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But there was another consideration which he hadn’t taken into account before, one which was only just dawning on him. Grace had worked for Vincenzo Contarini and lived in his house for all those years. She knew him better than pretty much anyone else and yet was seemingly unaware of the true depths of his cruelty. Even though their Paris trip had been interrupted by the old man’s unreasonable demands, she had been prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. Hadn’t his bodyguard reported back that she’d attempted to say goodbye to the old bully, but he had refused to see her? She was tender-hearted, yes. But wasn’t it more accurate to accuse her of suffering from self-delusion? His mouth hardened and a flicker of something cold and unrecognisable wrapped icy fingers around his heart as he stared up at the blue sky. Perhaps it was about time he enlightened her about her ex-boss.
CHAPTER TEN
‘So,whatexactlydo you want to know about my life?’ Odysseus drawled, rolling over and staring up into the vast blue bowl of the Greek sky because that was easier than meeting the question in Grace’s amber eyes. ‘How much I weighed when I was born? How long it took for me to walk and talk? Because those details aren’t on record, I’m afraid. As for Christmases, it may shock you to know that my father wasn’t really into traditional celebration and was usually passed out drunk by midday.’
But she didn’t comment on this and when she did speak, her voice was very quiet. ‘Mostly about your mum, really,’ she said.
Yourmum.
Those two words floored him. Drove every other consideration from his brain. He was more used to the Greekmitera—and the English pet-name of the word hinted at a simple intimacy which was way outside his comprehension. Suddenly Odysseus was glad he was lying on his back. It meant Grace couldn’t see his face properly. He could close his eyes and it would appear like perfectly normal post-sex lethargy. And not like someone trying to conceal the sudden inexplicable prick of tears.
‘Her name was Valentina,’ he said at last, dredging up the grudging scraps of information he had gleaned from his father. ‘And she was born out of a brief, unhappy marriage to Vincenzo Contarini, which ended in divorce. No surprise there,’ he added bitterly. ‘I don’t suppose he made a great husband, but he was certainly predictably ruthless when it came to divorce. He paid off his ex-wife very generously, on the condition that she and her family would cut all ties with her only child. Valentina was to be brought up by him, and only him,’ he added bitterly. ‘And he made sure that she never saw her mother again.’
‘Oh, Odysseus,’ she whispered. ‘That’s terrible.’
Did she think he wanted hersympathy—meaningless words which bounced off his skin like summer rain? Didn’t she realise that this was why he always kept it locked inside him? ‘Let’s skip the judgement and the interjections, shall we?’ he questioned harshly. ‘Because if I have to put up with that kind of gushing response to every statement, I’ll shut up right now. Do you understand?’
‘I think you’ve made yourself perfectly clear,’ she answered stiffly.
Steeling his heart against the obvious hurt in her voice, Odysseus forced himself to continue. ‘As you can imagine, growing up with a man like Vincenzo wasn’t what you’d call ideal.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Apparently, my mother begged to go away to boarding school and was sent to the world’s most exclusive academy, on the banks of Lake Geneva. But when school ended, so did her life there, and she went back to Venice…’
Grace bit her lip as his words tailed off because she could hear the pain etched on every syllable. She wanted to reach out to him. To offer him all the comfort she possessed. But even if he hadn’t already warned her off, his body language was forbidding enough to forestall her. He lay as motionless as marble and as off-limits to her touch as a statue in a museum.
‘What happened then?’ she ventured.
He took a moment before he answered. ‘She was rich and beautiful and, at eighteen, had the world at her feet. There were suitors—’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Vincenzo told me during my meeting with him that any number of wealthy men were keen to marry her. But then she met my father—’
‘And fell in love?’ she questioned, eager to provide a positive spin. Was she hoping that acknowledgement of a great passion would provide some solace to a man who was failing to disguise the pain and bitterness in his voice? But she should have kept quiet because when he turned his head to look at her, his shadowed features were dark with contempt.
‘Love?Let’s not give credence to fantasy, shall we?’ he negated cuttingly. ‘I thought I’d made my feelings clear on that particular subject. Love is just a word which people use as leverage, for money or status, or sex—or all three, as I suspect was my father’s motive.’
‘So, how did they meet?’ she asked in cautious response to this damning statement.
‘In a bar. He was a good-looking guy and women flocked to him like wasps on honey. He was “doing” Europe on a shoestring, when he ran across my mother.’ He shrugged. ‘They had zero in common, but they clicked. It probably would have been no more than a summer fling if my mother hadn’t found herself pregnant. And then…’
Grace held her breath.
‘Vincenzo kicked her out,’ he grated. ‘Told her he never wanted to see her again. She had no money and nowhere to go. No choice but to return to Greece with my father—and I don’t think he was exactly over the moon about the idea.’ He drew in a ragged breath. ‘But I don’t think she was ever prepared for what she found there. A hot and tiny apartment. A hand-to-mouth existence. She didn’t speak the language and the other women viewed her with suspicion. I think the cracks in the relationship had already started to show, when she went into labour. Early,’ he expanded. ‘And she…’
He swallowed, his words tailing off, the working of his face telling its own bleak story. ‘She…’
‘She died in childbirth,’ Grace supplied into the frozen silence which followed, a shiver of compassion skating over her skin as she heard the raw emotion making his voice crack.
He leaned over her then, his features dark and his blue eyes blazing as his gaze raked over her. ‘Who told you that?’ he demanded. ‘Whotoldyou?’
She could feel his heat. His hurt. His anger. She shook her head. ‘Nobody told me,’ she breathed. ‘It was obvious from your face, your voice, your…everything. I’m sorry, Odysseus. So very sorry. That you never knew her. That you—’
‘That I’m a poor, scarred man whose mother died in childbirth? Don’t bother reaching for the violin, Grace,’ he mocked. ‘Save your pity for somebody else. I don’t need it.’
But Grace didn’t rise to the taunt, even though she suspected he wanted her to. Because wouldn’t that fuel the undercurrent of lust which was simmering between them again, even now? And wouldn’t it be easier if she let him kiss her and drive into her, so that they could both gasp out their pleasure and forget about all the torment of his past and let his revelation slip away? Yes, of course it would. But the easiest solution wasn’t always the best one. Instead, she attempted to steer the conversation back on track so he would finish the story—and this was nothing to do with wanting to appear a convincing wife in front of the King, or even for her own curiosity. This was for Odysseus’s sake—because mightn’t this reluctant revelation provide some kind of catharsis for a man who had clearly buried all his hurt and pain?
‘It must have been difficult for your father…bringing up a baby on his own,’ she offered. ‘Surely Vincenzo must have reached out to help?’
‘Don’t you know the kind of man he really is, Grace—or have you just blinded yourself to his faults?’ he demanded. ‘Surely you can guess his reaction? My father phoned to tell him his daughter was dead, but that he had a grandchild and he wasn’t sure how he was going to cope without some help.’ There was a pause. ‘And Vincenzo Contarini told him to go to hell.’
Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh, Odysseus.’
‘No pity,’ he warned her sharply. ‘Remember?’