Rumours: The One-Night Heirs

But he didn’t tell.

There was no need for that.

And anyway she would be gone soon. So Raul kissed her instead.

It was a different kiss from last night—they knew more about each other now than then—but it did not last for long.

Raul knew his own reputation, and that it wouldn’t be changing any time soon, and so he pulled back.

She was dismissed.

Yet still they lingered in bed.

‘What are you going to do with the rest of your day?’ he asked her.

‘I’m going to head home while I’ve still got one. I’ll see if I can transfer my flight to today,’ Lydia said. ‘I want to tell my mother—away from Maurice—that I’m moving out.’

‘Good,’ Raul said. ‘You need to…’ He halted. It was not his place to tell her what to do.

‘I know what I need to do, Raul.’

She closed her eyes for a moment and thought of the mountain in front of her that she was about to climb—walking out on the family business, forging a career of her own, finding somewhere to live with nothing.

Yet there was excitement there too.

It was time.

And that made her smile.

‘What will you do today?’ Lydia asked.

Raul thought for a moment—the weekend spread out before him, and really he could take his pick.

Allegra was waiting for Raul to call with his amended schedule.

There were parties and invitations galore—particularly as he was known to be in Rome. And yet whatever he chose Raul knew it could not top last night.

‘I’ll go home,’ Raul said.

‘And where’s that?’ Lydia asked.

‘Venezia.’

Venice.

Lydia gave a wistful sigh, but then, so contrary were her memories from there, she screwed up her nose just a fraction—and he saw that she did.

To cover herself, and because she could not take him delving deep this morning, she quickly chose laughter and gave him a dig in his ribs.

‘You never told me that you lived there.’

‘Why would I?’

‘When I was talking about it you never let on…’ And then she halted, remembering that Raul owed her no explanations—they danced on the edge of the other, revealing only what they chose. ‘I’m not very good at being a one-night stand.’

‘No,’ he agreed with a wry smile, ‘you’re not.’ And then his smile dimmed, but still his eyes held hers and Raul asked a question. ‘Would you have regretted it if we had slept together?’

‘No.’ Lydia shook her head. ‘Raul, you seem to have decided that just because I haven’t slept with anyone I’m looking for something permanent. By all accounts I could have had that with Bastiano, but I chose not to. He’s not…’ Lydia faltered and then, rather than finishing, swallowed her words down. Raul didn’t need to hear them. The truth was she had no feelings for Bastiano.

None.

Yet she did for Raul.

‘Not what?’ Raul asked.

He’s not you would be her honest response.

But rather than say that Lydia was far more evasive. ‘He’s not what I want.’

‘What do you want?’

‘I wanted what every woman wants, a bit of romance while I was here. I’m not shopping for a husband.’ She gave a shrug and pulled one of the tangled sheets from the bed to cover herself. ‘I’m going to have a shower.’

And it was in the shower, with space between them, that Lydia pondered what she had been about to say.

He’s not you.

With Bastiano there was no attraction. Had it been Raul whom her family were trying to match-make her with she’d have been embarrassed, yes, and annoyed, perhaps, and yet there would have been excitement and trepidation too.

She liked Raul far more than it was safe to let on.

And Raul liked Lydia.

A lot.

That feeling was rare.

Mornings were never his strong point—generally he preferred women who dressed in the dark and were gone. He wasn’t proud of that fact, just honest, as he examined his usual wants. Yet this morning he was lying listening to Lydia in the shower and trying to resist joining her.

And again she had surprised him.

Lydia was tough.

There had been no tears, no pleas for help or for him to get involved. In fact she had actively discouraged it when he had offered to step in and deal with Maurice.

There was a level of independence to her that he had seen in few and he did not want her to be gone.

And, more honestly, he wanted to be her first.

It had nothing to do with Bastiano.

In fact Raul wanted her well away from here.

He was wondering if he could give Lydia what she wanted.

The romantic trip to Italy she craved.

He could do that for a day, surely?

Raul didn’t look over at her when Lydia came out from the bathroom and went through to the lounge. There she found her case and pulled out an outfit.

Lydia chose the nice cream dress she had brought for sightseeing and some flat sandals.

Her hair was a bit of a disaster, but she had left her adaptor in her hotel room, so there was no point dragging out her straighteners.

Lydia made do and smoothed it as best she could. She could hear Raul making some calls on his phone and commencing his day.

She had been but a brief interlude, Lydia knew. And so she checked that her sunglasses were in her purse and then walked back into the bedroom—and there he lay. He was even more beautiful now than when she had met him.

Then Raul had been in a suit and clean-shaven.

A mystery.

Now he lay in bed with his hands behind his head, thinking. She knew, because she had lain beside him all night, that he was naked save the sheet that barely covered him. He was unshaven and his eyes seemed heavy from sleep as he turned and looked at her.

And the more that she knew, the more of a mystery he was.

This was regret, Lydia thought.

That he could so easily let her go.

And how did she walk away? Lydia wondered.

How did she go over and kiss that sulky mouth and say goodbye when really she wanted to climb back into bed?

How did she accept that she would never know how it felt to be made love to by him?

But rather than reveal her thoughts she flicked that internal default switch which had been permanently set to ‘polite’.

‘Thank you so much for last night.’

‘I haven’t finished being your tour guide yet.’

He stretched out his arm and held out his hand, but Lydia didn’t go over. She did not want to let in hope, so she just stood there as Raul spoke.

‘It would be remiss of me to let you go home without seeing Venice as it should be seen.’

‘Venice?’

Oh, she repeated his offer only because she was mystified. She’d been preparing to leave with her head held high, but then, when she had least expected it, he’d offered more.

So much more.

‘I like to call it by its other name—La Serenissima,’ Raul said. ‘It means the Most Serene.’

‘That’s not how I remember my time there.’

‘Then you have a chance to change that. I’m heading there today. Why don’t you come with me? Fly out of Marco Polo tomorrow instead.’

There was another night between now and then, and Lydia knew that even while he offered her an extension he made it clear there was a cut-off.

Time added on for good behaviour.

And Raul’s version of ‘good behaviour’ was that there would be no tears or drama as she walked away. Lydia knew that. If she were to accept his offer, then she had to remember that.

‘I’d like that.’ The calm of her voice belied the trembling she felt inside. ‘It sounds wonderful.’

‘Only if you’re sure,’ Raul added.

‘Of course.’

But how could she be sure of anything now she had set foot in Raul’s world?

He made her dizzy.

Disorientated.

Not just her head, but every cell in her body seemed to be spinning as he hauled himself from the bed and unlike Lydia, with her sheet-covered dash to the bathroom, his body was hers to view.

And that blasted default switch was stuck, because Lydia did the right thing and averted her eyes.

Yet he didn’t walk past. Instead Raul walked right over to her and stood in front of her.

She could feel the heat—not just from his naked body but her own—and it felt as if her dress might disintegrate.

He put his fingers on her chin, tilted her head so that she met his eyes, and it killed that he did not kiss her, nor drag her back to his bed. Instead he checked again. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Of course,’ Lydia said, and tried to make light of it. ‘I never say no to a free trip.’

It was a joke—a teeny reference to the very reason she was here in Rome—but it put her in an unflattering light. She was about to correct herself, to say that it hadn’t come out as she had meant, but then she saw his slight smile and it spelt approval.

A gold-digger he could handle, Lydia realised.

Her emerging feelings for him—perhaps not.

At every turn her world changed, and she fought for a semblance of control. Fought to convince not just Raul but herself that she could handle this.

They were driven right up to his jet, and his pilot and crew were waiting on the runway to greet them.

‘Do you always have a jet on standby?’ Lydia asked.

‘Always.’

‘What’s wrong with first class?’ Lydia asked, refusing to appear too impressed.

‘When children are banned from first class, then I’ll consider commercial flights.’

He wouldn’t!

Raul liked his privacy, as well as his own staff.

Inside the plane was just as luxurious as the hotel they had come from, and very soon there was take-off and she looked out of the window and watched Rome disappear beneath them.

Lydia felt free.

Excited, nervous, but finally free.

‘I travel a lot.’ Raul explained the real reason for his plane. ‘And, as you saw this morning, my schedule is prone to change. Having my own jet shaves hours off my working week.’

‘How did you do all this?’ Lydia asked.

‘I received an inheritance when my mother died.’

‘Your family was rich?’

‘No.’

He thought back to Casta. They had been comfortable financially, compared to some, but it had been dirty money and always quickly spent.

Neither the Di Savo nor the Conti wineries had ever really taken off.

And then he thought of him and Bastiano, drinking the wine together and laughing at how disgusting it tasted.

They had been such good friends.

In the anger and hate that had fuelled him for years, Raul had forgotten that part.

It would serve him better not to remember it now.

Bastiano was the enemy, and he reminded himself of that when he spoke next.

‘My mother had some money from her brother. She left half to her lover and half to me. It was enough for me to buy the flat I was renting. Then I took out a mortgage on one across the floor and rented it out. I kept going like that. You were right—developers did come in, and they made me an offer that I should not have been able to refuse.’

‘But you did?’

‘Yes. If they could see the potential, then so could I. One of the owners upstairs had done some refurbishing, and I watched and learnt. By then I had four studio apartments, and I turned them into two more luxurious ones… It had always been an amazing location, but now it was a desirable address. A few years later the other owner and I got the backing to turn it into a hotel. I bought him out in the end. I wanted it for myself. That was always the end game.’

‘You used him?’

‘Of course,’ Raul said. ‘That’s what I do.’

He didn’t care if that put him in an unflattering light.

Better that she know.

‘Do you go back often?’ Lydia asked. ‘To Sicily?’

Raul shook his head. ‘I haven’t been back since my mother’s funeral.

‘Don’t you miss it?’ Lydia pushed.

‘There is nothing there for me to miss.’

‘You didn’t go back for your father’s funeral?’ Lydia checked.

‘No. He was already dead to me.’

‘But even so—’

‘Should I pretend to care?’ Raul interrupted.

Lydia didn’t know how to answer that. In her family appearances were everything, and there was a constant demand to be seen to do the right thing.

Raul lived by rules of his own.

‘No,’ she answered finally.

Her response was the truth—she could think of nothing worse than Raul pretending to care and her believing in his lies.

Better to know from the start that this was just temporary, for when he removed her from his life she really would be gone for good.

‘Do you want to change for dinner?’

‘Dinner?’ Lydia checked, and then she looked at the sun, too low in the sky. The day was running away from them already.

And soon, Lydia knew, it would be her turn to be the one left behind.

CHAPTER EIGHT

LYDIA HAD BEEN in two different bedrooms belonging to Raul.

One at the hotel.

The other on his plane.

Tonight would make it three.

Raul was wearing black pants and a white shirt—dressed for anything, she guessed.

Lydia opened her case, and there was the red dress she had bought with Raul on her mind.

It was too much, surely?

Yet she would never get the chance again. She thought of where she’d be tomorrow—rowing with her mother and no doubt packing a lifetime of stuff into trunks and preparing to move out of the castle.

A bell buzzed, and Lydia knew she had to move a little more quickly.

Simple, yet elegant, there was nothing that should scream ‘warning’ in the dress, and yet it hugged her curves, and the slight ruching of the fabric over her stomach seemed to indicate the shiver she felt inside.

On sight he had triggered something.

Those dark eyes seemed to see far beyond the rather brittle façade she wore.

She didn’t know how to be sexy, yet around him she was.

More than that—she wanted to be.

She added lipstick and wished she’d worn the neutral shoes.

Except Lydia felt far from neutral about tonight.

It was too much.

Far, far too much.

She would quickly change, Lydia decided.

But then there was a gentle rap on the door and she was informed that it was time to be seated.

‘I’ll just be a few moments,’ Lydia said, and dismissed the steward. But what she did not understand about private jets was the fact that there were not two hundred passengers to get strapped in.

‘Now.’ The steward smiled. ‘We’re about to come in to land.’

There was no chance to change and so, shy, reluctant, but trying not to show it, Lydia stepped out.

‘Sit down,’ Raul said.

He offered no compliment—really, he gave no reaction.

In fact he took out his phone and sent a text.

Oddly, it helped.

She had a moment to sit with her new self, away from his gaze, and Lydia looked out of the window and willed her breathing to calm.

Venice was always beautiful, and yet today it was even more so.

As they flew over on their final descent she rose out of the Adriatic in full midsummer splendour, and Lydia knew she would remember this moment for ever. The last time she had felt as if she were sitting alone, even though she had been surrounded by school friends.

Now, as the wheels hit the runway, Lydia came down to earth as her spirit soared high.

And as they stood to leave he told her.

‘You look amazing.’

‘Is it too much?’

‘Too much?’ Raul frowned. ‘It’s still summer.’

‘No, I meant…’ She wasn’t talking about the amount of skin on show, but she gave up trying to explain what she meant.

But Raul hadn’t been lost in translation—he had deliberately played vague.

He had heard Maurice’s reprimand yesterday morning and knew colour was not a feature in her life.

Till today.

And so he had played it down.

He had told her to sit, as if blonde beauties in sexy red dresses wearing red high heels regularly walked out of the bedroom of his plane.

Actually, they did.

But they had never had him reaching for his phone and calling in a favour from Silvio, a friend.

Raul had been toying with the idea all afternoon…wondering if it would be too much.

But then he had seen her. Stunning in red. Shy but brave. And if Lydia had let loose for tonight, then so too would he.

‘Where are we going?’ Lydia asked.

‘Just leave all that to me.’

Last time she’d been in Venice there had been strict itineraries and meeting points, but this time around there was no water taxi to board. Instead their luggage was loaded onto a waiting speedboat, and while Raul spoke with the driver Lydia took a seat and drank in the gorgeous view.

Then she became impatient to know more, because the island they were approaching looked familiar.

‘Tell me where we’re going.’

‘To Murano.’

‘Oh.’ Just for a second her smile faltered. Last time Lydia had been there she had felt so wretched.

‘Sometimes it is good to go back.’

‘You don’t, though,’ Lydia pointed out, because from everything she knew about Raul he did all he could not to revisit the past.

‘No, I don’t.’

She should leave it, Lydia knew, and for the moment she did.

There was barely a breeze as their boat sliced through the lagoon. Venice could never disappoint. Raul had been right. It heightened the emotions, and today Lydia’s happiness was turning to elation.

In a place of which she had only dark memories suddenly everything was bright, and so she looked over to him and offered a suggestion.

‘Maybe you should go back, Raul.’

He did not respond.

They docked in Murano, the Island of Bridges, and Raul took her hand to help Lydia off the boat. The same way as he had last night in Rome, he didn’t let her hand go.

And in a sea of shorts and summer tops and dresses Lydia was overdressed.

For once she cared not.

They walked past all the showrooms and turned down a small cobbled street. Away from the tourists there was space to slow down and just revel in the feel of the sun on her shoulders.

‘I know someone who has a studio here,’ Raul said.

He did not explain that often in the mornings Silvio was at Raul’s favourite café, and they would speak a little at times. And neither did he explain that he had taken Silvio up on a long-standing offer—‘If you ever want to bring a friend…’

Raul had never envisaged that he might.

Oh, he admired Silvio’s work—in fact his work had been one of the features that had drawn Raul to buy his home.

He had never thought he might bring someone, though, and yet she was so thrilled to be here, so lacking in being spoilt…

‘Silvio is a master glassmaker,’ Raul explained. ‘He comes from a long line of them. His work is commissioned years in advance and it’s exquisite. There will be no three-legged ponies to tempt you.’

And Lydia had never thought she could smile at that memory, yet she did today.

‘In fact there is nothing to buy—there is a waiting list so long that he could never complete it in his lifetime. People say that to see him work is to watch the sun being painted in the sky. All we have to do this evening is enjoy.’

‘You’ve never seen him work?’

‘No.’

But that changed today.

It was the great man himself who opened a large wooden door and let them in. The place was rather nondescript, with high ceilings and a stained cement floor, and in the middle was a large furnace.

Silvio wore filthy old jeans and a creased shirt and he was unshaven, yet there was an air of magnificence about him.

‘This is Lydia,’ Raul introduced her.

‘Welcome to Murano.’

‘She has been here before,’ Raul said. ‘Though the last time it was on a school trip.’

The old man smiled. ‘And did you bring home a souvenir?’

‘A vase.’ Lydia nodded. ‘It was for my mother.’

‘Did she like it?’

Lydia was about to give her usual smile and nod, but then she stood there remembering her mother’s air of disdain as she had opened the present.

‘She didn’t seem to appreciate it,’ Lydia admitted.

It had hurt a lot at the time.

All her savings and so much pain had gone into the purchase, and yet Valerie had turned up her nose.

But Silvio was looking out of the windows.

‘I had better get started. The light is getting low,’ he explained.

‘Too low to work?’ Lydia asked.

‘No, no…’ He smiled. ‘I do very few pieces in a fading light. They are my best, though. I will get some coffee.’

Silvio headed to a small kitchenette and Lydia wandered, her heels noisy on the concrete floor.

There was nothing to see, really, nor to indicate brilliance—nothing to pull her focus back from the past.

‘My mother hated that vase,’ Lydia told Raul as she wandered. ‘She ended up giving it to one of the staff as a gift.’ God, that had hurt at the time, but rather than bring down the mood Lydia shrugged. ‘At least it went to practical use rather than gathering dust.’

The coffee Silvio had made was not for his guests, Lydia quickly found out. He returned and placed a huge mug on the floor beside a large glass of water, and then she and Raul had the privilege of watching him work.

Molten glass was stretched and shaped and, with a combination of the most basic of tools and impossible skill, a human form emerged.

And then another.

It was mesmerising to watch—as if the rather drab surroundings had turned into a cathedral. The sun streamed in from the westerly windows and caught the thick ribbons of glass. And Lydia watched the alchemy as somehow Silvio formed two bodies, and then limbs emerged.

It was like witnessing creation.

Over and over Silvio twisted and drew out tiny slivers of glass—spinning hair, eyes, and shaping a slender waist. It was erotic too, watching as Silvio formed breasts and then shaped the curve of a buttock.

Nothing was held back. The male form was made with nothing left to the imagination, and the heat in her cheeks had little to do with the furnace that Silvio used to fire his tools and keep the statue fluid.

It was sensual, creative and simply art at its best. Faces formed and pliable heads were carefully moved, and the kiss that emerged was open-mouthed and so erotic that Lydia found her own tongue running over her lips as she remembered the blistering kisses she and Raul had shared.

It was like tasting Raul all over again and feeling the weight of his mouth on hers.

Lydia fought not to step closer, because she didn’t want to get in the way or distract Silvio, yet every minuscule detail that he drew from the liquid glass deserved attention. She watched the male form place a hand on the female form’s buttock and flushed as if Raul had just touched her there.

Raul was trying not to touch her.

It was such an intimate piece, and personal too, for it felt as if the energy that hummed between them had somehow been tapped.

And then Silvio merged the couple, pulling the feminine thigh around the male loin, arching the neck backwards, and Lydia was aware of the sound of her own pulse whooshing in her ears.

The erotic beauty was more subtle now, the anatomical details conjoined for ever and captured in glass. And then Silvio rolled another layer of molten glass over them, covering the conjoined beauty with a silken glass sheet.

Yet they all knew what lay beneath.

‘Now my signature…’ Silvio said, and Lydia felt as if she had been snapped from a trance.