And the rest, as they said, was history, Natalia soberly concluded. ‘He deliberately set out to use me.’
Alegra stopped walking. So did Natalia. They had almost reached the main foyer but neither seemed to notice. ‘You need to talk to him about that,’ she advised, and at the sudden freeze she saw encase Natalia’s face she sighed and said, ‘I am going back to sit with Edward, for I cannot leave here until I know the danger has surely passed.’
‘Do you want me to stay with you?’ It was instant and instinctive to make the offer.
But Alegra’s refusal made its point. ‘We need time alone together. And I need time to get used to the idea of you being a part of my family now.’ A brief smile tried to take the sting out of her words.
Natalia smiled back in an effort to make it known that she understood, even if it did hurt. Maybe Alegra saw the hurt, because her cold expression softened a little. ‘Go now,’ she advised. ‘I will find you if I need to but I do not see this problem he has caused his silly heart worsening now that the truth is out in the open.’
No, Natalia thought wearily. Neither did she. Edward had been living under a terrible strain for the last year one way or another. It was no wonder his heart had finally insisted he give himself a break.
About to turn away, Alegra spoke again. ‘Please forgive my rudeness to you before,’ she intoned. ‘It was a shock when he suddenly collapsed then began to confess all to me.’
‘I’m sorry you had to find out that way,’ Natalia responded, not knowing what else to say to make any of this better.
Alegra just smiled another of those smiles, then turned to walk back the way she had come, leaving Natalia standing there watching her go with tears in her eyes again, though she couldn’t decide who they were for—herself or Alegra.
The whole situation had always had the potential to turn ugly. Now it had done, she found herself half wishing she had never contacted Edward, then there would have been none of this. No secret, no lies—and no ruthless Sicilian hell bent on waging a vendetta.
‘Are you ready to leave now?’ an all-too-familiar voice enquired.
A wave of pain washed over her, turning her around before she had a chance to think. Giancarlo was standing not three feet away. Big, dark, and with no expression whatsoever showing on his lean face.
She wanted to turn away again but found she couldn’t. She wanted to hate him but found she couldn’t even do that. So she ended up just standing there hurting all over, which made such a terrible mockery of everything…
She didn’t know whether to hit him or hug him. Her mouth was vulnerable but her eyes were like glass, a dark grey glass with the blue lost behind a film of tears which, even as he looked sombrely into them, was quickly frosting into ice to shut him out.
But the quivering mouth was letting her down. She was hurting and she desperately needed someone to hold her right now.
Dio, he thought, so did he. But touching, he knew, was out of the question. Touch her now
and she would probably never forgive him for violating that invisible barrier of self-defence she was standing beyond.
‘I have a taxi waiting outside,’ he told her, and was relieved to hear the words come out level because he certainly wasn’t feeling level inside.
He expected the mute shake of her head in refusal. He even expected the cold shoulder she offered him as she altered direction so that she could walk by him without offering him a single word.
He didn’t try to stop her, but as she went by him he fed quietly after her, ‘I was deceived as much as you were.’
The claim stopped her, but she didn’t turn, and his throat grew tight as he stood watching her hair and her dress glitter in the overhead lights of the foyer.
‘No,’ she said, that was all, just that small, tight denial, then she was walking again, beautiful head held high, slender spine as straight as an arrow, sensational legs long in their stride.
Grimly determined, he followed, drawing level with her, then adjusting his stride to hers. The gap between them was still there—not quite as wide but wide enough for her to feel her defensive barrier was not being breached. Neither did she turn to look at him and he did not look at her. The exit doors were automatic, swinging smoothly open as they reached them and they stepped out into the cold night air. She paused and shivered, her hands going up to cup her bare arms.
‘Where is your coat?’ he asked, beckoning the private taxi forward.
‘I forgot it.’
He grimaced because he hadn’t expected her to reply. The taxi drew up. It was a top-of-the-range black Mercedes promising warmth and comfort—if he could get her inside it.
Ignoring the car, she began searching the street for the nearest taxi rank.
‘Money?’ he prompted next.
She indicated with a shrug of one folded arm the sparkling black evening bag dangling from her wrist by its narrow strap.
It was communication of sorts, he supposed. ‘Enough to take you to Chelsea—after midnight—when taxi fares go through the roof?’