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He picked up his phone from the floor, where he’d thrown it earlier in a fit of fury and frustration. But he still couldn’t get a connection; the network was either down or overloaded.
He tossed the phone aside.
His house was strong, he reminded himself. Architecturally designed and built to withstand the elements. And yet bricks and mortar were no match for Mother Nature at her worst. If she was so inclined she would demolish everything in her path.
Hell.
He resumed his pacing. Josephine. Josephine and her family knew Marietta was alone at the house. He’d called his housekeeper yesterday, before he’d left, to let her know—just as a precaution. The Bouchards would check on Marietta, wouldn’t they? If they’d been forewarned of the storm...
But the weather predictions had been wildly off—the storm was hitting land two hours sooner than expected...
Nico’s head threatened to explode. He felt useless. Helpless. And he knew this feeling. He knew it. Remembered it. Had sworn he would never feel it again.
Suddenly Julia’s face swam in his mind—laughing, eyes dancing...and then glassy, lifeless, her pale skin streaked with dirt. And cold. So, so cold.
His legs buckled beneath him and his knees slammed into the cheap carpet, the impact jarring his entire body.
Loving Julia had made him weak, left him open and defenceless, so that when the worst had happened—when she’d been taken from him—he’d had nothing inside him to fight the pain. And the pain, the agony of losing someone he’d loved, had nearly destroyed him.
Mon Dieu.
He couldn’t do this again.
His mother.
Julia.
Marietta.
A wild, rage-filled roar tore from his throat and he picked up an ugly vase from the coffee table and hurled it across the room.
* * *
Marietta navigated her chair around the tree branches and clumps of debris strewn across the Bouchards’ front yard and cast yet another anxious look towards the hills.
She couldn’t see Nico’s house from the village, but every so often throughout the morning she’d taken a break from helping in the kitchen to come outside and scour the skyline for signs of his chopper. Thankfully power had been restored to most of the village, but the phone lines were still down and mobile coverage was intermittent.
A gentle hand squeezed her shoulder. She looked up, and Josephine smiled down at her.
‘He’ll be fine.’
Marietta nodded. ‘I know.’
Josephine gave her an understanding look. ‘It is too easy to worry about the ones we love, oui?’
Marietta felt her smile stiffen. Was it really so obvious that she loved him?
‘How are you feeling?’ asked Josephine.
‘Fine, thanks.’
And she was fine. She had a cut on her forehead, scratches on her arms and some bruises from falling out of her chair. But otherwise she was healthy and safe—thanks to Luc and Philippe, who had driven into the hills as the storm had descended on the island and rescued her.
She cast another look at the sky—a clear vivid blue in the wake of the storm—and then returned with Josephine to the kitchen. They’d been baking all morning, preparing a mountain of food to sustain the men who were tackling the massive job of cleaning up the village.
It was good to feel useful, to do something constructive, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Nico.
She wanted more time with him. Wanted to explore the possibility of seeing him once she was back in Rome. It was crazy, and extending their affair would only delay the inevitable heartbreak, but she wanted it all the same. Because as much as her feelings for him frightened her, the thought of tonight being their very last together frightened her even more.
