Or thought she had come from.
Because what that elderly, dry-as-dust solicitor had told her was so far beyond belief that she still did not believe it—dared not believe it. But it was because of what he’d told her that she was sitting on this plane, having asked for impromptu leave from work.
Given the circumstances, Andrew had been completely supportive.
‘Of course you must go. It’s quite extraordinary!’
That was one word for it. Bianca had another one. One that made her heart beat faster and made her wish the plane would move onward faster.
Miraculous. That was the word in Bianca’s head.
After all these years…
* * *
Luca replaced the phone on his desk in his office. Matteo wanted him to go for dinner in two days’ time. He had been quite insistent. He had also asked him to arrive in black tie.
Luca had assented—of course he had. But he was concerned that Matteo would be tiring himself by inviting guests. Several business trips, taking in Geneva, Frankfurt and Brussels, had kept Luca from visiting for nearly three weeks, but now he could be sure he would be based indefinitely in Rome. If Matteo should take a turn for the worse he did not want to be out of the country.
He was keeping his diary here in Rome flexible too. Though his social life was full, there was currently no particular female in his life, and as Matteo was his priority right now he intended to keep it that way. Usually, given his bachelor status, plus his title, his wealth and—he knew without vanity—looks that women found pleasing, he could take his pick. That was certainly what he’d enjoyed doing when he was younger. And not just in Italy. He had self-indulgently romanced many of the all too eager females he’d encountered in his stints working abroad. Enjoyable interludes, never intended to last. As those he romanced had all understood.
All except one—
He sheered his mind away. No point remembering that hot-as-hell time with Bianca. He could ponder with hindsight whether it had been wise to allow himself to indulge in a searing affair with someone who came from so very different a world from him. Yet that fateful evening when, after a business meeting inCanary Wharf, he’d been taken for a drink at a nearby bar, his eyes had gone to the female mixing cocktails and he’d not been able to drag them away.
Titian-hair piled high on her head, striking looks, full lips… And eyes that he had seen, when they’d clashed with his, were a brilliant emerald-green.
She’d frozen, tilted vodka bottle in hand, and their eyes had locked. Message sent—and received. He’d moved in on her, knowing that this stunning flame-haired beauty had spiked in him an instant desire that demanded only one course of action.
To make her his—consumingly, totally his.
She’d come to him effortlessly, and he had the honesty to admit that he’d enjoyed the fact that she was so different from his normal fare—and not just because of her very different background. She played no games, and was totally upfront that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, that her desire and passion matched his. He’d been taken aback, he acknowledged with honesty, to find he was her first lover, but she’d told him that she’d been saving herself for a guy who was really worth it.
With hindsight, maybe that should have been a warning sign that she would not see their affair in the same way he had seen it… As something to be indulged in, enjoyed, that would then come to a natural end. That she might want…more.
More than just an affair. Something more permanent.
But his stint in London had ended, and so had his time with her.
He’d hoped she’d accept it gracefully.
She hadn’t.
When he’d said he was leaving London, and that their time together had run its course, she’d clung to him. Titian head thrown back, arms tightening around his neck, she had told him that she had nothing to keep her in London, that she was free to come with him anywhere he went, anywhere at all…
He’d had to peel her off him. Say what he’d said to her…
‘It’s over, Bianca. Over! Accept it.’
Memory flashed in his head. Her face as he’d set it out for her. Said what it had been necessary for him to say, loath though he had been to be so harsh. But she had brought it on herself.
Her expression had been impossible to read. And then, as he’d finished, she had simply looked at him, mouth set tight, with a narrow band of colour across her sculpted cheekbones that contrasted with the icy pallor of her skin. A mask had come down over her long-lashed eyes. She’d said nothing—not a word. Had just stood there.
He’d nodded, walked away. Leaving her. Going back to his own life, to Italy, putting her into the past. Leaving her there. Where she must stay. There was no other place for her.
Right now his only focus was Matteo. Being there for him while he was still there for Luca to see him…
* * *