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‘You did work experience here while you were studying?’ Lazzaro checked. ‘A couple of years ago?’
‘That’s right…’ Caitlyn blinked, stunned that he remembered, wondering what he remembered. ‘Just for a few days. I filled in an application form at the time, and I’ve been working as a maid while I’ve been studying ever since.’
He ran a hand over his forehead and trailed it down over his cheek, fingering for just a second the livid scar that ran the length of it. And for the second time in as many moments, Lazzaro came up with another logical explanation as to why this particular woman’s face remained in his memory.
Before.
The weekend before it had happened.
The weekend before, when life had been so much easier.
When laughing had come so much more readily.
He’d kissed thousands of women he couldn’t recall. Funny that he remembered one that he hadn’t.
‘Why haven’t you applied for a position here—given your history with the place?’
It was a perfectly reasonable question, one that her family and colleagues regularly asked, but one she simply couldn’t answer—and especially not to Lazzaro.
How could she tell him that for more than two years he’d been on her mind, that the king-size crush that had hit her that night—despite her busy life, despite dancing and fun and boyfriends—still hadn’t faded?
That she really needed to get a life.
One away from Lazzaro Ranaldi and the stupid torch she carried for him.
Maybe if his brother hadn’t died…maybe if she hadn’t started work as a chambermaid…maybe if he hadn’t been linked with Roxanne and it hadn’t been on every news bulletin and in every paper or magazine Caitlyn had opened…then, after that initial meeting, she’d have moved quickly on, forgotten the feel of his eyes on hers, forgotten the thrill in her stomach as that dark, ruthless face had been softened by a rare smile. Only in the days after that meeting she’d seen the pain in those closed features screaming from the newspapers, had winced at the scurrilous gossip that had ensued, the blistering row between brothers that had preceded Luca Ranaldi’s sudden and tragic death. But still working in the hotel—instead of moving on—she had caught her breath whenever she’d gleaned an occasional glimpse of him striding through the hotel, blushing in her maid’s uniform as—naturally—he didn’t deign to give her a glance. Though Caitlyn did. That perfect face, marred since that tragic day by a livid scar along his cheek, with lines now fanning his dark eyes and his mouth permanently set on grim. She could see the tension he carried in his shoulders, and wanted somehow for him to smile again.
Just the way he once had.
She hadn’t spoken to him since that night—not even once. And thank goodness for that, Caitlyn realised, because despite more than two years between drinks, so to speak, still he absolutely moved her. Despite the angry scar on his cheek, despite the closed, much more guarded expression he wore now, despite the pain in his eyes—still he was absolutely beautiful.
‘I need a bit more variety…’ Caitlyn answered truthfully—because she did. She needed to sample a world that didn’t have his name on every sheet of paper, needed to check her bank balance and not see ‘Ranaldi’, needed to just get over him—for good.
‘You’ll find nowhere better than right here.’
‘You’re probably right…’ Caitlyn’s face twisted slightly at the unwitting irony of his statement. ‘But I really think it’s time for a change—so you see today really doesn’t matter. I was leaving soon anyway.’
‘But it does matter, Caitlyn. You have worked for this hotel for two years and one month.’ He gave a small swallow as her eyes narrowed, and he glanced again at her file, as if he’d gleaned the information from there. Only he hadn’t—the date was indelibly etched on his mind, but she didn’t need to know why…
It had nothing to do with her.
‘If anything untoward has happened, you have the same rights as any other staff member. Just because Malvolio is family…’
