It cost her to say his name, let alone to say he was right, but she knew it was necessary, at this appalling moment, to do so.
‘And what we need to do now is have our dinner. I know Giuseppe will have arranged something wonderful for this special occasion, and it would be ungracious of us to spoil it! So, let us finish this deliciousprimo—you see how adept I am becoming to the Italian way of dining?—and then Giuseppe can show us the next culinary masterpiece that has been prepared for us.’
It was her turn now to infuse deliberate lightness into her voice, warming it with a smile. She gave her uncle’s hand another gentle pat, knowing she was trying to humour him, trying to find a way, however clumsy and obvious, to extricate herself from this hideous situation.
For a moment Matteo’s expression remained agitated, his face still working. Then, abruptly, he seemed to subside, as if the last of his energy had left him…been exhausted. The unnatural high colour faded from his thin cheeks and Bianca felt relief washing through her. She found her free hand reaching for her wine glass, and realised that while she’d been speaking Luca had taken a draught from his own. She knew exactly why, for she now did just the same. Slowly, she felt her heart rate ease and the knives stop slashing inside her. They had no place. Not here, not now—not ever.
Replacing her wine glass, she picked up her fork again, taking the last few mouthfuls of the delicious saffron-bathed scallops, making a murmur of appreciation. She saw Luca resume eating as well, and to her even greater relief saw her uncle, jerkily but resignedly, pick up his own fork. Though he still looked gauntand drawn and ill, his colour was less alarming, his breathing steadier. His agitation had not done him any good.
Nor me either…
The understatement bit at her, but she crushed it down. She could not afford to yield to her own reaction—not now, not yet—for she had to think of her uncle, not herself.
And Luca?
Almost—almost—a savage laugh broke from her, but she silenced it. At least for now.
Her gaze slid across the table to his face. The expressionless mask was still in place, but the lines scored around his mouth told her what she already knew.
Bitterly.
* * *
How he got through the rest of the meal Luca hardly knew. Knew only that it was endless, and that all it achieved was to tighten the knot of anger inside him that was demanding to be let loose.
But not yet.
Now he required every last gram of self-control to get through the interminable meal, to make painstakingly courteous conversation with his godfather who, thankfully, seemed to have calmed down after the dangerous agitation he had displayed as he’d dropped his ludicrous bombshell.
Luca frowned. Justhisbombshell? His darkling glance speared across the wide table. She was sitting there, cool as milk, her words smooth as butter, talking to Matteo calmly about whatever it was their conversation concerned. Luca could barely pay conscious attention to it. She was saying something about the history of the house, of this part of Italy, and Matteowas more animated now, engaging with the subject, holding forth. Luca noted that he was eating—not heartily, but steadily. Drinking too.
Giuseppe and the manservant came in to clear away the plates, bestow upon them thesecondo—a herb and truffle-filled porchetta—and pour a rich Barolo red wine.
No more mention was made of Matteo’s ludicrous, outrageous proposition—a proposition that had Bianca’s fingerprints all over it.
Cold anger bit into Luca. Because of course it was her idea—it was totally, screamingly obvious. Six years ago she had wanted to keep him in her life, keep herself in his. Did she really think she could achieve that now?
He would have laughed—except that only anger filled him. Furious and savage.
* * *
Bianca kissed her uncle gently on his sunken cheek, bidding him goodnight. Giuseppe was hovering, and out in the hall Bianca could see her uncle’s nurse waiting as well.
‘Buone notte…’She smiled, stepping back. ‘I dare not detain you any longer, or Giuseppe will take me to task.’
‘Yes, yes…’ her uncle said testily.
Bianca knew that it was exhaustion that had made him so.
He had given out so much during the evening, and his meagre energy levels were completely drained. He did not look well, his colour fluctuating.
Luca stepped forward, and instinctively Bianca eased away further.
Luca stretched out his hand to his godfather. ‘I, too, will bid you goodnight, Matteo. I wish you a good rest, and promisewe will regroup in the morning—but not too early! That wine Giuseppe served was strong!’
He shook his godfather’s hand briefly, then crossed to the door, opening it more widely. All but ushering his godfather out into the hall.
‘Goodnight, my boy,’ Matteo said, then paused on the threshold, turning back to Luca. His expression changed. Became anxious again…agitated. ‘And you will—?’