The Right Mr. Wrong

Vivi’s heart beat so violently it was a wonder it didn’t burst from her chest. How had they got her address? This was marked so clearly—to Gia’s private bag. Someone had known to address it to Vivi not Victoria.

Liam had been right. She was afraid. She’d run from her problems and she’d never stopped running, never turned to face them. It was beyond time she did.

She put the letters to the side. She’d read them later—she needed to regroup now.

The next was a parcel from Nico. She frowned. She didn’t want to see the prints from the Genoa shoot, but he’d addressed this packet to her personally with a private note scrawled across the corner in his hand.

Thought you might like this. Snapped it the other day when you were snoozing.

It wasn’t just a print. He’d blown it up and framed it. In the black and white portrait, she was curled against Liam’s chest. He—like she—was oblivious to the photographer. Liam was looking down at her, his arms cradling her. It was the second after she’d woken. The second she’d looked into his eyes. That perfect moment just before he’d encouraged her, when all emotion flowed simply and purely. Wordlessly. So incredibly obvious.

It was what Nico was revered for—capturing the essence. No Photoshop magic needed here. No wonder the guy won every award there was.

She’d no doubt that the shots of Alannah on the boat were magnificent, but none could be as beautiful as this. This was art. And what was most important was there for anyone to see. Love written all over her face. And on Liam’s?

That intensity, yes. But also, in his beautiful eyes, that slight strain of vulnerability.

Pain shafted through her. She wanted to believe in that image so badly. All those years ago he’d been the one to help her through the night when she’d been insanely making Christmas decorations. Because he’d wanted that one thing? He’d wanted to win her from Oliver?

Or had it been more than that? He’d come from nothing, from no family, no love. She’d never really understood how neglected he’d been—on so many levels. He’d worked hard to fit in—using his humour, his sporting ability. But he’d fallen for her. He’d wanted her. He’d given up everything he’d gained in his pursuit of her.

That humbled Vivi now—hurt her—as she realised he’d wanted to help her again. This time knowing there was nothing more. Putting her parents in touch with her was a gesture of generosity—of compassion, caring. The only way left to him to show it. Because she’d pushed him away. She’d rejected him. Once more they’d failed to communicate properly.

He’d listened. But she?

She’d not been honest. She’d not done as he’d challenged her to—she’d not asked for what she’d truly wanted. And she could have.

Vivi stood. She’d go and see her parents. Yes she would. She’d meet Stella. She’d sort out her past. But there was something else she had to do first. She had to lay claim to her future.

* * *

Eighteen hours later she locked her wobbly knees as she knocked on the door, clutching the parcel under her arm. Back in Italy, hoping like crazy he was in his office.

A woman opened the door. She wore shorts. Incredibly stylish shorts that showed off incredibly slim and toned legs. Vivi tried not to panic and asked in painful Italian to see Liam.

‘He’s not here.’ The woman answered in English.

Vivi blinked, her blood chilling. ‘Where is he?’

‘London.’

‘London?’ Vivi felt faint, then frustration kicked in. ‘When did he go to London?’

The pretty woman looked at her oddly and then called to another worker out of Vivi’s sight.

‘When did he go?’ Vivi repeated, her tone rising. Why had he gone to London? Her heart leapt but she tried to jump on it. He wouldn’t have gone to see her. It would be for business. That was it.

‘He goes later today.’ The man had come to the door.

‘Then where is he now? Is he at the airport?’ Had she just crossed paths with him in some mean twist of fate?

The Italians exchanged another glance.

‘I think he’s in his rooms,’ said the man. ‘If you’ll follow me.’

Of course she’d follow. After the mad packing, the long flight, the crazy taxi ride...

‘Liam?’ The guy broke into a string of super-quick Italian.

But Vivi stepped past him and her guide went quiet.

Liam looked up, leapt to his feet. Then froze.

The Italian disappeared, shutting the door behind him.

‘Victoria?’ Liam’s face shuttered the second he said her name. So carefully bland.

‘Yeah.’ Vivi swallowed and walked further into the room, tightening her grip on the packet in her hands. She noticed the bag on the floor near the door. It was small. Just a short trip, then? ‘Am I stopping you from getting somewhere?’

A very faint smile tweaked the corner of his mouth. ‘No. It doesn’t matter.’

Okay. She breathed out. She’d never felt so nervous in her life. Not even in that moment when Oliver had asked her to marry him in front of everyone, when she’d been so terrified of the reaction and so unsure which way to go.

This was a million times worse. Becau

se this time she knew exactly what she wanted, exactly how much it mattered.

It meant everything.

‘I got sent a parcel,’ she began. ‘Actually I got two.’

His brows flicked.

‘You told them my address, didn’t you?’

He said nothing. Didn’t ask who she meant but she knew he understood exactly.

‘I know it was you,’ she said, managing a smile. ‘There’s no one else it could have been.’

He rubbed his lip with his index finger. ‘What was in the parcel?’

Her eyes filled before she could get the words out. ‘All the letters they’ve written to me over the years and never been able to send.’

‘Have you been to see them?’

She shook her head.

He jerked. ‘Don’t you think—?’

‘I had to see you first,’ she interrupted roughly. ‘I needed to see you.’

He froze, his gaze riveted to her.

Vivi stepped forward. ‘The second parcel was from Nico.’ She cleared her throat and pulled the portrait from its bubble wrap and put it on the desk between them. ‘Did he show it to you?’

Liam slowly lowered his gaze to look at the picture. Vivi watched his face, saw the flicker of a muscle in his jaw before that rigid control took over again. He looked at the picture for a long time.

Finally Vivi took that last step forward. ‘I don’t want a picture,’ she said, suddenly feeling liberated at putting it all on the line. Her heart thundered and chills feathered over her skin but adrenalin pushed her on. Finally saying what she really wanted—and knowing that at this moment he was listening so intently. ‘I can handle people in a business sense. But you were right—I wasn’t asking for anything for my personal life. I was avoiding anything very personal. But not any more. Not after...the other night. I’ve contacted my parents. I was scared but I offered the olive branch and I think it’s going to be okay.’ She breathed in deep. ‘And then there’s you.’

‘Are you offering me an olive branch?’