Brunetti's Secret Son

Ignoring the look, he carried her to the steps and helped her with the skirt. Then, covering her top half with the towel, he swung her into his arms and headed for the villa.

‘I can walk, Romeo,’ she said in a small, tight voice.

‘I believe I’m living up to my caveman reputation.’

‘You’re performing to the wrong audience. You don’t need to prove anything to me.’

He glanced down at her tear-stained face and his chest tightened. ‘Do I not?’

She shook her head, but her eyes refused to meet his. ‘I think we understand each other perfectly.’

He wanted to rail at her that he didn’t understand; that he’d thought their moment at the waterfall, before they’d made love, had started something they could build on. Her mutinous expression stopped him.

Besides, he was beginning to think they communicated much better using a different language.

Entering the villa, he headed for the stairs and his bedroom. The moment she raised her head and looked around, she scrambled from his arms.

Romeo set her down and shut the door.

‘Why have you brought me here?’ she demanded.

The accusation in her eyes ripped through him but he forced himself not to react to it. Reaching for the towel, he tugged it from her, then he pulled her close.

‘Answer me, Romeo...’

‘Shh, gattina, just let this be.’ Another rough plea he was unashamed of, even though it threw him back to another time, another place, pleading in a much younger but equally desperate voice.

It was the night his mother had packed his meagre belongings in a tattered bag and told him she was sending him to his thug of a father.

Disturbed by the memories that seemed intent on flooding in, he sealed his mouth to Maisie’s, searching for her unique balm that soothed his soul.

His heart leapt when she didn’t push him away, but then she wasn’t responding, either. Groaning in frustration, he pushed his fingers into her hair, desperate to stem the alarm rising through him that he was fighting a losing battle.

Eventually, she tore her mouth away. ‘Please stop. I don’t want this.’

He raised his head, the landmine seeming to spread like an ocean before him. ‘This?’ he intoned starkly.

Her eyes slid past his, to a point beyond his shoulder. ‘You. I don’t want you.’

Acrid bitterness filled him, along with the sharp barbs of memory, but still he pushed. ‘That’s a lie. I proved it once, I can prove it again and as many times as you need to face the truth.’

She shook her head wearily. ‘That was just the sex talking. Nothing more.’

‘So you mean you don’t want me, the man?’ Why did that feel so damn agonising to say?

Her gaze remained averted for another minute before meeting his eyes. ‘You’re an amazing father, and I’m sure you’ll offer Lucca support and opportunities in life I can only dream of. But I can’t stay with you. After our guests leave, I’m returning to Ireland with Lucca. I’m sorry, but this...this was a mistake.’

She started to take her rings off. He lunged for her hands, stopped the action before he fully realised he’d moved. ‘You will not take off your ring!’ The snarled command stemmed from deep within his soul.

Her blue eyes reflected pain, enough to hammer home just how much being here, being with him, was costing her. How could he not have seen that? How could he have entertained the idea that they could attempt a proper marriage?

‘I can’t...’

‘I know my opinion matters very little to you, but think of our son. It’s his birthday tomorrow. Are you this determined to throw a shadow over the occasion?’

Her face lost a trace of colour. ‘Of course not.’

‘Then wait. For his sake.’

Her head dipped and she pushed the rings slowly back on her finger. He forced himself to drop her hands, move away.

‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ she murmured.

He didn’t respond. He was struggling to find even the simplest explanation of what was going on inside him. He heard the door shut and paced to the window. In the reflection behind him, he saw the bed they’d risen from this morning and wondered at how much he hated the idea of sleeping in it now.

Undressing, he entered the shower and let the water beat over his head. It wouldn’t drown out her words, her face.

I can’t stay with you.

His bitter laughter rose above the pounding cascade.

At least those words had been less harsh than the ones his mother had thrown at him before she’d left him on Agostino Fattore’s doorstep.