Observing his struggle, she put her fork down. ‘Next time just answer it. You know you want to.’
Part of him did want to, but he recognised that as a habitual response derived from years of putting work first.
She’d called him ‘the Provider’ and Cristiano acknowledged the accuracy of that description. He’d slipped into that role from the moment he’d taken the distressed call from his mother on the day his father had died suddenly.
He’d left the US immediately, flown home and taken charge. And he’d been in that role ever since, even though his younger brother had long since proved himself capable of playing his part.
What had started as necessity had become a way of life and he’d never even questioned it.
Until now.
Now, the opportunity to close another deal, to expand the business, to make more profit were all subordinate to his need to make his marriage work. For possibly the first time in his life, he didn’t care what the person on the phone wanted. He had no urge to check his voicemail. He didn’t care if his business was collapsing.
The phone started ringing again, the shrill insistent tone disturbing the tranquillity of the terrace and sending the tiny sparrows swooping for cover. And all the time Laurel was watching him, those beautiful green eyes guarded.
‘Answer it. Then you’ll be able to stop wondering who it was and how much money you just lost by not taking the call.’
‘That isn’t what I’m wondering.’ He was wondering how on earth he was going to compensate for what he’d done to her. How he was going to prove to her that he loved her.
What sort of provider had he been to Laurel? Financially, yes, he’d provided for her, but emotionally he’d left her to fend for herself and that knowledge scraped uncomfortably over his conscience.
‘Did you even tell anyone where you were going?’ She sounded exasperated. ‘They’re probably sending out a search party as we speak.’
‘It’s true that I haven’t told anyone.’
‘You’ve probably triggered a security alert.’
‘Very possibly.’ Remembering the startled faces of his security team, he breathed deeply, frustrated by the realities of his life. ‘Perhaps I ought to just—’
‘Yes. Do it!’ She reached for her glass. ‘I don’t expect you not to work, Cristiano. You’re missing the point. I have every intention of going through my own emails later. I respect your drive and ambition. I have plenty of it myself. That isn’t a problem. That wasn’t the problem.’ Her change of tense took them swiftly to the heart of the real problem and it wasn’t his phone, which had once again stopped ringing.
She sipped her water.
Sweat broke out on the back of his neck.
He was thinking, as she was, that he’d let her down when she’d needed him most. Images of her alone in that hospital bed kept flying into his head. ‘If it is any consolation, I feel like an utter bastard for what I did to you.’
‘You mean for what you didn’t do.’
‘That too.’
‘Good. You should feel bad.’ Slowly, she put her glass down on the table. ‘You were thoughtless and insensitive.’
He winced as he recognised himself in that description. ‘So you’re not going to say, Don’t worry about it?’
‘No. You should worry about it. It was shocking behaviour. If you weren’t worried I wouldn’
t be sitting here now.’
Cristiano wondered whether it was him or whether Sicily was in the grip of a searing heatwave. His palms were sweating—even his brain felt hot. When his phone rang for a third time he hauled it out of his pocket deciding that one conversation now would save a myriad of interruptions for the next few weeks.
‘Five minutes,’ he vowed as he scanned the number. ‘It’s Santo. I’ll tell him he’s in charge. Then I’m switching it off.’
Laurel was staring in astonishment. ‘What happened to your phone?’
‘I had a slight accident. It fell out of my pocket when I was grabbing my clothes in a hurry to try and catch you at the airport.’
‘Oh, dear.’ Her eyes lifted to his. ‘You did have a stressful morning.’