Surrendering to the Vengeful Italian

She reached for them and a sudden powerful sob of emotion rushed up her throat. On shaky legs she sank to the sofa, hating it that she felt so off-balance, so raw and exposed.

But how could she not?

She wasn’t the same woman who had left London a week ago. She felt different—more aware of herself. As if someone—no, not ‘someone’, Leo—had shone a great floodlight inside her and illuminated all the parts of herself she’d ignored for too long.

He made her feel desired. Wanted.

Worth something.

Made her want to rip down the safe, boring black and white walls she’d erected like a concrete tower around herself.

She rubbed her chest as if she could banish the ache within.

She loved Leo, but what future could they hope for? One in which he spent his days trying to forgive her and she spent hers trying to earn back his trust?

A shudder rippled through her. Her mother had endured a miserable marriage and she didn’t want that for herself. She wanted a partnership based on honesty and respect. On love. That last especially. Because if two people loved each other they could overcome anything, surely?

She forced herself to her feet, returned to the bedroom to finish her packing.

She didn’t know if Leo loved her—didn’t know if what he felt for her ran any deeper than lust—but she would not play the desperate, needy lover. She would not pout and demand that he declare his feelings for her. No. She would do this with dignity and strength. With self-respect. The kind she had often wished over the years her mother possessed.

And if Leo chose to let her walk away...if he was content to see the back of her...she would have her answer.

* * *

Relief. That was what Leo told himself he was feeling. When he walked into the suite and saw Helena sitting on the sofa, her bags packed beside her, he felt relief. She had come to her senses. Realised in the cold light of day that she could do better. Better than a man who had let her down when she’d needed him most.

‘You’re leaving.’ He kept his voice flat. Neutral. As if those words hadn’t stripped the lining from his stomach.

She rose, her expression serious and her eyes, he realised on closer inspection, bloodshot and puffy. Self-loathing roiled in his stomach. No doubt he was the cause of her misery. He thrust his hands into his trouser pockets before he did something selfish, like haul her into his arms and beg her not to leave.

‘I think that’s wise,’ he said.

‘Do you?’ She looked at him, her gaze wide, unblinking.

‘Si. Of course.’

He strode to the wet bar, pulled a soda from the fridge. Later he’d need something stronger. For now he just needed something to do—an excuse not to look at her. Not to drown in those enormous pools of blue.

‘Our seven days are up, are they not?’

Silence behind him. He popped the tab on the can, quashed the temptation to crush the aluminium in his fist. Instead he took a casual swig and turned.

She took a step towards him, her clasped hands twisting in front of her. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And I know you can’t stay here for ever. Neither can I—which is why I’m going back to my flat...’ Her voice trailed off, an awkward silence descending.

‘I video-conferenced with my board this morning, regarding my acquisition of ShawCorp.’ He kept his delivery brisk. Businesslike. ‘They’ve agreed to a delay on the asset divestment.’

‘Oh?’ Her eyebrows lifted. ‘How long?’

‘Nine months, initially—provided costs can be restricted and profits improved.’ He put the soda down. ‘Time to see how the company performs and consider options for its future.’

She blinked. ‘I...thank you.’

‘Don’t thank me, Helena.’ A bitter edge crept into his voice. ‘We both know you don’t owe me any gratitude.’

Something flashed in her eyes. An emotion he couldn’t decipher. Her hands continued to fidget and he fought not to reach out and still them.

‘When will you return to Rome?’