
But Lily, he’d expected to be happy too—a new house, money, a new man—the Lily he knew should not need her daughter’s presence a moment longer. And yet here she was practically despairing that she was leaving.
What the hell was happening?
‘Promise me you won’t hurt her, Luca,’ Lily inserted into the weighted silence. ‘Please promise me that.’
And the frustrations of the last twenty-four hours—the news that Valentina was leaving—a night at the opera with a woman who looked like a goddess followed by a night of exquisite love-making—the missed signature—all coalesced to form one molten rage. ‘I’m not promising anything!’
