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 Withdrawn.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.
CHAPTER NINE
LUCADIDNOTspeak as he drove away. There were things he wanted to think about—neededto think about. He needed to accept that six years ago he hadn’t appreciated the pain he’d caused her, even if unintentionally, because he’d never experienced anything similar himself. His life had been sunny, pain-free—until the tragedy of losing his parents had hit him.
Her words to him on thepalazzoterrace echoed in his head—how she’d never felt she belonged to anyone, how that had made him more important to her than just a passing affair.
She wanted someone to belong to—anyone.
Of their own volition his eyes slid to her. She was sitting quite still, hands looped in her lap, looking out through the windscreen, her face in profile. He could not read her expression. But with his rapid glance he saw there was something about it that, on impulse, made him drop his right hand from the steering wheel, reach across, press lightly on her folded hands. As if to comfort her…
Her reaction was immediate. She flinched. Pulled her hands away. She didn’t say anything, but the message was clear.
Once they had shared a communal body space.
No longer.
He changed gear, accelerating and then slowing down as a curve approached. Out of nowhere he heard his own voice speaking. Where the words came from, he didn’t know—he knew only that he wanted her to hear them.
‘I missed you, Bianca, when I went back to Italy. I want you to know that.’
Did she turn her head to look at him? He didn’t know. He was keeping his eyes on the road. It made it somehow easier for him to talk.
‘There were times when I wanted to get in touch with you…maybe invite you for a holiday.’
‘But you didn’t.’ There was no emotion in her voice as she spoke.
‘No, I didn’t. It didn’t seem…wise.’
‘Because it might have given me ideas…false hopes?’ Bianca’s voice was flat.
‘Yes, I suppose that was it,’ he said.
There was another silence. He wanted to look at her, but made himself not.
Then she was speaking again. Her voice less flat, more…weary. ‘It was better that you didn’t get in touch, Luca. It would only have prolonged matters. I had to do what you told me to do. Accept that our affair was over.’