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If she wanted to cast blame, she could only blame herself for falling for him, and worse, allowing herself to become so terribly attached. The attachment, the love, the passion... It was what made her hurt now. It was maddening that she felt so much for him, and he felt nothing at all.
The dinner with his winemakers went later than he anticipated and the castello was dark when he returned. Brando locked the front door and headed upstairs, hesitating on the second landing, wondering if he should still check on Charlotte at this late hour.
There was no light shining beneath her door and he remembered their fight earlier. Perhaps it was better to let her sleep. She needed sleep, and so did he. He’d have breakfast with her in the morning and begin working on untangling their knotted relationship, because ignoring her, and their problems, hadn’t worked so far.
The next morning Brando asked his housekeeper if Charlotte had requested a breakfast tray yet. The housekeeper looked at him, expression bewildered.
“She left yesterday, signor,” she said. “A car came for her a little after you left.”
Brando didn’t believe it. He went through his room, and then her former bedroom, but all traces of her were gone. He called her but her phone was turned off, and he was sent to voice mail. Brando struggled to stay calm as he threw his things into his leather duffel to return to Florence.
He spent the drive to Florence trying her phone—still off—before making some calls. She wasn’t at his house in Florence. She hadn’t checked back in at the hotel she’d stayed at before. Florence was a city filled with hotels. She could be anywhere.
He called a half-dozen hotels while he drove, and none of them had her under her name, or even his.
His frustration mounted with every call. This was ridiculous. Such a waste of time, as well as dangerous for her and their son. She was supposed to be on modified bed rest, not running off somewhere making it difficult for her to be found.
In Florence, he went straight to his house, asked his staff to help make discreet calls, but even after two days no one could find a trace of her. Brando was certain she wouldn’t try to fly, not in her condition, but where had she gone? And why? Why go through the motions of marrying him, if she’d never intended to stay?
Those questions haunted him over the next week and continued to trouble him for the rest of the summer as it seemed Charlotte had vanished completely.
CHAPTER TEN
TWO MONTHS WENT by, two months without a word from Charlotte, months that passed with agonizing slowness for Brando.
Where had she gone?
And why had she cut him out so completely?
He knew she’d seen Dr. Leonardi at least three times over the past eight weeks, because ten days ago Brando had cornered the doctor and demanded information. Dr. Leonardi didn’t know where Charlotte was staying, but he confirmed that she’d come in for her regular appointments and all was well.
So Charlotte was in the area still—that was a plus.
But where, he didn’t know, and he couldn’t find her, despite repeated searches. Knowing she’d remained in Florence helped calm him, though. He still didn’t understand why she’d leave, but he was grateful she wasn’t taking unnecessary risks by traveling.
The baby’s due date was September 24. If it wasn’t harvest season, he’d be permanently in the Florence town house, but as harvesting had begun, he was at the castello in Chianti, waiting for word, should word come that she’d gone into labor.
Word arrived far earlier than he expected, though. It was just the first week of September when Brando received a call from Livia telling him to get to the hospital immediately, that Charlotte had gone into labor.
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how Livia found out, but instead he hung up and drove straight to the hospital. Thankfully it was the middle of the day and there was no traffic, and he made it to the Florence hospital in under an hour.
Brando was met in the emergency waiting room by Livia. “There are complications,” Livia said bluntly. “They’ve taken her to surgery.”
“The baby?”
“Is fine. He’s here, small, but healthy. It’s Charlotte. She’s hemorrhaging. They’re trying to save her now.”
Brando shook his head. “What do you mean, save her?”
“Her blood pressure dropped very quickly. Her heart—”
“You’re not making sense.”
“Because you’re not listening. Charlotte is in critical condition, and I was told to prepare you—”
“Prepare me for what?”
“She might not make it, Brando. The surgeons are going to do the best they can, but there was a lack of blood flow to her vital organs.”
“I need to see her.”
“You can’t. She’s in surgery.”
“I’m her husband, Livia.”
Livia gave him a pitying look. “And what will you do once you’re there? How can you do anything to help her?”
“You don’t think I should be with her?”
“Where have you been all summer?”
He froze, and then slowly turned to stare at his sister. “What do you know about this?”
“I’ve taken care of her all summer.” Livia lifted her chin. “She’s been with me.”
“I’ve been to your house. She wasn’t there.”
“She’s been staying in the apartment over my studio. I’ve been taking her meals and making sure she gets to her doctor appointments. My daughter has been helping, too, keeping her company so she wouldn’t be lonely when I had to work.”
“You never told me.”
“Charlotte asked me not to.”
“Why?”
“She was terribly unhappy. She needed a friend.”
“I am her husband.”
“Yes, but not her friend.”
Livia’s reproach stung. His hands knotted. “You shouldn’t have gone behind my back.”
“What would you rather I did? Turn my back on my new sister, pregnant with your baby? Tell her I don’t care? But I care, and I took her in, because I know somewhere in your hard heart, you care.”
“I do not have a hard heart, and I have always cared. I was never unkind, never impatient—”
“But was there love?”
“Of course there was love. She’s my wife, the mother of my son.”
Livia sighed. “Brando, you’re so very shrewd in so many areas, but you don’t understand women, and you don’t understand Charlotte. Charlotte loves you, so much so that I think she’s dying because her heart is breaking.”
“She’s not dying.”
Livia’s shoulders twisted. “Fine. You know best. You know everything.”
Her icy, dismissive tone gave him pause. “You’re not being dramatic?”
She shot him a look of scorn. “You have a newborn son, and a wife dying. Why should I be dramatic?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe I’m in shock.”
“Then prepare yourself. It’s probably going to get worse.”
His chest tightened, his pulse felt heavy and slow. “She can’t die. We have a son—”
“You’ll find another wife. It’ll be fine.”
Brando drew back, appalled, sickened. “What in God’s name?”
“Her heart stopped, Brando. It will be a miracle if she makes it. But you’ll find someone else to marry and raise Charlotte’s son—”
Brando walked away from her then, going to the nurses’ desk and demanding to be allowed into the surgical room. “I’ll scrub in. I need to be there. My wife needs me.”
“That’s not permitted, signor. I’m sorry—”
He dropped his voice, speaking in measured words. “I am one of the largest benefactors for this hospital. I’m not asking to participate in surgery, but to be allowed to be in the room. I will
not interfere with anyone. I just need to be near her.”
The nurse said she’d check, but she couldn’t promise anything.
Brando refused to look at his sister while he waited for the nurse to return. Brando watched the hands on the clock slowly move. It seemed to take forever for the nurse to return, but it was maybe just five minutes.
“They’re just finishing now. She’s to be taken to ICU, where they will monitor her recovery. I’ll take you to her once she’s there. It will be another ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”
