Modern Romance - The Best of the Year

Sam’s insides contracted. She felt dizzy for a second and then mortification rushed through her like a shameful tide. She’d been so open with him. Had told him every little thing. As if he’d even been interested! Wasn’t that exactly what she’d done, though? After a mere month in this man’s bed she’d been ready to invest everything in him, only to realise how far off-base she’d been.

Panicking, she said the first thing she could think of to try and get them off this topic. ‘What did you mean...about Milan?’

Rafaele’s jaw clenched, but to her intense relief he appeared prepared to let it go.

‘I want to take Milo to meet his grandfather—my father. It’s going to come out sooner or later in the press that I have a son and I’d like Umberto to meet him before that happens. Also, he is old and frail...I’m conscious of his mortality.’

The words were delivered dispassionately enough to shock Sam slightly. Rafaele had never spoken of his father much before, except to say that he lived in a place called Bergamo, not far from Milan, and that he’d moved away after the family business had disintegrated and they’d lost everything. Sam knew that one of the first things Rafaele had done was to buy back the Falcone palazzo just outside Milan, as that was where he’d lived four years ago.

She hadn’t met Umberto Falcone during the time she’d been with Rafaele, and against her better judgment her interest was piqued at the thought of seeing this tantalising glimpse of another aspect of Rafaele’s life. And also to acknowledge that Milo had one grandparent still alive.

Rafaele continued, ‘He’s coming to Milan next week for a routine medical check-up and he’s staying at the family palazzo just outside the city. I have to go back for a few days to attend a board meeting and drop in on the factory there. It would be a perfect opportunity to do this.’

She still resisted, despite being intrigued. ‘Perfect for you, maybe... Milo has playschool, a routine. And what about my work?’

Rafaele’s lip curled. ‘Please—do you really expect me to believe that Milo will be irreparably damaged by missing a few days of playschool? And...’ those laser-like eyes narrowed on her ‘...I think that your boss would be very amenable to you taking the time off.’

Looking smug, Rafaele delivered the final nail in the coffin of Sam’s hopes to escape.

‘I spoke with Bridie about it when we met her outside just a while ago and she said she’d be only too happy to come to Italy with us and help watch Milo. She confided that as a devout Catholic she’s always wanted to visit Rome, and I promised her we could make a stop there on the way back...’

Sam clenched her hands into fists at her sides. ‘That’s low-down and dirty manipulation, Rafaele.’

He shrugged lightly. ‘Call it what you want, Sam, but I believe I’m entitled to a little “manipulation”. You, Milo and Bridie are coming to Italy with me in two days’ time so you’d better get prepared.’

Sam watched Rafaele turn and walk out and welcomed the rush of anger. No doubt he’d been planning this all along, lulling her into a false sense of security by moving into the house, demonstrating his capacity to compromise for his son’s sake. Rafaele was just showing his true colours now: his desire to dominate.

But worse, much worse than that, was the prospect of how hard it would be to return to the place where it had all started. If she was barely holding it together here, how would she manage when she was face to face with the past?

* * *

Two days later, in accordance with Rafaele’s autocratic decree, they were on a private plane belonging to Rafaele’s younger half-brother, the Greek aviation and travel billionaire Alexio Christakos.

Bridie was in silent raptures over the plush luxuriousness of it all and Milo was like a bottle of shaken-up lemonade—about to fizz over at any moment. Every day for him at the moment seemed to bring nothing but untold treasures, and Sam looked at him kneeling on the seat beside her now, watching the world get smaller and smaller beneath them.

It was his first time on a plane and Milo automatically looked for his new favourite person on the planet: Rafaele. Pointing with a chubby finger, he said, ‘Look, Daddy, look!’

Sam’s heart squeezed so tight she had to put a hand there, as if that could assuage the bittersweet pain and the anxiety. How could she trust that Rafaele wouldn’t grow bored and disappear from their lives, leaving Milo bereft? And her... Sam didn’t even want to go there.

They were cruising now, and Rafaele stood up and managed to dwarf the very comfortable ten-seater plane. He held out a hand to Milo. ‘Do you want to see the cockpit?’

He’d barely stopped talking before Milo had leapt off the seat and run to him. Rafaele picked him up. Milo didn’t even look to Sam for reassurance.

Sam felt silly tears prick her eyes and turned away, but she heard Bridie saying quietly from across the small aisle, ‘He’s a good man. He’ll take care of you both.’

Sam fought valiantly for control and looked at Bridie, gave her a watery smile. She couldn’t hide anything from this woman who had seen her devastation when she’d come home from Italy. Her father hadn’t even noticed, and had barely acknowledged her pregnancy in his sheer self-absorption. When Milo had appeared her father had merely raised an eyebrow and proceeded to behave as if he’d always been there.

Sam reached out and took Bridie’s hand, squeezing it. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’

‘So am I, love,’ Bridie said, and then with obvious glee, ‘I’m going to meet the Pope!’

Sam laughed, ‘I know Rafaele can do most things, but I’m not sure his influence extends to that.’

‘Not sure my influence extends to what?’

Sam tensed and looked up to catch Rafaele’s green gaze. She blushed and said, ‘Nothing... Milo should eat now. He’ll be hungry.’

Bridie stood up and took Milo from Rafaele. ‘I’ll have a word with the stewardess and we’ll get him sorted.’

Rafaele sat down in Bridie’s vacant seat when they were gone and extended his long legs into the aisle. He was the epitome of Italian masculine elegance today, in a dark grey suit, white shirt and tie. But all Sam could think of was the raw magnetism lurking under the surface of that urbanity.

‘It’s rude to talk about people behind their backs, you know,’ he observed without rancour.

Sam was immediately suspicious of this more civil Rafaele. He was undoubtedly happy to be returning to his own milieu.

She smiled tightly and avoided his gaze. ‘Don’t worry. Your number two fan only has good things to say about you.’

‘Unlike you...’

In a bid to break the sudden tension Sam asked quickly, ‘Your father...he knows about us coming?’

Rafaele sat back a little further. Milo could be heard chattering happily further up the plane.

The reserve that came over Rafaele’s features at the mention of his father didn’t go unnoticed by Sam.

‘I spoke to him on the phone and explained.’

‘How did he take the news of...of a grandson?’

Rafaele’s mouth thinned. ‘He’s looking forward to meeting the next generation.’

‘You’re not close to him, are you?’

Rafaele looked at her and asked almost accusingly, ‘How do you know?’

She shrugged minutely. ‘You never spoke about him much...and I know you didn’t grow up with him.’

‘No,’ he conceded. His mouth was even thinner, making Sam want to reach out and touch him. She curled her hands into fists in her lap.

With evident reluctance he said, ‘My mother left him when I was three and took me with her. He was in no state to care for me even if she’d wanted to leave me behind.’

In an instant Sam remembered the day they’d told Milo who Rafaele was and Rafaele had made that enigmatic comment about being three years old. He must have been referring to this.

‘Your mother wouldn’t have done that, surely...?’

Rafaele arched a dark brow. ‘No? So why did she abandon my older half-brother? Her firstborn son?’

Sam’s mouth opened and closed. ‘You have another brother?’

As if regretting saying anything, Rafaele said briskly, ‘He turned up out of the blue at my mother’s funeral. Alexio and I had no idea he even existed... Well, I had a memory of meeting him briefly when I was small but I thought it had been a dream.’

Half to herself, Sam said, ‘So Milo has two uncles...’

Rafaele emitted a curt laugh. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not likely we’ll be getting together as one big happy family any time soon. Alexio is busy running his empire and Cesar wants nothing to do with us.’

Just then Milo came running down the aisle and grabbed Rafaele’s hand, pulling him out of the seat. ‘Lunch is ready!’

Rafaele let himself be pulled up and held out a hand to Sam.

She felt unsettled and a little vulnerable after their conversation. It was another snippet Rafaele hadn’t revealed before. She put her hand into his and let him pull her out of the seat. He held it tightly all the way to the other end of the plane but Sam didn’t feel as if the gesture was meant to be romantic. On the contrary—it was meant to remind her that they had unfinished business.

* * *

Rafaele’s palazzo was as she remembered it: imposing, beautiful and impressive. The lush green gardens were stunningly landscaped. Its faintly crumbling grandeur hid opulent luxury inside. Four years ago Rafaele had still been in the process of doing it up and now it was finished.

As they approached up the grand steps Sam didn’t even notice how tense she’d become until Milo said plaintively, ‘Ow Mummy, too tight.’ She immediately relaxed her grip on his hand.

A different housekeeper from the one Sam remembered met them at the door and Rafaele introduced her as Luisa. She was soon busy directing the driver with their bags. Bridie was open-mouthed with shock and awe, and Sam felt a semi-hysterical giggle rise up, but it faded fast when she saw the stooped figure of a man with a cane approach them.

He barked out something in Italian and Sam saw Rafaele tense just a few feet ahead of her. She had that disturbing urge again to touch him, to offer some comfort.

He said curtly, ‘In English, Papa. They don’t speak Italian.’

The old man snorted and came into view. His eyes were deep set and so dark they looked black, staring out from a strong face lined with age and disappointment.

Milo was clutching Sam now and she lifted him up.

‘Well?’ Umberto growled. ‘Where is my grandson?’

Hesitantly Sam moved forward to stand beside Rafaele. She felt him snake an arm around her waist and didn’t like the way something within her immediately welcomed and gravitated towards the support.

‘Papa, this is Samantha Rourke, our son Milo, and Sam’s friend Bridie.’

Our son.

Sam nodded in the man’s direction. His black gaze seemed to be devouring them. He said nothing. Then, to Sam’s complete surprise, Milo squirmed to be set free and she had to put him down.

Holding her breath, Sam watched as Milo started to walk towards his grandfather. She wanted to snatch him back, as if from the jaws of danger, and even moved. But Rafaele’s hand stopped her, gripping her waist, making her über-aware of his hard body alongside hers. Even now...

Milo stopped in front of the man and asked with all the innocence of a child, ‘Why do you have a stick?’

The man just looked at him for a long moment and then barked out a laugh. ‘Dio, Rafaele, it’s like looking at you when you were that age. He’s a Falcone—no doubt about it.’

Rafaele’s hand gripped her waist so tightly now that Sam looked at him, but she could only see his hard jaw, a muscle twitching. Before she could do or say anything Rafaele had let her go and strode over to crouch down near Milo, who curled into him trustingly.

Huskily he was saying, ‘This is your grandpapa, piccolino.’

Umberto Falcone held out a hand to his grandson. ‘I am pleased to meet you.’

Milo grinned and took his hand, shaking it forcefully, making Umberto wince comically. Milo giggled and looked at Rafaele. ‘Can we play now?’

Rafaele stood up, still holding onto Milo’s hand, and something tense seemed to pass from him to his father. He said to Milo, ‘Why don’t we settle in first, hmm? We can play later.’

‘Okey-dokey.’ Milo took his hand from Rafaele’s and came back to Sam, who picked him up again.

Rafaele was now drawing her and Bridie forward to introduce them to Umberto, but gone was the joking man of moments ago. He seemed to have retreated again.

Bridie was saying politely, ‘You have a beautiful home here, Mr Falcone.’

The old man glanced at his son and said stiffly, ‘It’s not mine...it’s Rafaele’s. He bought it back after—’

‘Papa,’ Rafaele said warningly, and the man’s mouth shut.

He looked at Bridie then and said, ‘Come, let us take some refreshments and leave these young ones to settle in.’

Bridie looked at Sam, and Sam noticed that she was a bit pink in the cheeks. Sam pushed her gently in the direction where Umberto was setting off, surprisingly agile despite his cane and stooped figure. ‘Go on—sit down and have a rest. We’ll be fine.’

The housekeeper was despatching a younger woman in the direction of Umberto and Bridie with rapid Italian before leading them up the stairs herself. Sam was clinging onto Milo, afraid of the onslaught of memories lurking around each corner. She and Rafaele had made love all over this palazzo. He’d used to bring her here after work, apart from a couple of times when he’d taken her to her apartment, too impatient to wait, but she’d never spent a weekend here with him until that last weekend...

They were walking down a familiar corridor now, and Sam’s heart thumped hard when she recognised Rafaele’s bedroom door to the left. Thankfully they stopped at another door, just opposite.

‘This is your room. Milo is in an adjoining one.’

Sam walked into the room indicated by Rafaele. The housekeeper disappeared. Milo wriggled to be free and she put him down so he could explore. The room was sumptuous without being over the top. Understated luxury. Lots of discreet flower designs and soft greys. Sam heard a squeal of excitement from Milo and followed him into his room.

It was a small boy’s paradise. His bed was made in the shape of a car. The walls were bright. Books and toys covered almost every available surface. Sam looked at Rafaele helplessly as Milo found a toy train set.

He grabbed it up and went to Sam, ‘Is this mine, Mummy?’

Sam shot Rafaele a censorious look. She bent down. ‘Yes, it is, sweetie. But this is Rafaele’s house. You’ll have to leave it behind when we go home.’

Milo looked perturbed and turned to Rafaele. ‘Will you mind it for me when we go home?’

Rafaele sounded gruff. ‘Of course, piccolino.’

Milo’s lip quivered. Sam could see that it was all too much.

‘But...but what if another little boy comes and wants to play with it?’

Rafaele bent down and looked Milo in the eye. ‘That won’t happen. You are the only little boy who is allowed to play here, I promise.’

Instantly reassured, Milo spun away to start playing again.

Sam hissed at Rafaele. ‘This is too much for him. You can’t buy his affection, Rafaele.’

Rafaele stood up and took Sam’s arm, leading her out of earshot. ‘Damn you, Sam, I’m not trying to buy him... I want to spoil him—is that so bad?’

Sam looked into Rafaele’s eyes and felt herself drowning. She knew instinctively that Rafaele had done this out of the generous good of his heart, not out of any manipulative desire. He might do that with her, but all along he’d been ultra-careful to take her lead on how to deal with Milo.

She crossed her arms and felt like a heel. She looked down. ‘I’m sorry...that wasn’t entirely fair.’

Rafaele tipped her chin up. ‘No, it wasn’t.’

All Rafaele could see were those swirling grey depths, sucking him down and down to a place he didn’t want to investigate. Like Milo feeling overwhelmed, he suddenly felt the same. Letting go of Sam’s chin, he stepped back. He needed space. Now.

‘I’ll have Luisa bring you up some refreshments. You and Milo should settle in and rest. We’ll eat at seven.’

When he reached his study on the ground floor he closed the door and took a deep breath. He headed straight for his drinks cabinet and poured himself a shot of whisky, downing it in one. To his chagrin it wasn’t even Milo and the fact that he had his son in this house that seemed to be featuring prominently in his head. It was Sam. Having Sam back here. Reminding him of the heated insanity he’d felt around her before. Of how badly he’d needed her, how insatiably.

How sweet she’d been—so innocent. So bright. So unlike any other woman he’d known, seducing him effortlessly into a tangled web of need from which he’d only extricated himself with great effort. And he had been relieved to do so, no matter what the dull ache he’d felt for four years might have told him.

The ache had disappeared as soon as he’d decided that he’d contact her in England. He’d told himself that it would be different, that he wouldn’t still desire her. That he would be able to demonstrate how he’d moved on... But even at the first sound of her voice on the end of the phone his body had convulsed with need...

And then...Milo.

Rafaele felt pain lance his hand and looked down stupidly to see that he’d crushed the delicate glass. Cursing himself, he got a tissue and told himself he was being ridiculous. Seeing Sam here again, with his father too, in this palazzo...it was something he’d never expected to have to deal with. That was all.

* * *

The following morning when Sam woke up she was disorientated for a few long seconds, until the opulent surroundings and softer-than-soft bed registered. She sat up in a panic.

Milo.

Quickly she got out of bed and went to the open adjoining door. Milo’s bed was tossed, his pyjamas were on the ground and he was nowhere to be seen.

Bridie must have taken him for breakfast. The previous evening had seen them all seated for dinner—Milo sitting on big books on a chair to elevate him, insisting on feeding himself like a big boy, wanting to impress his new grandpapa, who had looked on approvingly.

To Sam’s relief, after dinner Rafaele, far too disturbing in jeans and a black top, had made his excuses and disappeared to his study. And then Bridie had insisted on taking Milo up to bed, as he’d been barely able to keep awake long enough to feed himself his new favourite dessert: gelato.

Sam had felt awkward, sitting with Umberto on her own, but the man had stood up and indicated for her to follow him and have some coffee, so she had. He’d led her to a small room off the dining room—comfortable, cosy.

Luisa had come and poured them coffee and Sam had felt she needed to break the ice. ‘I’m sorry...that you didn’t know about Milo before now.’

The old man had waved her words aside and admitted gruffly, ‘I gave up any right to pry into Rafaele’s life a long time ago.’

Not knowing how to respond, Sam had just taken a sip of coffee. She’d always loved the strength and potency of well-made Italian coffee.

‘Milo is the same age as Rafaele was when he left here with his mother.’

Sam had looked at Umberto.

‘He was very young.’ The old man’s face had darkened. ‘Too young to witness what he did.’

Sam had frowned. ‘I’m sorry... I don’t know...’

Umberto had looked at her, his gaze shrewd. ‘When my wife left me, Samantha, I was a broken man. I’d already lost everything. My house, the family legacy, the factory. My dignity. I begged her on my knees not to leave me but she did anyway. Rafaele witnessed my lowest moment and I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me for it.’

Sam had tried to take it in. She’d known Rafaele’s mother had left, but not the extent of it. She wondered how traumatic it must have been for a child to see his mother turn her back on his father and it was as if something slid home inside her—she could see now where Rafaele’s intensely commitment-phobic issues might stem from.

‘It was a long time ago...’ Umberto had said. ‘It’s good that you are here with Milo. This will be a challenge for my proud son, and perhaps that’s not a bad thing.’

Sam blinked in the morning light of her bedroom, the memory fading. She remembered now that she’d had disjointed dreams all night of a man on his knees, begging, pleading, with Milo looking on, crying in distress... She pursed her lips. One thing she could guarantee pretty categorically was that Rafaele would never be reduced to begging on his knees to anyone.

Trying not to think of that vulnerable three-year-old Rafaele, when all she could see was Milo in her mind’s eye, Sam washed and dressed and went to search for Milo and Bridie. She found them in the dining room with the sun pouring in.

Sam bent to kiss her son, aware of a cool green gaze on her from the head of the table. Umberto and Bridie broke off from their conversation to greet Sam and Rafaele stood up. Sam had to quell a dart of hurt. She felt as if the minute she entered a room he wanted to leave it.

‘I’ve got to go to the factory this morning for my meeting... I’ve arranged for a driver to come and pick you all up in an hour. He will drop Umberto off at the doctor’s and take you into Milan to sightsee. I’ll join you there this afternoon for a late lunch.’

Umberto muttered something rude about doctors and Sam saw Bridie smile.

Milo was asking Sam, ‘What’s sightsee?’

Rafaele had pinned Sam with that unreadable gaze and instantly she felt breathless. ‘I have to go to a function this evening. I’d like it if you accompanied me.’

Sam opened her mouth. ‘I...’

Bridie chipped in quickly. ‘Of course she will. You could do with a night out, Sam, love. I’ll be here, and Milo can sleep with me so you won’t have to worry about disturbing him.’

Sam glared at Bridie, who looked back at her with an innocence she didn’t trust for a second. Umberto was unhelpfully silent.

Sam looked at Rafaele and was loath to let him see that she might not want to go for very personal reasons.

She shrugged a shoulder. ‘Sure—why not?’

CHAPTER EIGHT

THAT EVENING SAM realised a fundamental flaw in her plan to join Rafaele for his function. She had no dress. She hadn’t even thought about it earlier, while in Milan, too caught up in the whistlestop sightseeing tour Rafaele had arranged for Bridie and Milo, who obviously hadn’t been there before. Then they’d picked Umberto up from the doctor’s and met Rafaele for lunch.

Biting her lip and wondering what to do, Sam went to the wardrobe, fully expecting it to be empty. When she opened the door, though, she gasped and her heart stopped cold in her chest. There was a dress hanging up inside, and it was the dress Rafaele had bought her four years before. She remembered the big white box it had come in, along with the matching underwear, shoes and jewels. She’d left it all behind at the palazzo because she’d felt as if it had never really belonged to her.

About two months after Sam had returned to England the box containing the dress, shoes, underwear and jewellery had arrived via a courier company. As soon as she’d realised what it was and had read the accompanying note—I bought this for you. Rafaele—Sam had sent it back with the note torn in two pieces.

And now it was here.

Sam felt short of breath. She took the dress out of the wardrobe, its material heavy and slinky, and stalked out of her bedroom and across the hall to Rafaele’s, not bothering to knock on the door.

Her eyes widened when she took in a naked Rafaele, strolling out of his bathroom and rubbing his hair with a towel. For a long moment he just stood there, and Sam’s eyes were glued to that broad, magnificent chest. Instant heat bloomed in her belly.

With a strangled sound she lifted her eyes and held the dress out. ‘What is the meaning of this?’