‘I’ll put you through.’
‘No!’ Mia’s voice was urgent. ‘Emma, please—the news is not good.’ A strangled sob from Mia had Emma closing her eyes at the raw sound of pain. ‘Rico has gone.’ Emma held the phone and her eyes remained closed as Mia wept for a moment before speaking again. ‘I do not know Luca’s reaction, they were not close, but can you tell him…gently for me?’ Emma could feel the beads of sweat on her forehead, as it wasn’t her job to do something so personal. Except it wasn’t about her job role—Mia thought they were in love.
But only one of them was.
‘I will see you both soon for the funeral.’ Mia’s assumption had Emma’s heart pounding, and more so when she continued talking, giving Emma details that only a fiancée should know. She concluded. ‘Emma, this will be hard for Luca—I am so glad that he has you.’
The walk to his office was impossibly long, yet all too soon she was there. As were her instructions, she knocked and waited for his bored voice to summon her inside.
Had he looked up, maybe he would have seen her pale face and realised something was seriously wrong, but he was deep in the middle of a phone call, his long legs on the desk and crossed at the ankles, and he waved her to sit down, which Emma did, sitting quietly, going over and over in her head how she should break it to him.
‘Yes?’ As he replaced the receiver he also pulled his legs from the desk and adopted a more formal position, his curt word reminding her that Luca liked to be brought straight to the point—only she truly didn’t know how to just come out and say it.
‘I have something to tell you.’
‘So tell me.’
‘It’s difficult.’ Emma swallowed, then opened her mouth to speak, but Luca overrode her.
‘Then let me make it easy for you—you’ve come to hand in your notice.’ He opened a drawer and handed her a thick cream envelope, his relief evident. ‘I have written a reference, as we agreed—’
‘Luca—’
‘There will be a bonus in your pay.’ Again he spoke over her. In fact, for Luca the words were tumbling out. He had known this moment was coming, had engineered it, wanted it, needed it to happen, only when the moment had arrived, it was unusually hard, painful even, and he noticed just the smallest shake to his usually steady hand as he held out the envelope. ‘It is for the best,’ Luca said, more for his benefit than hers.
‘Luca, will you please just listen?’ she begged, wringing her hands in her lap. ‘I just took a call from your mother.’ And he could hear her voice, see her mouth move, only he couldn’t quite process the words, his hand still holding out the envelope as somewhere he computed that his father was dead, that finally it was over… He had wished for this moment, Luca reminded himself as something catapulted him from his seat, had him striding to the window and turning his back to Emma. He had wanted this, wished for so long that it would be over, but he had never imagined mourning, grieving. He had never considered that it actually might hurt him.
He was dead, he was gone, it was over. Finally it was over, finally he should be able to breathe, only he couldn’t. He actually couldn’t drag in the air or push it out, even thought he might fold over in two, because it was all there in front of him—every memory, good and bad, playing out before his closed eyes, and futile questions playing over and over like a mantra in his pounding head.
Why?
Why had his father been like that?
Why couldn’t he have just been happy?
Why?
He was almost doubled over with the agony of it all—shocked at the depth of his grief over a man who had caused nothing but pain.
‘When?’ he asked instead.
‘Just now,’ Emma said gently. ‘Your mother has a friend with her; she’s staying in a hotel tonight and then coming home in the morning.’
He was obviously devastated, and she felt like an intruder almost, witnessing this most private moment, knowing Luca would never have chosen for her to see him like this. There were no tears, no outward, dramatic displays of emotion—they would have been easier to deal with somehow. No, it was his pain, this deep, wretched pain that sagged those strong shoulders as he had strode to the window then stumbled, bemused almost. She had sat there, torn—instinct wanting her to run to him, yet logic telling her to stay exactly where she was.
‘And Pa?’ She heard him attempt to inject strength to his voice. ‘Did she say anything?’
‘She asked if you could sort that out… arrange things.’
Only that wasn’t what he’d meant. Everything was already sorted, things had been put in place weeks ago—all he had to do was pick up the phone, or ask Evelyn to. No, that hadn’t been what he’d meant and he had never thought he would care enough to ask it.