‘Yes,’ Allegra said after a moment. ‘I do.’ And she ached for all Rafael and his family had endured. ‘But I also believe that my father must have genuinely thought your father was in the wrong. I don’t think he would have acted in such a manner without good cause.’
Rafael made a sound of disgust. ‘And do you still think he abandoned you with good cause, Allegra? Why can’t you see the man for what he is? Was?’
She recoiled, shocked by the vitriol in his voice. ‘What does it matter to you if I choose to believe he was a good man?’ she demanded stiffly. She felt hurt, and she wasn’t even sure why. ‘Why can’t you let me love him still?’
‘Because in my mind he is a demon,’ Rafael returned flatly. ‘And I will never forgive him.’
They didn’t talk all the way back to the villa. The last few days had been so lovely, so promising, and now it all felt flat and strained. Over the last few days she’d actually been starting to care about Rafael. She still cared, which was why their argument hurt so much. And, Allegra acknowledged that evening as she lay in bed unable to sleep, it hurt because she know there was truth in Rafael’s words. Why did she have to believe her father loved her, when everything pointed to the opposite? Why did she cling to that frail, pointless hope?
Sighing now, Allegra shifted restlessly in bed. The baby kicked, and she placed one hand on her bump, taking comfort from those fluttery movements. Tomorrow they were going to Palermo for a scan, and she was looking forward to the reassurance of an ultrasound, that lovely whoosh of their son’s heartbeat filling the air.
But tonight she wasn’t thinking about their baby. She was thinking about them.
The sudden, soft strains of music floating from downstairs made Allegra still in her restless movements. It almost sounded like...
Holding her breath, she rose from her bed and slipped on the silky wrap that passed for a dressing gown in this hot weather. Even at two in the morning the air inside the villa held a remnant of the day’s heat, although the tiles were cool under Allegra’s bare feet as she made her way downstairs, following the haunting strains of the cello she heard.
Downstairs all was dark save for a single lamp burning in the lounge. Allegra hesitated on the threshold of the room; she saw Rafael sprawled in a chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his button-down shirt several more buttons open than usual. His hair was rumpled and a tumbler of whisky dangled from his fingertips.
‘It’s Shostakovich,’ Allegra said softly, and he glanced up, his eyes bloodshot and bleary. He was, she realised, a little drunk.
‘The third movement of the cello sonata,’ he agreed. ‘It reminds me of you.’
It was the piece they’d listened to before they’d made love. Allegra was jolted to the core by the fact that he was listening to it now—that he’d remembered, that he cared. ‘Why do you need reminding?’ she asked softly. ‘I’m right here.’
‘Are you?’ The question hung in the air between them, hovered like a ghost. Rafael gave her a long look before he glanced away, taking a large swallow of his drink.
‘Is this about this afternoon?’ Allegra asked after a moment. ‘Our argument?’
‘What do you mean, this?’
‘You’re sitting downstairs, listening to sad music and drinking whisky.’
Rafael looked away. ‘I couldn’t sleep.’
‘I couldn’t either.’ She paused, then decided to up the ante, even if part of her shied away from being so vulnerable. Admitting so much. ‘The truth is, I think you’re right, at least partly. I want to believe my father still loved me because the alternative...’ She stopped, catching her breath, her heart starting to thud. Confessions like this were hard. ‘The alternative is he didn’t love me, and that means... I’m unlovable.’
Rafael lifted his head to skewer her with a burning stare. ‘You are not unlovable, Allegra.’
‘My own father?’ She tried to keep her voice light but it trembled. ‘Come on. Parents love their children. That’s a given.’
‘Maybe your father was incapable of love.’