‘No!’ Caitlyn’s denial was immediate, her mind whirring. It was just a week to the wedding—all Bonita had wanted was for her stepdaughter to marry before hearing the news that her father was terminally ill—and now somehow the press had twisted what few facts they had into something sordid.
‘But Mrs Mancini did spend the afternoon in Mr Ranaldi’s suite…?’
Caitlyn didn’t answer. Two spots of colour were burning on her cheeks, and she wished she was better prepared for this. She knew, as Lazzaro’s assistant, that she should have just walked away at the outset, should have said nothing, should neither have confirmed or denied.
‘And she did spend the night with Mr Ranaldi?’
‘No.’ Caitlyn was adamant now. ‘She didn’t.’
‘How can you be sure? My sources state that—’
‘I’m quite sure Mr Ranaldi didn’t spend the night with Mrs Mancini.’ She knew even as she said it that she would regret it, but knew she had no choice. She had to quash the rumours now.
‘And you’re sure because…?’
And even if it was a rushed decision it wasn’t blind—Caitlyn could still feel Bonita’s hand in hers, feel the love that everyone denied she had for her husband, and she knew that even if it wasn’t what was wanted, it was something she had to do.
‘I’m sure he wasn’t with Mrs Mancini, because Lazzaro Ranaldi spent the night with me.’
Turning, she walked away—away from the hotel—disappearing into the crowds, wondering how she would face him, wondering what Lazzaro’s reaction would be when he heard what she’d done…
Never for a second did she imagine the truth.
The frown on his face as he watched after his sister rang him on his mobile and told him to turn on the news, the black anger as he heard the reporter’s allegations.
His hand jerked to his desk phone, to ring Bonita and warn her, but his grim face broke into a smile as he heard her blurt out her admission—as Caitlyn Bell dragged them out to face the world.
‘She’s lovely…’a forgotten Antonia said down his mobile.
‘Not exactly discreet, though!’ Lazzaro pointed out, but he was still smiling.
‘So what are you going to do about it, brother?’
He didn’t answer straight away, just stared out of his vast window down to the city streets below, knowing she was down there—imagining her embarrassment, her horror at what she had done, and wanting to soothe it.
To tell her it was okay.
To tell her that they were okay.
For the first time in the longest time he breathed without pain. For just a moment or two Lazzaro felt peace creep somewhere into his soul—glimpsed a future that was bearable.
‘Lazzaro?’ Antonia pushed excitedly, smiling herself when her brother spoke again, then hung up the phone.
‘We’ll let you know.’
But numbing a toothache didn’t make the rot go away. Even if the pain was deadened for a while, still the damage went on inside—weakening the roots, prolonging the inevitable, till it erupted in an agony that couldn’t be escaped. And then extraction was preferable to treatment.
As Lazzaro clicked off the phone, as he wondered if he should just ring her now and tell her to stop hiding, the door opened and his smile faded—as the one woman on God’s earth he’d hoped never to see again walked into his office and plunged him out of his momentary oasis and straight back into hell.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘WHAT the hell do you want?’ Lazzaro sneered out the words, contempt blazing in his eyes as he stared at the person he hated most in the world. ‘Who let you in?’
‘Audrey let me up—she still remembers me.’ Roxanne flicked back her dark curls, strode across his office as if she owned it. ‘ I thought we should clear the air…’
‘Clear the air?’ Lazzaro spat. ‘The air stinks when you’re here. The stench of you makes me—’
‘Better out than in!’ Roxanne’s red lips smiled sweetly at him. ‘I saw Caitlyn on the news—she’s good, I have to admit that. When she sets her mind on something she always gives it her best.’