“Goodbye,” she finished with gravity. “I never said goodbye.”
The finality in her tone and the resolve in her expression grabbed him by the throat.
“Ciao,” he managed past the strangling fist. He was clinging to hostile suspicion and inescapable guilt like it was a life raft, trying to convince himself this would be goodbye if he could only prove the baby wasn’t his.
But he couldn’t say it. Not yet.
“Buona notte, bella.”
CHAPTER THREE
LAUREN DIDN’T SLEEP well. Paolo’s husky voice kept snapping her awake as he spoke her name in that sexy inflection of his, murmuring his throwaway endearments. He wasn’t beside her when she woke though, making the bed feel too expansive and empty.
She was such a fool. She’d slept alone more than she had alongside her husband, yet after one night with Paolo she now woke so lonely she wanted to die. What a dope.
She caught a few winks on the plane. International first class was a lot more comfortable than flying small-town air to see her mother in Manitoba or flying in a military aircraft to meet Ryan at his parents’ in Charleston. Funny that she’d flown dozens of times, but had never gone farther than a few states or provinces over.
The realization gave her pause as she waited for her luggage to arrive on the carousel. She was really here, in another country, being bold and independent. Her grandmother hadn’t been able to travel—or do much of anything, which is why Lauren had moved in with her at eighteen; Ryan had invariably wanted to visit Charleston when he had leave. The closest she’d ever come to striking out for adventure had been when her cousin, who was going to school in New York, had begged her to visit.
Lauren’s heart panged with pity for her timid, nineteen-year-old self. She hadn’t wanted to go, but her grandmother had made her. Lauren had been the worst shrinking violet in those days, trembling in her cousin Crystal’s skintight cocktail dress, dreading someone would peek past the loose hair she was hiding behind and discover she was underage. Upscale bars are where you find rich husbands, Crystal had said, insisting they go on the stroll for one. When the tall, dark, insanely handsome Paolo had approached, Lauren had been certain he was the owner coming to kick her out.
He’d offered to buy them a glass of wine.
Lauren had been stunned by his melted-chocolate eyes and her first experience of being hit on, even in an offhand way. Her entire being had become electrified by his admiring gaze. Incinerating with embarrassment, she had peeled her gauche stare from this dazzling man to look at Crystal—who’d accepted the invitation with élan. Gorgeous, wealthy men hit on her all the time.
He was engaged, Paolo had confessed. But that doesn’t stop a man from enjoying pretty company while he waits for a friend. His friend had been Ryan.
Ryan hadn’t made her stammer and writhe with self-consciousness so she’d focused on him and tried to ignore that all her inner workings were fixated on the compelling man sitting so close to her.
Lauren sighed, wondering whether her life would have been different if she had said no to Paolo’s glass of wine. Or no to Crystal’s insistence that she come to New York.
Or yes to Paolo at the wedding reception. An image flashed in her mind of the way Paolo’s hair had fallen over his tortured brow when Ryan had come upon them in the garden, Paolo’s invitation to leave with him still hanging in the sultry air. Paolo’s resentful glare when Lauren had moved to her groom’s side to ease the animal tension radiating off both men, still chilled her.#p#????#e#
She had thought the men might come to blows, but Paolo had been looking for a fight and Ryan had known it. He’d said so later.
She could still taste the tang of whiskey that had flavored Paolo’s tongue and had known his pass toward her had only been a drunken, impulsive act. He had made the overture yet she’d always sensed he blamed her for it. His anger still stuck and stung.
Ryan hadn’t blamed her, though. That probably should have been an indication that he wasn’t exactly invested in her fidelity. Instead, it had been three years before she started to get inklings he wasn’t the most faithful husband.
Did Paolo blame her for that kiss? Is that why he’d cut her in two at Ryan’s thirtieth, pithily dismissing her worries that her husband was fooling around? He’d made her feel so foolish for her suspicions, but if she’d gone on her instincts, she wouldn’t have still been married to Ryan when he was killed. She wouldn’t have the memory of Paolo’s gaunt, shattered look when he’d broken his terrible news that Ryan was dead.