Page 21 of Marriage Made In Hate

He belongs here—I can see that, now I’m seeing him here. In London he was only passing through—but here…here he is at home.

He had grown up here, come to manhood here—then endured the horror of losing both his parents so tragically and taken his father’s place as the Visconte.

And one day there will be a woman to take his mother’s place here.

One day Luca would bring his bride here—the woman he’d choose to spend his life with.

He would make her his viscontessa . He would present her with the heirloom betrothal ring that the jeweller had known all about.

She would make her home here…be at home in Luca’s home, loved and cherished. She would be a fortunate woman…

A pang went through her, but she pushed it away. It was nothing to do with her…

Could never be.

She drew her thoughts back from that inevitable future to the present. Till then, what would Luca do? Amuse himself with passing affairs as he had once, in London, amused himself with her?

She pulled her thoughts away again. It was not sensible to think of that. Not sensible at all. For so many reasons.

Past and present.

No, she must not go there. Neither in the past nor in the present.

Yet as she watched him talk to Giuseppe in rapid Italian that was too fast for her to follow with her primitive grasp of the language, her gaze still rested on him, unable to look away. Unwilling…

Again she felt it welling up inside her…that response to him—the same response that had always been there, unquenchable. She was as susceptible to him as ever—as that oh-so-passionate helpless kiss that first evening had shown her…shown her so disastrously.

And her time with him yesterday in Pavenza, and today here at the palazzo , was only reinforcing the fact.

Wariness flickered within her like an early warning system. One she knew she must pay heed to.

Luca disconnected, dropping his phone on the table. ‘Giuseppe reports that Matteo gives no cause for concern. He has had a quiet day, and Paolo is pleased with him. He looks forward to seeing you.’ He smiled at her. ‘I hope that reassures you?’

‘Thank you, yes,’ she answered, back in control of her wayward thoughts.

She made her eyes meet his, keeping in hers nothing but due civility.

‘And thank you, too, for showing me your home, Luca. Matteo was right to urge me to see it, even if he is only imagining the reason for it. It’s so very beautiful. ’

‘I’m glad you think so,’ Luca said in reply. ‘And I am glad to have invited you here.’

A wry twist formed at her mouth. ‘You didn’t really invite me,’ she said. ‘It was forced upon you.’

‘And I am glad that it was,’ he answered. He lifted his glass to her, tilting it slightly. ‘To your visit here, Bianca.’

Three was something in his eyes—something in the way he was looking at her—that quickened her pulse.

It was a quickening she knew she must not allow.

Six years ago she had allowed it, indulged it, and it had cost her so much.

Today—seeing the reality of Luca’s life, the world he came from—had finally allowed her to accept how impossible her longing to stay with him had been.

It had enabled her to let go of her anger at his dismissal of her, his rejection.

And now she must let go and deliberately set aside what had led to that impossible longing. Quench it as she had not six years ago.

She cast about for something anodyne to say that would break the moment. ‘Did Giuseppe say whether Matteo will be up to dining downstairs? Will you have dinner with us at the villa, or return here?’

It was a neutral question, nothing more.

Luca replaced his glass on the table, his eyes going to her. There was still something in them that quickened her pulse.

‘Which would you prefer?’

That should have been a neutral question too. It was not.

‘To have my company—or not?’

His eyes were on her, holding hers, and suddenly Bianca felt heat beating up inside her as Luca’s dark, lidded eyes rested on her with that expression in them. An expression she had once known so well…

She forced back the heat flushing her skin, stilled her quickening pulse.

What was Luca doing? Why? Nothing had changed—nothing at all.

They were acting out their roles for Matteo, but they were off the stage now.

And even though she could not help but acknowledge that her reaction to him now was the same as it had been six years ago, and just as powerful, she had no reason to indulge—and every reason not to indulge.

He should not indulge either.

She had to make that clear. Because otherwise…

‘Luca.’ Her voice was repressive, flat, her expression closed, and she chose her words heavily, deliberately. ‘We agreed that the best way to cope with this impossible situation is to behave as though we are the strangers Matteo thinks we are. Please stick to it.’

Something glinted in the depths of his eyes. Something she didn’t like.

‘But we are not strangers, Bianca. Not strangers at all…’

The statement hung in the air between them. She wanted to knock it aside—needed to.

His dark, lidded eyes were still resting on her. She felt her chest tightening. So she went on the attack instead.

She levelled her gaze at him, face expressionless. ‘I know you’re just trying to wind me up, Luca—like you did that first night at my uncle’s. You didn’t like my slapping you down—literally—and you don’t like it that I’m angry with you. So—’

‘Are you? Are you still angry with me?’

His question cut across her. Silencing her.

She swallowed, his question echoing. She looked away, her eyes going out over the vista beyond where they were sitting. Then they came back to Luca.

She answered him. Honesty infusing her voice. ‘No. No, I’m not. Not any more. Because seeing you here, in this ancestral pile of yours, brings home to me just how great the differences between us are. It makes sense of what you threw at me all those years ago—however much I didn’t want to hear it.’

It was Luca who was silent now, his expression changing. He reached for his glass, took another draught, set it down again.

‘Those differences,’ he said slowly, ‘are lessening.’

His gaze rested on her and she kept looking at him, gaze unflinching. When she spoke, her voice was flat.

‘That’s because I’m Matteo’s niece. Because I’m wearing a dress I couldn’t have afforded on a month’s wages pulling pints.

Because now I can speak RP instead of what you’d probably call Cockney.

Because now I’m a university graduate, not a barmaid.

That’s all, Luca. The differences between us go much deeper than that. Much deeper.’

She took another breath, a steadying one.

There were things she needed to say—things it was time for her to acknowledge.

Acknowledge and accept. And as she spoke she knew she was speaking to herself, not just to Luca.

He needed to hear her so he could understand, as she now could, just why she had wanted to hang on to him six years ago.

She held her gaze on him and her voice was steady as she spoke. Unemotional. Painfully honest.

‘Luca, when I so desperately wanted you to take me with you when you left London, to go anywhere that you went, it was because I was besotted with you. You were like no one I’d ever met before—from a different world, as you threw at me at the end.

You might have thought I wanted the luxury that came with you, but it wasn’t just that—it was never just that.

Yes, I got a kick out of it—you know I did—but the reason I wanted to go with you was not for that. ’

She stopped. Then made herself go on. Haltingly, but with an honesty she was only just recognising in herself.

‘Luca, our time together meant a lot to me—more than I realised, I think. I thought it was fun and glamour and excitement and sex, and I didn’t want that to end.

But…’ She paused, trying to put into words what she never had before.

‘But I know now that what I also wanted was…was something else. I wanted,’ she said, her eyes on him unflinchingly, ‘someone to belong to.’

For a moment she did not say any more. Then words began to fill her head, coming out in her speaking voice.

‘I’d never belonged to anyone. My father had never existed…my mother I had almost no memories of. My aunt resented me and didn’t want me. No one gave a damn about me. I’m not saying this to get your pity—only for you to understand why I was so…so desperate.’

Her hand reached jerkily for her glass and she took a gulp. Emotion was building up in her, though she was trying to keep calm, dispassionate. She set back her glass, looked straight across at him.

‘But now…now I’m not desperate any longer.

Because I do belong somewhere. I belong,’ she told him, as if declaring it to him and to herself, ‘with my father’s family—with Matteo.

And although I can’t bear it that I shall lose him so soon, in the most important way I will never lose him, Because I will always know that he sought me out…

found me and took me in. Gave me the love that I never knew growing up. ’

She took a breath—a ragged one, because her throat was tightening.

‘So, you see, whatever it was that I was so desperate for from you six years ago, Luca, I don’t need it any more. Nor want it. It’s really that simple.’

She reached for her glass, drained it, then got to her feet. A sense of relief was going through her—something more than relief.

Release.

Release from a past that had tormented her for six years.

Release from those recurring nightmares, with Luca slashing down his hand, his voice harsh. ‘It’s over, Bianca. Over! Accept it.’

Well, now, finally, she did accept it. Because now—at last—she understood.

Luca was standing up. He wasn’t saying anything in reply to her—but then, what was there for him to say?

He slid his phone away. His expression was strange. Withdrawn.

‘I’ll drive you home,’ he said.