Bianca could run, but she could not hide. He had things to say to her. Things she had to understand. Things he must make clear to her.
His own words to her in his brief text from America echoed in his head.
We need to talk…
Other words echoed, from much longer ago.
‘It’s over, Bianca! Over!’
As the plane’s powerful engines fired for take-off, Luca tensed.
The two sets of words were fusing in his head.
* * *
Bianca was sitting on a tube train, heading east across the city. It was strange to be doing so. Strange to be in London at all. Alien. But it was absolutely, totally essential. And it was the only safe place for her to be.
Safe from Luca.
Emotion clenched in her.
How could she have let it happen? Let herself succumb to what she knew…knew…she should never have done?
To be in Luca’s arms again had been heaven. But to wake in the chill of the dawn and face what she knew must await her… Ah, that had taken her to a very different place. One she had been in before…
Fiercely she called on her strength of mind, of will. She had fought this before—fought it and won. It had been a bitter, costly victory, but she had done it. She had torn Luca from her life six years ago.
And I can do it again—I must!
Six years ago she might have torn Luca from her life, but this time she knew it was going to be far more agonising.
It was not her life she had to tear Luca from.
It was her heart…
* * *
Luca checked into his Park Lane hotel. He’d made no contact yet with Bianca, but tonight he must. He would invite her to dinner here at the hotel, tomorrow. He would imply it was to discuss Matteo—surely she would agree to that?
Because I have to get her to agree. I have to speak to her!
The imperative was essential. If she didn’t agree to tomorrow, he would keep pressing. What else could he do?
She has to understand about our night together. I can’t afford for her to have the wrong idea about it—make assumptions—misunderstand.
Her return to the UK might have been necessary for work, as she’d told Matteo, and she was taking advantage of the time he would be spending in the clinic, incommunicado. But it might be her continuing to avoid the conversation theymusthave. To make things clear to her.
Memory was vivid in his head.
Six years ago he’d had to make things clear to her.
Now he would have to do so again.
Whether she wants to hear it or not.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SLOWLY, BIANCAWALKEDinto the hotel restaurant. She didn’t want to be here, but Luca’s text had said he needed to discuss Matteo. Heaviness weighed her down. Though she hoped with all her heart that the immunotherapy would be successful, at some point Matteo would come home—and he would expect her there, want her there.