Christmas Contract For His Cinderella - Page 22

; “I’ve said goodbye to the children,” he said flatly. “They’re just waking, but I didn’t want to leave without speaking to them.”

“It’s early,” she said, thinking that just moments ago she wanted him gone and now that he was leaving, she felt strangely deflated.

“If I have any hope of getting out of the valley, it’s now. It’s only going to get worse later.”

“You’re not trying to fly, are you?”

“No. The helicopter can’t land in these conditions. I’m driving. Once I reach Milan, I’ll be able to fly.”

She glanced out the window and couldn’t even see the massive pine trees for the thickly falling snow. “How will you be able to see? And won’t the roads be icy?”

“The roads won’t be icy yet. I agree it’s not ideal driving conditions, no. But if I don’t go now, I’m here all weekend. The storm is supposed to continue for the next couple of days.”

“Be safe then.”

“I will.” He hesitated. “There is something I need to say before I go. Something that I should have said years ago.” He hesitated again. “I helped you leave Palermo all those years ago because I thought you were...disgusted...by my attentions. I thought I had taken advantage of you, and—” he broke off and sucked in a breath “—forced myself on you. I thought that was why you were in tears when I returned to the bedroom after speaking with my father.” He dropped his head and stared at the floor. “I have hated myself for hurting you. I have always wanted to make amends. It’s why I came to see you after Galeta died. I thought perhaps God was cursing me—”

“No.”

He made a soft, rough sound under his breath. “I am sorry if I—”

“You didn’t.” She rushed toward him, hand outstretched to stop his words. She was just about to put her hand to his chest when she remembered herself, and curled her fingers into a ball instead. “God wasn’t cursing you, or punishing you. Nor did you take advantage of me. You did nothing improper, nothing that I didn’t want. I was upset that night, but for different reasons, reasons that had to do with my eighteen-year-old heart.” She struggled to smile. “I had a massive crush on you. I’d had a crush on you forever and my feelings were hurt that you didn’t feel the same way about me—”

“Obviously I had feelings for you. I wouldn’t have kissed you otherwise.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t the one you could keep, remember, and while I understand that now, it was...bruising...back then.”

“I wish I’d understood better.”

“It’s fine. I was eighteen, and a romantic. I took the kiss too seriously, imagining possibilities that weren’t there. I was wrong, and I survived.” She took a step back and did a little bow. “Look! I’m here. I’m fine.”

His head lifted and his gaze locked with hers. “One last thing, before I go.”

She swallowed hard and forced a smile. “You’re making it sound like this is the last time I’ll see you. You’re not intending on driving recklessly, are you?”

“Of course not. I have three children who need me.”

“Exactly right,” she retorted. “Don’t ever forget it.”

“I don’t.” He reached up to run his hand over his mouth, and jaw. “The favor I demanded of you. It wasn’t fair of me, seeing as I put you in that position in the first place.”

Monet flashed to Marcu’s bedroom suite and how she’d been virtually naked in his bed, her shirt off, her bra off, just her panties on when Marcu’s father had barged in. Marcu had covered her so his father hadn’t seen her, but it had been obvious that Monet had little on. “It is what it is, Marcu. No one grows up without getting a little emotionally banged up.”

“You were so angry with me,” Marcu said quietly. “You told me you never wanted to see me again.”

She nodded, remembering. “Yes.”

“You meant it, too.”

“I did.” Her shoulders twisted. “I needed a change. And I needed to figure out my life without the Ubertos in it.”

He turned to the window and looked out at the fat thick snowflakes falling steadily, relentlessly. “That’s why I made you promise me that you’d return the favor one day. I was worried you were cutting me off, and I wasn’t ready to lose you entirely. It was my way of letting you go, but not letting you go. The favor was my last tie to you. It represented one more conversation, one more visit, one last bit of connection.”

His words put a pang in her chest and she sucked in her lower lip, biting on it, to keep from making a sound.

He’d always known how to get to her.

He’d always known the right words to say...at least until she’d left and he’d married and become someone else, someone she didn’t like and didn’t want to know. But it seemed that the old Marcu was still in there. The Marcu she adored wasn’t entirely gone.

“I’m glad,” she said simply. “It would have been tragic for us to go the rest of our lives without speaking again. I’m glad I was able to help you with your children. They are such lovely little people. You are lucky to have them.”

The ache in her chest expanded, pressing into her throat, making it hard to talk and swallow. Life had a funny way of turning on itself, upending everything.

Last night she’d gone to bed, body on fire. This morning her heart felt as if it had broken free of her chest and was flopping around at her feet on the floor.

He nodded once. “I need to go.”

“Yes, you do.” She shot a glance out the window. “It doesn’t look good, though. I’m concerned about the drive.”

“Once I make it over the pass, I’ll be fine.”

“You mean, if you make it over the pass.”

Marcu suddenly smiled, one of the careless, self-deprecating smiles she knew from years past, a smile she’d thought she might never see again. “You have so little faith in me.”

“Not so, but with all that you have here, dependent on you, I don’t know why you’d want to tempt fate.”

He gave her a long look, his smile fading. “You might think I’m not listening, but I am. I have heard every word you’ve said.”

Her chest seized, burning. She blinked hard to keep her eyes from filling with tears. “We will miss you,” she said quietly. “Be careful.”

“Always,” he answered, after a moment’s silence, before turning and walking out.

CHAPTER EIGHT

MONET AND THE children spent the morning playing card games and then helping the cook make pasta in the huge stone kitchen that had managed to marry medieval and modern.

The cook was showing the children how to gently fold the pasta and pinch the seams when the butler stepped into the kitchen and gestured for Monet to follow him.

“I just received a call from the police,” the butler said quietly. “Signor’s car was found. It went over the embankment—”

“Over the embankment?” Monet interrupted, heart faltering. “What do you mean?”

The butler frowned, as if not sure how to make it more clear. “Off the road, over the edge.”

Suddenly her grasp of Italian seemed inadequate. “Off the road, over the edge...of the mountain?”

“He wasn’t in the car. They don’t know where he is. But he wouldn’t be able to walk away if he wasn’t okay,” the butler reasoned.

Or, he was injured and concussed and wandered away from his car to freeze to death in some ravine. Monet swallowed hard. “Was there blood in the car? Had the air bag deployed?”

“The police didn’t say. They are looking for him now.”

She walked to the tall window overlooking the summer herb garden, a garden currently buried by three feet of snow. All you could see in the walled garden was white—white everywhere—and the snow just kept falling.

Where was Marcu?

Was he hurt? Or had he been plucked from the road and was right now trave

ling to Milan, courtesy of some kind stranger?

But if that was the case, wouldn’t he call? Send word?

She chewed on a knuckle, heartsick. He shouldn’t have gone. It was foolish...dangerous... Stupid man.

Rocca pushed the kitchen door open and peeked around the corner. “Signorina Wilde, you’re missing all the fun!”

Monet forced a smile. “I’ll be right there. Give me just a minute.”

The door closed and Monet turned to the butler. “How will the police track him in the snow? I’d think the snow would be covering up his footsteps.”

“I don’t know.”

She held her breath, scared for Marcu, scared for the children. “Do you have the phone number for someone leading the investigation?”

“No, I don’t, and I’m not certain it’s reached the investigation stage yet.”

“Even though Marcu Uberto’s car has been found down in an embankment and he’s not in it?”

“We’re in a very rural area. This isn’t the city.”

Monet bit her lip and looked over her shoulder to the kitchen door, thinking of the children inside making pasta. This was the last thing they needed.

The butler must have read her thoughts as he asked, “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to say anything to the children.”

Monet was at least adamant about this and gave her head a firm shake. “No. Not until we know something conclusive.”

* * *

Monet was reading stories to the children when a snowplow could be heard outside, scraping the road leading to the castello.

She went to the window to watch the huge plow clearing snow. The children joined her at the window. The snowplow stopped not far from the entrance, and a door opened and the driver got out, and then the driver helped a passenger out.

“Papà!” Antonio cried, tapping the glass.

Monet watched as the snowplow driver aided Marcu to the front door. Staff were now spilling out of the house, rushing down the stairs to help.

Tags: Jane Porter Billionaire Romance
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