The tap at the door had Alessandro looking up from his desk in weary irritation. He’d spent the last eight hours trying to put out the flames of a scandal that had been brewing while he’d been essentially asleep at the wheel.
One of their investors whose fund they managed had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, to the tune of many millions, and there were those who were looking to implicate Rossi Enterprises as well.
‘You know that saying, no publicity is bad publicity?’ one of his staff had remarked tiredly. ‘Well, that’s certainly not the case.’
No, it wasn’t. Alessandro hadn’t paid any attention to the media in the last ten days, but now he saw that the financial scandal was splashed all over the newspapers and some smart aleck had decided to tie the breaking scandal to his appearance at the Rossi balls. Is the Prince of Manhattan too busy playing with his Princess to pay attention? ran one headline. Another one screamed Notorious recluse has decided the party circuit is more fun than fusty numbers...
For heaven’s sake. Once upon a time such things would have coldly amused him, for he knew absolutely that they held no truth. Now, he wondered. Why had he allowed himself to get so distracted? He’d never been away from the office for this long. He’d never spent days ignoring the world around him for the woman right there. What was happening to him?
Was it love—a thought that admittedly terrified him—or merely infatuation? The prospect made him feel bleak. How could he know? How could he trust himself, never mind Liane? And did he even want to?
‘Alessandro?’ Liane’s voice was soft, tentative.
Alessandro raked his hands through his hair as he pushed himself away from the desk. ‘Come in.’
She opened the door cautiously, standing in the doorway as she regarded him with dark, uncertain eyes. ‘You’ve been working?’
‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘I’m sorry I haven’t been available.’
‘It’s all right. I never expected...’ She swallowed. ‘I understand you have other obligations.’
She sounded so small and sad, and it filled Alessandro with both remorse and annoyance. He didn’t want to care so much...and yet he did.
‘I just...’ She swallowed hard, her face flushing, her hands clasped together tightly. ‘I know you’re busy, and maybe...maybe you need to return to Rome or New York or wherever...’
‘What are you saying?’ His voice came out terse.
‘I just wanted to tell you that I...that I’ve really...’
The ping from his mobile lying on the desk made her falter and Alessandro’s gaze snapped to the screen, which was lighting up with message after message.
Ping. Ping. Ping.
He snatched up the phone, swiping the screen, his eyes first widening and then narrowing as he read all the alerts.
‘Alessandro...’ Liane’s voice wavered. ‘What is it?’
His stomach clenched and he felt as if he’d swallowed a stone as he swiped through the images, one after the other: The secret is out...the Prince of Manhattan is desperately in love!
He looked up to see Liane, her face now deathly pale, biting her lips in nervousness. I just wanted to tell you...
‘You did this?’ he asked in a low voice.
She glanced nervously at the phone still clenched in his hand. ‘Did what?’
‘Put our...our arrangement up for public consumption.’ He flung the word at her like a weapon, meant to wound. ‘Were you hoping to force my hand? Did you actually think that would work?’
‘I...’ She shook her head slowly. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘You must know what I’m talking about.’ No matter how innocent or confused she pretended to be. How else could these photos have been posted online? She must have been conspiring with Ella all along. The thought made him feel sick.
‘Did Ella post something?’ she asked, and he was reminded of the first night he’d seen her, when she’d come outside and recognised that damned shoe. He saw the flicker of recognition, resignation, in her eyes and he understood. She had known then, and she clearly knew now. Had their time together all been an act, a con? No, surely not. And yet...
‘She might have posted it, but you provided the images.’ Images of him that he’d never, ever want anyone to see.
‘What images? Alessandro, I haven’t seen anything—’
‘Then go look on your phone,’ he practically snarled. ‘And then you can leave this house immediately.’
Even as he said the words he knew he didn’t mean them. He was angry but, more fundamentally, he was hurt, devastated by her betrayal, and he was lashing out because he couldn’t bear her to see his vulnerability, not when he’d been so used. Used in a way he’d promised himself he never would be, trotted out to serve someone else’s schemes. Hers or Ella’s, did it even matter? She’d been party to it all.
Liane’s face was white, her eyes wide and dark as she stared at him. For a second he thought she’d walk out without a word, turn and run, an admission of guilt. Then colour flared in her cheeks and her eyes narrowed, her lips parting.
‘So that’s it, is it?’ she asked with a strangely lethal quiet. ‘You act as judge and jury? This is you deciding when it ends?’ Her voice remained quiet yet it held a razor-sharp mocking edge that made Alessandro blink.
‘I decide,’ he replied, ‘because of what you did.’
‘I don’t even know what I’m supposed to have done, but it doesn’t even matter. Ella posted something. I get it. Just like I get how angry you are, because it’s easier to be angry than hurt, isn’t it, Alessandro? Be outraged and then you have a reason for running away.’ She lifted her chin, her eyes glittering. ‘I came down here to tell you I loved you. Or at least that I could love, if we had more time. If we gave ourselves that chance. Even though I was terrified, I was going to be brave enough to do it, to risk my heart and my pride, because I thought we shared something that was worth that risk. I thought—I deluded myself, really—that I could make you see that. Because...’ her voice wavered and she took a quick steadying breath ‘...you made me feel seen. And important. And...and loved, in a way no one else had before. And I believed in that. I believed in us. More fool me, clearly.’
Alessandro opened his mouth but no words came out. He was reeling and yet he was still angry. ‘Then who took these photos, Liane?’ he demanded, and it wasn’t until he’d spoken that he realised that wasn’t the question he’d wanted to ask at all. Do you really love me? was the one that burned on his lips.
‘Oh, Alessandro.’ Liane gave a sad little laugh as she shook her head. ‘I haven’t even seen the photos, so I couldn’t tell you. But it doesn’t really matter, does it? For you to jump to the conclusion that I took them...and then to ask me to leave...’ She drew a hitched breath. ‘Well, that says it all, doesn’t it? Unfortunately.’ She paused, her spine straightening, that poignant lift of her chin. ‘Thank you for these last few weeks. I’ll go pack my bags.’
And he watched her walk out of the room, her back straight and proud, her body bristling with dignity, while he stayed silent.