The Italians: Cristiano, Vittorio and Dario: Once a Ferrara Wife... / A Dark Sicilian Secret / Blackmailed Bride, Innocent Wife

A life he hadn’t even known was at risk.

A love she didn’t believe in.

Trying to clear his head, Cristiano lurched into the shower and turned the jets on full force and the temperature to cold.

Minutes later he was shivering, but his brain still wasn’t functioning.

He kept thinking of her alone in a hospital room, her fears dismissed by those closest to her.

Her accusation that he was the one who had pushed her to confide in him and trust him rang loud in his brain. He remembered that single phone call with uncomfortable clarity, including the part where he’d placed all his trust in the doctor’s opinion and dismissed her anxieties.

Phone call. He had to make a phone call.

Cristiano turned off the shower, knotted a towel around his hips and sleepwalked back into the bedroom, trying to remember where he’d put his phone. He stared blankly at his suit, strewn carelessly on the floor in the hot burn of passion.

She’d almost died.

Picking up his trousers, he fumbled blindly in the pockets. No phone. Surely he’d had it with him last night?

Why hadn’t the hospital called him when she was admitted?

Distracted by that question, he picked up his jacket and his phone slid out of the pocket and fell onto the tiled floor with an ominous crack.

Broken, he thought. Like everything else around him. And all through his own carelessness.

Trying not to compare that livid line now dividing the screen with the state of his marriage, Cristiano punched in the number of the hospital, relieved to find that the phone still worked.

His reputation meant that he was instantly put through to the relevant person.

Unsettled to find that the hand holding the phone was shaking, he sank onto the sofa.

When the consultant at the hospital refused to divulge any information on Laurel’s case without her permission, Cristiano tried asserting his authority but in truth he had none and the man wouldn’t betray patient confidentiality.

Feeling uncomfortably as if he was losing his grip, Cristiano pulled on his clothes from the night before and dropped his shattered phone into the pocket of his trousers.

Nothing the doctor told him would have changed the way he was feeling anyway.

The details about what had happened at the hospital were irrelevant now. Wasn’t he the one who always said that you had to keep moving forward? And here he was, rooted to the spot, beating himself up about the past while she was currently boarding a plane, intent on getting as far away from him as possible.

He had to stop her.

Still in the process of buttoning his shirt, Cristiano grabbed his car keys and sprinted from the villa, leaving the door wide open. He sprang into his sports car and accelerated away, exploiting his skill and knowledge to push the car to the limits of its capability. Dust rose behind him, smothering his stunned security team in a choking white cloud.

Part of him was aware that he was behaving like a madman but he didn’t even care.

She did this to him, he thought, finally finding focus as he shifted gears. She drove him to behave in ways he had never behaved before. Take marriage—he braked sharply and swerved to avoid an oncoming car—he’d been perfectly happy with his single status until he’d met Laurel.

Santo had employed her to train him for the New York City Marathon and had suggested she advise on the hotel development.

Right from the first moment he’d seen her, Cristiano had been lost.

She’d walked into his office, that chocolate-brown ponytail swinging, and calmly pointed out all the flaws in the plans for the new state-of-the-art fitness centre.

Other people tiptoed around him, intimidated by the power he wielded. Most of them were too protective of their own futures to challenge him.

Laurel had shown no such reservations. She had absolute faith in her own expertise, a confidence that came from a lifetime of making decisions alone. He’d learned quickly that the only person she trusted in life was herself.

In his head he heard her voice on that day she’d come to his office to give him her recommendations.

‘You hired me,’ she’d reminded him in a cool voice as she’d scored lines through the list of equipment and added more. ‘I presume you want my professional opinion. Your entire model is flawed. No one wants to come to a hotel of this quality and sweat on a treadmill. You need personal trainers. One to one. Everything tailored to the individual. You need free weights, exercise balls, offer Pilates—’ Her list had been carefully thought out. It had been her idea to turn what had originally been a standard gym into an exclusive fitness club, including physiotherapy and links to the spa with massage and beauty treatments. ‘You’ll attract athletes, but also normal people because you’re developing tailored programmes. In an ideal world everyone should have a personal programme and you’re trying to create an ideal world.’

When he’d pointed out the cost of her plans, she’d laughed. ‘Do you want to be the best or not?’

Despite grumblings from his brother, he’d followed her proposal to the last detail, admiring her bold vision and her innate sense of what was possible.

It had been an overwhelming success.

The Ferrara Spa Resort was now one of Europe’s foremost hotels. They did indeed attract top athletes who were able to maintain fitness within the luxurious resort, but they also drew a less physically fit clientele eager to make use of the expertise on offer. Laurel had personally selected the staff, trained them and supervised those opening weeks to ensure that everything was the very best it could be. She worked like a Trojan.

Cristiano had offered her a small fortune to stay on and run it but she’d turned him down flat.

‘I don’t work for other people.’ She was the most independent, self-reliant woman he’d ever met. Ironic, he mused, that the very quality that had drawn him had been the one that had eventually torn them apart.

Because of him. Because of his blind, selfish behaviour.

There had been reasons, of course. Reasons for switching off his phone and trying to block out all distractions. Reasons for choosing to stay instead of fly home. But he hadn’t shared those reasons because any explanation he delivered now would be seen as an excuse. And there was no excuse for the arrogant, thoughtless way he’d dismissed her fears.

No pile of bricks, no piece of land was worth the price they’d both paid.

Cristiano released the brakes and fed in the throttle, reaching the airport in record time.

Violating at least three traffic laws, he abandoned the car at the front of the terminal building and strode through the glass doors to Departures.

This part of the airport was unfamiliar to him and it was like walking into hell, a teeming mass of bad-tempered humanity crushed together into a woefully inadequate space.

Tripping over an ill-placed suitcase, Cristiano regained his balance and looked round, desperately trying to spot Laurel in the crowd. It seemed an impossible task. The place was heaving with tourists trying to move enormous suitcases through an unyielding, irritated throng. Faces glowed scarlet from too much Sicilian sun and too little cream, babies screamed, toddlers were fractious with boredom, mothers harassed, fathers bad tempered.

It was a place Cristiano had never had reason to visit before and looking at it now he had no regrets about that. Why did people come on holiday? he thought as he took advantage of his superior height to see over the heads of a group of scantily clad, giggling teenage girls.

He was just about to locate someone in authority and demand that they make an announcement over the public address system when he spotted a shiny brown ponytail towards the front of the check-in desk for Heathrow.

Laurel.

Hot and sticky, Laurel handed her ticket to the woman on the desk.

‘I’d like an aisle seat if possible, please.’

She didn’t want to look out of the window. She wanted to read a book and shut Sicily out of her mind.

A different woman would have sobbed all the way to the airport, but Laurel was in full crisis mode, focusing on getting out of Sicily and back to London as fast as possible.

She felt numb, slightly removed from everything that was happening around her.

Because of that, she wasn’t aware of the commotion behind her until she noticed a group of women in an adjoining queue all staring in awe.

Laurel recognised that look.

She’d seen it a million times on the faces of women when they caught sight of Cristiano.

Heart thumping, she turned her head to follow the direction of their stares and saw him forging his way through throngs of gawping tourists. Her first reaction was one of astonishment. She knew for certain he’d never been into this part of the airport before and he looked ridiculously out of place, like a thoroughbred horse in a field of donkeys.

Astonishment changed to alarm as it dawned on her that there was only one explanation for him being here. He wanted to stop her leaving.

And she didn’t want to be stopped.

She didn’t want to listen to anything he had to say.

As he vaulted smoothly over a pile of suitcases blocking his path, she backed away from him.

‘Go away. I have nothing left to say to you.’

‘You may have nothing left to say to me but I have plenty to say to you.’

‘My flight is boarding. I don’t have time to listen.’

His eyes glowed dark and dangerous. ‘If I board that plane I’ll have it grounded.’

Unlike the women hovering close to her, Laurel was unimpressed. ‘Then I’ll board a different plane. There is nothing you can say that I want to hear.’

‘You don’t know that until you’ve listened.’ He appeared oblivious to the growing audience of tourists who, sensing drama, pressed in closer.

‘You want to defend yourself. It’s what you always do.’

He sucked in a deep breath. For a moment she thought he was going to stretch out a hand to her but then he changed his mind and let it fall back to his side. ‘Even I cannot defend the indefensible.’

A woman close to her sighed dreamily, but Laurel ignored her.

‘You are finally admitting that your behaviour may have been less than perfect?’

‘My behaviour was abysmal.’

It wasn’t the words that caught her attention, although they were unusual enough. It was his dishevelled appearance that finally made her think that perhaps his attempts to talk were driven by conscience rather than his usual urge to prove that he was right in everything.

Before this moment she’d never seen Cristiano anything other than immaculate. But not only was he badly in need of a shave but he’d clearly left the villa halfway through the act of dragging on his clothes. ‘Aren’t those the trousers you wore for the wedding?’

‘I was in a hurry to get here.’ His bronzed face had lost layers of colour, his dark eyes shadowed with guilt. ‘I grabbed the first thing I could find.’

She wondered if he even realised that half the buttons of his shirt were still undone, the result offering those gawping women a tantalising view of the most masculine chest they were likely to see in a lifetime.

‘I appreciate the gesture, but it doesn’t change anything. Go home, Cristiano. I don’t want you.’

From somewhere behind her she heard a woman mutter, ‘If she doesn’t want him, I’ll have him’, but Laurel wasn’t interested in anyone else’s opinion on the man in question.

His eyes were feverish, the look in them close to desperation. ‘Give me a chance to apologise properly.’

‘Yes, give him a chance, love!’ There was a chorus of encouragement from the growing crowd and one of the women grinned at her. ‘If a man wants to say sorry, never stop him. It’s a rare enough occurrence. Let him speak.’

All they saw was spectacular good looks and wealth and Laurel trusted neither. ‘He’s clever with words.’

‘Lucky you. My husband can’t string a sentence together that doesn’t contain the words “beer” and “football”.’ ‘Whatever he says, he won’t mean it.’ ‘Yes, I will!’ Cristiano interrupted forcefully and sent a dazzling smile towards the already starry-eyed woman. ‘Thank you for your advice. I hope you’ve had a spectacular stay in Sicily.’

‘We have, thank you very much.’ ‘Madam, we have your boarding card.’ The girl at the check-in desk handed Laurel her passport and the card but Cristiano reached out and took it.

‘We’re holding up the queue. At the very least we should have this conversation somewhere else.’

‘We’re not having a conversation.’

‘All right, I’ll do it here if that’s what it takes.’

‘Do what?’

After the briefest hesitation, Cristiano dragged her against him and kissed her, but this kiss was nothing like the ones that had set her on fire the night before. It was a blatant attempt to dissuade her from her course and it held more than a hint of desperation.

Somewhere in the distance Laurel heard someone sigh and she resolutely ignored the flare of heat that tugged at her belly as she pulled away from him.

‘That is not an apology.’

‘I know.’ His voice was a husky, apologetic groan. ‘But first I had to get your attention and I don’t know any other way. My brain isn’t working.’

And he had her attention, just as he’d known he would. As always, he knew exactly how to turn her into a shivering, compliant mass.

‘Mi dispiace, I’m sorry.’ He murmured the words against her mouth so that even in this impersonal space, his apology was intimate and heartfelt. ‘I’m sorry about our baby. I’m sorry about your frightening experience. Most of all I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you. I have so many things to say sorry for I don’t know where to start.’

Tears that had been nowhere in sight when she’d stalked away from him suddenly sprang to the back of her eyes. ‘It’s too late.’

‘Ti amo. I love you, Laurie.’ His hands cupped her cheeks. His eyes held hers, refusing to let her look away. ‘I can see why you might not believe that right now, but I do love you.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘I’ll say it because it’s true, although I’m the first to admit I’ve made a disaster of showing you. I’m clumsy and thoughtless but I love you. I love you so much I don’t know how I will cope if you’re not in my life and I’m too selfish to let you go.’

Thrown off balance, she rested her hands on his chest, steadying herself against the swoop of emotion that threatened to take her legs from under her. ‘You’ll cope perfectly. You always do.’

‘That isn’t true. For the past two years I have filled every hour with work to try and blot out the fact that you weren’t there.’

‘When I was here you barely saw me. Only at night.’ ‘Come back to me and that will change,’ he vowed. ‘I will change.’

‘You can’t change, Cristiano. You will be in mid-conversation with me and that phone of yours will ring and suddenly I’ll slide to the bottom of your list of priorities.’

‘Never again,’ he vowed thickly. ‘From now on you’re right at the top of that list and you’re staying there. I’ve learned that lesson.’

‘You’re incapable of changing.’

‘Give me a chance to prove you wrong.’

Never had the departure hall of the airport been so quiet. News of the dramatic encounter at the check-in desk for the Heathrow flight appeared to have spread and now it seemed that half the passengers were listening rapt to the exchange, grateful for any distraction from the boredom and unpleasantness of the airport experience.

And now everyone was waiting for Laurel’s answer.

‘People don’t just change overnight, Cristiano. You’re so competitive, you’re programmed to drive your business to the top. And the only reason you’re here fighting for me now is because you’ve lost me.’

The remaining colour disappeared from his face. ‘I can’t lose you. I won’t. I behaved appallingly, that’s true, but at least give me a chance to make it up to you.’

‘You can make it up to me by letting me board that flight.’ She had to get out of here, she thought desperately. She had to get on that plane before she fell for his smooth patter all over again. ‘Thanks for the apology. I appreciate it. And if you really are sorry then the best thing you can do is leave me to get on with the rest of my life.’

The trouble was that there was no smooth patter, Laurel thought numbly. This normally fluent man was stumbling like a teenager on his first date and the struggle affected her far more than any degree of polished sophistication.

Exasperated with herself for still standing here when she should be boarding the plane, she watched as he fumbled in his pocket and drew out a slim rectangular velvet box.

‘I bought you a gift.’

Laurel looked at the shape and relaxed slightly.

A diamond necklace.

This, at least, was a predictable response.

She had a diamond necklace for every row they’d ever had.

‘Goodbye, Cristiano.’

‘No!’ He opened the box and the words froze in her mouth because nestling on a bed of blue velvet was an old rusty key. ‘What on earth is that?’

‘It’s something I bought for you two years ago.’ In the background a flight was called and his expression went from desperate to determined. ‘I’d like you to see what it opens before you make up your mind that we have no future.’

It wasn’t a diamond necklace.

Laurel reached out and lifted the key. It was large and surprisingly heavy. It looked as if it would open a gate of some sort, but she had no idea what gate or where it led.

Cristiano took advantage of her silence. ‘You say that I was thinking of work all the time and not you, but if you come with me now I can prove that wasn’t true. I understand that you can’t suddenly bring yourself to trust me again, but would you at least agree to stay in Sicily for a few more weeks so that I can show you something?’

Despite her reservations, the key fascinated her and it was that, together with the growing awareness that their entangled love life was now the focus of everyone’s attention that weakened her resolve. Tired of playing the starring role in a drama she hadn’t scripted, Laurel looked at him. ‘I’m not promising to stay for weeks. But I’ll stay long enough for you to show me what this opens. Then I’ll decide.’

Her words were greeted by a ripple of approval from the crowd and Laurel felt suddenly trapped. ‘Don’t get any ideas. This isn’t forever. This is—’

‘—just to get us out of this hellhole,’ he muttered under his breath, flashing her a grateful smile that said he was feeling the same way as her.

He picked up her suitcase and the fascinated crowd parted in front of them. As they made it through the obstacle course of holiday luggage to the front of the building, applause broke out behind them and Cristiano rolled his eyes.

‘Are they clapping you or me?’

‘Probably applauding your pecs. You’ve had them on display for the past ten minutes.’

He glanced ruefully down at his open shirt but buttoning it up required releasing her hand or her suitcase and it appeared he was reluctant to do either. ‘I have an excellent personal trainer.’

Seeing his sports car parked at an odd angle in front of the terminal building, Laurel stopped dead. ‘What happened there?’

He viewed the evidence of his own dubious driving with a pained expression. ‘My concentration wasn’t what it might have been.’

‘So it would seem.’ She watched as he stowed her suitcase in the boot. The key was heavy in her hand and still she had no idea what it opened. ‘Are we going back to the villa?’

The horrible feeling that she’d made the wrong decision lingered in her subconscious.

What difference was a rusty key going to make to their relationship?

Should she have held tight to the boarding card and climbed onto that plane?

‘If we go back to the villa we will be mobbed by my well-meaning family. The next part of our conversation is going to be conducted without an audience.’

‘So where are we going?’

‘It’s a surprise.’

‘I’m not big on surprises.’ Reminding herself that all she was giving him was the opportunity to apologise properly and without an audience, Laurel slid into the car. ‘Don’t you think you’d better go home first and change? Pick up some luggage?’ ‘No.’

‘You’re wearing half a tuxedo. You look ridiculous.’ Except that he didn’t. He looked insanely sexy, which just wasn’t fair because he’d literally dragged on his clothes and still had the attention of every woman in the airport.

Including her.

The engine started with a throaty roar and he turned to look at her, his dark gaze colliding with hers. ‘Do you care what I’m wearing? Does it matter?’

Even here, with horns blaring and people staring, chemistry flared hot and fierce.

She just couldn’t make it die, she thought desperately, feeling the air around them grow electric and her nerve-endings start to sing. Shaken, her gaze slid to the gap in his shirt and then back to his eyes. ‘Don’t think sex is going to get you off the hook.’

‘I don’t think that.’ He didn’t smile. He didn’t flirt. For a moment she thought he was going to say something else and then his phone rang.

The timing couldn’t have been worse.

Tense as the string on a violin, she waited for him to answer it.

His hand automatically left the steering wheel to reach into his pocket and then he stopped and she saw the exact moment he made the decision not to take the call.

Laurel sighed. ‘Answer it. Your empire might be crumbling.’

‘Let it crumble.’ Instead of returning his hand to the steering wheel, he closed it over her cold fingers. ‘I know you don’t think I can do this, but I can. I want to. I am going to prove to you that our marriage matters more to me than anything.’

Instead of reassuring her, his words increased her own tension levels because she knew that even if they could somehow put the past behind them, a future was impossible.

She knew it wasn’t just a simple question of recreating what they’d had before.

Everything had changed.

Everything except for the dangerous chemistry that sizzled between them.

Even as doubts and obstacles rose in her mind, the firm pressure of his hand on hers flicked sparks of excitement through her body.

When she’d stalked out of the villa she’d been absolutely sure of what she was doing.

When he’d stumbled into the airport, she’d still been sure.

When he’d handed her that velvet box she’d thought, Here we go again—he’s going to try and buy his way out of trouble.

And then he’d given her that old rusty key, splintering her jaded expectations and piquing her curiosity.

Material goods didn’t interest her much, mostly because she knew they were easy to come by for him.

But this was something different. He was different.

And this new Cristiano was infinitely more dangerous than the old one because she had no idea how to handle him. When he was on the attack, she attacked right back. When he was arrogant and controlling, she wielded her own brand of power and took him on. But this Cristiano—this humble, penitent, remorseful Cristiano was a person she hadn’t met before.

Confused, she looked away, thinking how unfair it was that the roughness of his jaw and his vaguely dishevelled appearance somehow made his dark Sicilian looks even more spectacular.

‘Just because I’m sitting in this car, don’t assume I’ve forgiven you.’

‘I don’t expect you to forgive me that easily.’ ‘Tell me what the key opens.’

A ghost of a smile touched that mouth. ‘If I tell you that there is no reason for you to come with me. I’m relying on your inquisitive nature to provide the opportunity for me to show you how much I love you.’