Now the heaviness crushed her. He would want her and Luca to continue to be engaged, as he so fondly thought. But to play that role now—with all that had changed between her and Luca—would be agony.
It was an agony that pierced like a dagger as she was shown to his table, her heart leaping uncontrollably. He got to his feet, his eyes going to hers immediately. Faintness washed through her and she sat herself down, heart beating faster. The last time she’d set eyes on him had been when softly, silently…agonisingly…she’d dropped the lightest, slightest brush of her lips to his cheek as he lay sleeping by her side. Before slipping from the room to face the truth she hadn’t been able to bear to face.
But she must face it now. Face Luca.
She realised, as he resumed his place and the waiter came to the table, hovering to take their drinks order and bestow menus upon them, that despite his customary svelte elegance, his perpetual air of sophisticated cool, tension was radiating from him in the set of his shoulders, the line of his jaw.
He’s steeling himself to tell me what I already know he’s going to tell me.
She sheared her mind away. She could not bear to hear that—not yet. Instead, as the waiter left them in peace, she asked after Matteo, and the latest update.
‘He’s still doing well,’ Luca answered immediately.
Was he relieved not to have to tell her quite yet what he must know she would not want to hear? she wondered.
‘Still upbeat,’ he went on. ‘He sounded cheerful when I phoned this morning.’
She gave him a flickering smile. ‘That’s good,’ she said.
The waiter was returning with their drinks. She’d opted for a glass of white wine, and so had Luca. She felt she needed it. Her eyes kept wanting to go to him, drink him in, and her consciousness of his physical presence was overwhelming her. But she had to stay composed. Couldn’t let her response to him show. For his sake. For hers.
The polite enquiry from the waiter as to their menu choices was a welcome distraction. They both opted for fish, and a memory came to her of how she had Luca had both ordered fish at the restaurant in Pavenza, that first day they’d gone there together. Buying the fake engagement ring.
A sudden spurt of courage filled her. She would be brave.
She took a mouthful of her wine to help her. Looked straight across at him. ‘Luca, we have to think ahead—to when Matteo is home again. How…how are we to deal with this impossible fantasy of his? We can’t… We can’t just go on with it.’
For a moment—a moment that seemed to last for ever, unbearable and excruciating—he did not reply. His face was impossible to read, and yet she read it like an open book. Knew exactly what was in it.
She saw him take a breath. Heard him make his reply.
‘No,’ he said, ‘I don’t think we can.’
* * *
Luca’s eyes were locked to Bianca’s eyes—so green, so luminous, like the emerald in that engagement ring he’d bought her. The fake engagement ring for their fake engagement. The fake engagement that had yoked them together for the sake of her uncle, his godfather, to make him happy.
But how could they sustain it now?
Impossible.
He heard himself speak, answer again Bianca’s faltering question. ‘We can’t. Not any more. It’s impossible.’
He saw her face pale. Her tension was visible, as it had been since she’d walked up to the table. She must have been at work today, for she was wearing a charcoal pencil skirt teamed with a dove-grey blouse with a soft collar. Her make-up was minimal, her Titian hair confined into a pleat that emphasised the sculpted beauty of her face.
But he must not be distracted by her beauty, even though it was filling his senses.
He reached for his wine to break the moment, break eye contact. He took a mouthful of the crisp white Sauvignon Blanc, then set down the glass. She hadn’t moved, but he could see a pulse at her throat.
He drew a breath, knowing he must speak.
‘Bianca, I wanted to talk to you—that’s why I’ve asked you here. You didn’t give me the opportunity in Italy.’ He held her eyes again and saw she still had not moved. Only the pulse at her throat moved, beneath the pallor of her face.
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ he said.
* * *
Bianca felt her lungs tightening. It was almost physically painful. So he was going to spell it out to her—even though she didn’t want him to and it wasn’t necessary for him to do so anyway. She knew exactly what he was going to say. Had known it since she’d stood there, all those weeks ago, on the dew-wet grass, watching the sun rise over the garden, listening to the birdsong starting to fill the air with the dawn chorus.