A Shadow of Guilt

Gio scowled and for a second looked endearingly young. Oozing reluctance he wrapped his towel around his hips and crossed his own arms, effectively hiding the tattoo in question.

Growing exasperated now Valentina reached out and pulled at his arms, making him loosen them, and then she held his left arm up, so that she could see the tattoo clearly. ‘Why on earth don’t you want to talk about this? It’s just a tattoo….’

Saying something finally, Gio bit out, ‘Exactly, it’s nothing.’

He tried to pull his arm back but Valentina held on tenaciously, inspecting the uniform black ink marks. Out loud she said, ‘They look like roman numerals … some kind of a date? Four … five …’

She could read the first part, but the last piece eluded her—her knowledge of roman numerals only went up to about ten but this was clearly a much larger number, and as she realised this, she also realised the significance of four and five. Mario had died on the fourth of May….

Valentina dropped Gio’s arm and looked up at him. She could feel the blood draining southwards. Gio cursed under his breath and guided her to the bed to sit down on the edge. He stood in front of her and admitted with stark reluctance, ‘It’s the date Mario died.’

Valentina’s belly clenched hard. Every line of Gio’s body was screaming at her to stay out of this.

‘But …’ She tried to formulate words, to understand. ‘Why?’

Gio cursed again and turned away, pacing impatiently to the window, presenting her with his rigid back. Without turning around he said bleakly, ‘I needed to mark the date … when Mario’s life ended, and mine.’

Before, Valentina knew she would have jumped down his throat and reminded him that his life hadn’t ended. But after what he’d told her of his experiences she had to concede that it had ended on some level.

After the intimacies of the previous night it was very hard to call up the rage she’d clung to for so long. This is what she’d been afraid of.

The thought of him asking some stranger to carve an indelible mark into his skin made her feel unaccountably emotional. Before she knew what she was doing she’d stood up and went over to Gio. She inserted herself between him and the window, his jaw was as rigid as the rest of him and he looked at her warily.

Dropping her gaze to his arms, she once again undid them from where they were crossed so tightly. She took his marked arm and held it out again, turned up so she could see the tattoo. With her finger she traced the lines, feeling the indentation in his skin, marked for ever with this brand of the date her brother had died.

His guilt reached out to envelop her in that moment and it was so suffocating that she stepped back, letting his arm drop heavily. Panic prickled in her belly. For one awful second she’d wanted to place her mouth over that tattoo, to kiss Gio there, to assuage his pain … and that was a revelation she wasn’t ready for.

Feeling rigid all over, the previous night all but forgotten in her bid to put some space between herself and his man, Valentina stepped back and said, ‘I should get ready for work.’

She went into the bathroom and turned the lock in the door. And then she rested her back against the door. She half expected to hear Gio demand autocratically that she open up and remembered his own reluctance to admit what the tattoo was. But nothing happened.

It was only when she heard her main apartment door open and close and she knew that Gio had left that she allowed herself to sink to the floor and silent tears leaked from her eyes.

She wasn’t even sure what she was crying for … but for once it wasn’t grief for Mario; it was for something much deeper and more ambiguous. Allowing herself that glimpse of Gio’s pain and guilt had shaken her to her very core. And deep down, in that dark and secret place within her, the shameful truth she’d harboured for seven years was rising back to the surface.

Valentina was aware that if she were to acknowledge it now, it would blast apart everything that had been holding her together since Mario had died … and if she didn’t have that, who was she?

As Gio walked away from Valentina’s accommodation his gut churned. The tattoo. Of course she’d noticed the tattoo. He’d been drunk when he’d got it, full of bile and self-recrimination. Guilt. A perverse part of him had liked the thought of being marked for ever, so he could never forget. As if that were possible.

For a crazy second back there, he’d almost fancied that Valentina had been moved enough by the tattoo that she’d. She’d what? a voice mocked him bitterly. That she’d understood something of his experience? That she possibly didn’t hate him as much as he thought she did?

His mouth firmed. She would never forgive him. And she certainly wasn’t interested in absolving him.

&nb

sp; Gio resolutely pushed tender emotional roots back down into the murky darkness of his damaged soul and vowed that if the physical was all he was going to get with Valentina, then he would take it. And let her walk away when she’d had enough. Even though the thought of that made him want to smash his fist through the nearest solid object.

‘Mini doughnuts to go with mini coffees for dessert … and the sweet fig starter … truly inspired …’

Valentina smiled weakly and cursed herself inwardly. This was what she’d been waiting for, an opportunity to showcase her skills in front of the very people who could take her forward with her career and yet she couldn’t concentrate. She was too keyed up, her whole body quivering because she knew Gio was just feet away in the crowded throng. Guests were finishing lunch in the VIP marquee and moving back outside for the biggest race of the three days.

Valentina gave up trying to focus on what the guests were saying to her and murmured her thanks and excuses, cursing herself again that she was so distracted. She turned to head back out to the main tent to make sure that everything was set up for the inevitable celebrations after the race and ran straight into a wall of steel.

Gio.

She looked up. His hands were on her arms and her legs felt like jelly. His gaze raked her up and down and dimly she realised that he’d shaved since the morning. He looked … edible. Her insides melted. She thought of the tattoo and her heart clenched.

‘OK?’