CHAPTER ELEVEN

F LORA HATED TELLING white lies. She didn’t have a headache. She had heartache, and there was no painkiller for that. She lay in bed for a long time staring up at the ceiling.

She’d overheard the exchange between Massimo Black and Vito, a fluke of hearing her name mentioned and being screened behind a plant. She’d practically heard the cogs turning in Vito’s head as he’d all but assured Massimo Black that he was in a committed relationship with Flora.

But then, Flora could hardly blame Vito. At the start of this...unorthodox arrangement, he’d admitted that being seen to be in a relationship would be good for his profile, and also for hers, to restore some of the dignity he’d stripped her of when leaving her standing in that vestibule at the church.

And she knew how important Massimo Black was. If he invested in Vito, it would send him onto another level. The kind of level where his name and business would be immortalised.

Flora wouldn’t deny him that. She loved him. She wanted him to succeed. But she also knew that she couldn’t continue to harm herself by pretending things hadn’t changed, for her. Because she’d fallen for him. She knew Vito wouldn’t welcome that, no matter what kind of deal hung in the balance.

Or maybe she was being supremely naive, maybe the ruthlessness she’d seen on that day of the wedding would reappear and he’d have no problem continuing an affair while knowing she was in love with him.

But was she really contemplating telling him? Potentially having him end things, or, worse, being prepared to have him ask her to stay for the sake of his career? Either scenario made her feel nauseous.

Flora couldn’t sleep. One thought dominated over everything. It was the more probable likelihood that Vito would end things if he knew how she felt. The thought that tomorrow could be the last day she would see him. Because if she told him, once he knew, that would be it. Galvanised by a cold dread settling her body, Flora got out of the bed and padded through the suite, lit only by moonlight.

She pushed open Vito’s bedroom door. He was sprawled on the bed, bare-chested, sheets tangled around his waist, as if he’d been thrashing in his sleep. Something squeezed in Flora’s chest.

She walked over to the bed and, as if he sensed her, Vito’s eyes opened. He came up on one arm, hair sexily dishevelled. ‘Flora? Is that you?’ His voice was husky with sleep. Rough.

She stopped by the edge of the bed. She nodded. ‘It’s me. My headache is gone.’

Liar.

She ignored the voice. She needed Vito, even if it was just one more time.

He put out a hand and she took it, like a drowning woman reaching for help. He pulled her onto the bed and she landed on her back, looking up at him. His gaze roved over her face. She realised he looked pale. He said, ‘I was dreaming, that you were gone and I was looking for you and I couldn’t find you and—’

Flora put her hand up on his face, his jaw rough with stubble. ‘Shh, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.’ As she said that she knew she was putting a nail in her own coffin, because she knew she wasn’t going to tell Vito anything for the moment. She was too weak. She wanted him. And she wanted to cling onto this while he wanted her just for a little longer.

Two days later.

Rome glittered under the evening sun, everything bathed in gold. They were in the back of Vito’s car being driven to his apartment from the airport. Flora’s hand was in Vito’s while he took a call on his phone. When he was finished he slid the sleek device into his pocket. He looked at her. ‘I’m sorry about that.’

Flora lifted her shoulder in a little shrug. ‘Don’t be, you’re working.’ Then she asked, ‘The meeting with Massimo Black went well?’

Vito and Black had had a long meeting in London the day before. Vito nodded. He smiled. It made Flora’s heart ache—because she was happy for him and she knew she’d never get to see the long-term results of their partnership and friendship.

‘We’re signing contracts next week. He and Carrie want to take us out to dinner to celebrate. You’ll come with me?’

Vito lifted Flora’s hand and kissed the inside of her palm. Her heart rate doubled. Could she hold out for another week? To ensure that Vito’s future was secured? When every day she was falling deeper and deeper in love? She forced a smile. ‘Of course.’

Vito’s gaze narrowed on her. ‘Are you sure you’re okay? You haven’t seemed yourself since the other night.’

Damn him for noticing. Why did he have to demonstrate an ability to read her when her own family, who had taken her in to care for her, had barely noticed her at all? And she was the niece of this man’s sworn enemy!

She smiled again, this time not forcing it. ‘I’m fine...just a little tired.’

‘I don’t have any engagements this evening. We could...get a takeout?’

Flora sat up straight. ‘I could cook!’ Then she remembered that she’d suggested it before and Vito had nixed the idea. She prepared herself to have him scoff at her suggestion.

But he looked at her with an indulgent expression and his mouth quirked. ‘That would really make you happy?’

Flora nodded. She’d always loved cooking, ever since one of her uncle’s housekeepers had taken her under her wing when she’d been much younger.

Vito arched a brow. ‘I’ll expect more than pasta arrabiata.’

Flora narrowed her eyes on him. For the first time in days she was out of her head and not thinking about the future hurtling towards her. ‘Challenge accepted.’

Vito watched Flora from the doorway of the kitchen, a place he didn’t frequent all that much. He usually ate out, or had a chef cook. So it was a total novelty to see the woman he was currently sleeping with moving around the space with such dextrous ease.

She was wearing cut-off denim shorts. They must be her own. And a plain white shirt. Her hair was tied up into a messy knot on her head. Bare feet. No make-up. Shirt sleeves rolled up. The buttons on her shirt made his fingers itch to slip them free of their holes, exposing her voluptuous breasts to his hungry gaze.

He diverted his gaze up. She was doing something with rice and breadcrumbs. He asked, ‘Where did you learn to cook?’

She glanced at him and back down. ‘One of my uncle’s housekeepers. A woman called Gianna. She was from Sicily. My uncle used to pay her extra to take care of me if they went away.’

‘He didn’t even hire a nanny?’

Flora shook her head. Vito felt the all-too-familiar burn of anger towards that man, but then he recalled Flora’s hand on his arm in the garden of her old family home, her telling him not to waste his energy. It was slightly unsettling to realise that she seemed to have a way of diluting his anger.

Flora popped a cherry tomato into her mouth. Vito felt envious. Even Benji was lying on the ground just looking up at her.

‘You really would be happier here than at a gala function in an evening gown, wouldn’t you?’

She looked at him then and a sense of exposure prickled over his skin. She had been off the last few days but here, now, she seemed like herself again. It was mildly disturbing—for a man who had never been around a lover long enough to notice her moods—to realise that he’d become so attuned to Flora.

She looked a little sheepish. ‘I used to hate it when my uncle asked me to host parties with him if my aunt was away. I never knew what to do or say. I felt awkward. But going to events with you...dressing up, that was more fun. I didn’t feel that awkward.’

Vito shook his head. ‘You’re not awkward, Flora, far from it.’ She wasn’t. She was genuine and warm and probably the nicest person Vito had ever met.

She pointed her knife at him and said, ‘I hope you’re not coming to dinner like that.’

He looked down at the sweatpants he’d put on to work out in the gym. And the faded T-shirt. He looked back up. ‘What is the dress code?’

She cocked her head to one side and then said, ‘I don’t think we need to go full black tie but a suit will suffice. You don’t have to wear a tie.’

Vito felt something flip over in his chest. This whole scene...was so seductive. When his parents had died, any such memories of domestic harmony and happiness had died too. He’d clamped down on ever wanting to experience it again. But here, now, he felt a very dangerous sense of...yearning. A sliver of a window was opening up the dark spaces inside him—He shut it down ruthlessly because that way led to loss and pain and grief. He didn’t want this. He wasn’t in the market for it.

He wondered if he needed to say something to Flora... Was she in danger of forgetting the basis of this relationship?

He opened his mouth but she said, ‘Go on, shoo, dinner will be ready in an hour. I don’t want to see you until then.’

Vito closed his mouth. Flora wasn’t looking at him. She was engrossed in the task. He assured himself he was being ridiculous. Soon enough, she would be getting on with her life, going in a direction that would take her far away from Vito, because he knew their worlds were unlikely to collide again. He waited for a sense of relief that didn’t come. Irritation prickled.

Maybe he was the one who needed reminding of what this was—a brief mutually beneficial interlude before they both got on with their lives.

Flora adjusted herself in the mirror. She’d showered and left her hair down. Minimal make-up. On a whim she’d picked out a daring bronze silk dress, figure-hugging and with a cut-out over one hip, the ruched silk leaving one shoulder totally bare. It fell to the knee and when Flora put it on she felt sexy and young.

She left her feet bare—what was the point of wearing shoes? But then, she recalled telling Vito he had to wear a suit and at the last moment she paired the dress with gold strappy sandals.

Her heart was skipping beats as she went back to the kitchen to prepare the meal for serving. Ridiculous that this should feel like a date even though they weren’t going anywhere. And when Flora knew that even if Vito had lost interest in her, he probably wouldn’t admit it until after he’d done the deal with Massimo Black.

But, if how he touched her and looked at her still were any indication, their chemistry was as potent as ever. She couldn’t imagine ever wanting a man as much as—

‘Well? Will I do?’

Flora looked up from where she was arranging arancini balls onto two plates. Her heart stopped beating. Vito stood in the doorway, practically taking up the entire space. He wore a white shirt and dark trousers that moulded so faithfully to his body that she could practically see his musculature.

His hair was still damp, swept back. Jaw clean-shaven. She caught a whiff of his scent—earth and leather and so sexy that she wanted to close her eyes and navigate her way to him by smell alone.

It was almost as if she’d never seen him before, his impact on her was so acute. Somehow she found her breath and got some oxygen to her brain. ‘You’ll do.’

He came into the kitchen and that dark gaze swept her up and down. Her skin tingled all over when she saw the appreciative flare in his eyes, turning them molten. For her.

He said, ‘You look...edible.’

Now her legs wobbled at the thought of him actually—Quickly, before her thoughts could turn into an X-rated movie in her head, she thrust the plates at him. ‘Take these through. I’ll follow.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

Flora gathered herself and ran some cold water over the hectic pulse at her wrists before joining Vito in the dining room. He saluted her with his glass of white wine. ‘To you, Flora. This looks amazing.’ He gestured to the table she’d set. She’d picked flowers from the terrace and created a little posy in the centre of the table. She felt embarrassed now for going to such lengths. She blushed. ‘It’s nothing. Please eat while the arancini is still warm.’

The traditional Sicilian dish of risotto balls mixed with cheese and then covered in breadcrumbs and deep-fried was one of the first things Flora had learned how to cook.

Vito took a bite of one and closed his eyes. He said, ‘The best arancini I’ve ever tasted.’

Flora beamed and blushed even more. ‘You’re just saying that, but thank you.’

‘I’m not. I won’t lie and say I have the most sophisticated palate on the planet, but I know good food when I taste it.’

Flora took a bite and when she could speak, she said, ‘Your mother wasn’t a good cook?’

Vito made a face. ‘Not the best, no. And my father had no interest. We lived on a lot of processed food, which I know is sacrilege to most Italians.’

‘Sounds like your mother had more interesting things to be doing. Did she work?’

‘She did admin for my father a few days a week while I was in school. I think, when they didn’t have more children, she resigned herself to her time not being dominated by a larger family, but I knew she was sad.’

‘That must have been very tough, because it’s only recently that women are opening up more about things like that, and men.’

Vito inclined his head. ‘Exactly. Who knows what support she might have received today?’

Flora took a sip of wine. ‘You said before that you didn’t miss siblings?’

Vito shook his head and sat back, wine-glass stem between his fingers. ‘Not really. I can’t explain why... I had lots of friends on our street.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘I probably liked being the sole focus of their attention, if I’m honest.’

Flora’s heart flip-flopped. He constantly surprised her with moments of self-deprecation like this. Originally she’d thought he was a man of her uncle’s ilk, ruthless and cold and obsessed with power, but he wasn’t like that at all. He’d come by the way of power in his pursuit of revenge, yes, but he was obviously innately talented and intelligent. And, underneath it all, he was kind. He’d taken her in when she was sure he still hadn’t trusted her. Maybe he still didn’t fully trust her. That sobering thought burst a little of her rose-hued bubble.

She forced a bright smile. ‘Ready for the main course?’

Vito nodded. ‘That was delicious, thank you.’

Flora cleared the plates and came back moments later with the main, tender fillets of steak with a sauce made from olive oil, lemon, garlic and oregano. Fragrant and tasty. This was accompanied by roasted rosemary baby potatoes and crisp steamed vegetables.

Vito made appreciative sounds as he tasted the steak. He wiped his mouth. ‘This is amazing. Did you ever think about being a chef?’

Flora was flattered. She’d only ever cooked for her uncle and aunt and they’d never made a fuss like this. ‘I do like cooking, but I don’t think I have enough of an interest to pursue it.’

‘You still want to do graphic design?’

Flora nodded, swallowing her own mouthful. ‘Yes, I was always doodling, even as a child. My mother’s father was a pretty well-known artist so it’s in the family. The English side, at least.’

‘There were no relatives on that side who could have taken you in?’ Vito asked.

Flora shook her head, pushing down the old grief and pain. She’d successfully blocked it out for years but it felt so much closer to the surface now, since she’d been with Vito. As if their intimacy was dismantling her defences.

‘No, my mother was an only child and her parents died relatively young, too. So my uncle on my father’s side was all I had.’

Vito wiped his mouth and said, ‘I have something for you.’

Flora was about to ask, What? but he was gone, out of the room. He came back a minute later and handed Flora a business card. She read the name of a solicitor she’d never heard of—a specialist in inheritance law. She looked at Vito. ‘Should I know this person?’

‘You will,’ he said enigmatically. ‘I’ve retained him to liaise with you about receiving the inheritance you’re due.’

Flora couldn’t compute what Vito was saying. She frowned. ‘But my inheritance is gone. Spent.’

Vito shook his head. ‘I told you that I didn’t wipe out your uncle completely. He still has a healthy stash of money. Not enough to start again but enough to live on. I contacted him and threatened him with legal proceedings if he didn’t pay you your inheritance plus interest. It’s at least—’

When Vito mentioned the amount, in the millions, Flora’s head spun. ‘I knew it was a lot but I had no idea...’ She focused her gaze back on Vito. ‘But how...?’

‘It’ll probably wipe out most of his disposable income, but he knows he can’t afford the legal bills, and more importantly he knows that he’s in the wrong. He would face the courts for embezzling his own family. The last thing he wants is to face extradition proceedings back to Italy. This solicitor just needs to meet with you to initiate the proceedings that will transfer the funds into your account.’

Flora thought of her uncle and aunt, and her conscience pricked, even now. Vito read her expression and said, ‘Flora, I could very easily give you this money, but I know you wouldn’t take it. It has to come from your uncle. He owes you this. He should never have taken what your parents left to you—do you think they would want what happened to you?’

Flora recalled that last image of her parents’ loving smiles in the car as they’d left her at her friend’s house. They’d adored her and she them. Of course they’d want her to be looked after.

The fact that Vito had done this for her... Emotion squeezed her chest and all the way up to her throat, making her eyes sting. No one had ever shown her an ounce of consideration since she was eight years old. Except for this man.

He reached for her hand, visibly concerned. ‘I thought this would be a good thing?’

She nodded and tried furiously to blink back the tears and swallow the emotion. ‘It is...it is...it’s just that no one has ever advocated for me before and I should’ve been able to do it for myself, but I always felt so guilty when I imagined standing up to my uncle because he took me in—’

Vito reached for her and pulled her out of her chair and over onto his lap, thighs like steel under her bottom. Her blood heated even in the midst of this emotional storm.

He held her and said, ‘That man took you in because he saw an opportunity. He didn’t do it out of genuine love or concern. You owe him nothing. He owes you .’

Flora said quietly, ‘I think when something has been drummed into you from when you’re so young...it’s hard to let it go.’

‘He didn’t see you, Flora. He never appreciated who you really were. You deserved so much more, and you have a lot to offer in whatever field you choose to go into.’

Flora looked at Vito, feeling emotional. That was one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to her.

He saw her.

The knowledge of that was so seismic and so overwhelming that she had to focus on his physicality to stop her mind from spiralling out of control.

This close she could see the deep fiery gold depths in his eyes. The long lashes. High cheekbones. A fierce swelling of love and emotion swept up inside her. Terrified she might say something before she could stop herself, she pressed her mouth against his, trying to transmit all the emotion she was feeling without revealing herself.

He accepted her kiss and opened to her, letting her explore him as he’d done her a thousand times by now. All at once familiar and wholly new. One of his hands moved to the bare skin of her hip and waist, revealed by the cut-out of the dress. He caressed her there, sending her pulse skyrocketing. Flora welcomed this physical distraction from the emotion. He wouldn’t thank her for that. She drew back after a long drugging moment to pull air into her lungs and brain. She looked down. She still felt dangerously emotional and seized on something to defuse it. ‘Let’s go dancing.’

Vito arched a brow and he moved minutely, leaving her in no doubt about how he was feeling right now.

Hard.

‘I’d be quite happy to stay in.’

Flora was tempted but she was also afraid she’d reveal herself. She stood up from Vito’s lap. She gestured to her dress. ‘I think this deserves an outing, don’t you?’

Vito scowled. ‘I’m not sure if I want anyone else to see you in that dress.’

Excitement sizzled along Flora’s veins. She loved his possessiveness. ‘I’ve only ever been clubbing that one night...’ She trailed off, remembering what had happened, when Vito had brought her back here and made love to her for the first time. It felt as if years had passed and it felt like yesterday.

Vito stood up and took her hand and said, ‘Very well, then, let’s go out, but I can’t promise that I’ll last long.’

Flora thrilled at that. Within minutes they were in the back of Vito’s chauffeur-driven car and heading into the city. Flora took in people strolling along pavements, enjoying the balmy evening. Lovers hand in hand. Families with small children, eating gelato.

For the first time in her life, she felt really, truly free. And hopeful for the future, in spite of the inevitable heartbreak she faced. She’d weathered storms before. She would weather this.

Would you? Really?

For a second, a sense of utter desolation washed through her at the thought of never seeing Vito again, except in magazines or on TV. The kind of desolation she’d only felt once before, after losing her family.

‘What is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Have you changed your mind?’

Flora shook her head. She needed distraction now more than ever. She looked at Vito. ‘I’m fine.’ Impulsively she added, ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For looking out for my interests when you had no incentive to do so.’

He shook his head. ‘I had every incentive, after what I did to you. You deserve it, Flora. You deserve to live the life you inherited.’

‘Still... I’m your enemy’s blood and you’ve forgiven me, that’s a lot.’

‘I’m your enemy’s blood and you’ve forgiven me...’

Flora’s words resounded in Vito’s head as he led her by the hand to a roped-off VIP booth in the nightclub. They’d unsettled him. Made him doubt himself for a moment, and his instincts to trust Flora. Made him wonder if he was being a monumental fool to have believed she was as pure and kind as she seemed.

After all, her social reputation was now restored and she would receive her full inheritance, making her a very wealthy woman in her own right. Would she have achieved this without Vito? Not likely—he was the only one with the ability to turn the screws on her uncle.

Had she orchestrated this whole affair? Vito had to force himself to remember that it was him who had spotted her at that hotel. The hotel owned by him. What were the chances that she would be serving at an event there?

Irritated with himself for allowing seeds of doubt to take root, he ordered a bottle of champagne. He watched Flora looking around, taking in the club and the glamorous clientele. Strobing lights painted everything a rainbow hue of glittering colours. She was smiling, and in this light Vito could almost convince himself there was a satisfaction to it, as if she’d done what she’d set out to do.

He shook his head. Paranoia didn’t suit him. It made him feel out of control. He reminded himself that, even if Flora had set out to regain her inheritance through Vito, it was no less than she was due. He wasn’t wrong about her cutting ties with her uncle—there had been no contact between them and her uncle’s reaction to having to hand over Flora’s inheritance had been vitriolic to say the least.

The champagne arrived. Vito handed Flora a glass. She smiled and took a healthy gulp, wrinkling her nose. Then the beat of the music changed and Flora put down the glass and said over the heavy bass, ‘Come on, let’s dance.’

Vito would have protested that he didn’t dance , he usually came here to choose a lover and leave. He’d never actually come to a place like this to enjoy the music. But Flora was leading him down onto the dance floor and turning to face him, lifting her arms in the air, swaying to the music. He noticed men around them look at her, and then at him, and then hurriedly away, once they saw his expression. He felt fierce. Possessive. In spite of the doubts he was suddenly entertaining.

He reached for Flora, telling himself that it really didn’t matter if she was out to get all she could from this liaison because he would have done exactly the same.

The fact that she might not be all she seemed shouldn’t disappoint Vito because he’d stopped believing in myths and fairy tales a long time ago and that hadn’t changed.

Flora still felt as if she were floating when they returned to Vito’s apartment a couple of hours later. The champagne had gone straight to her head, in spite of the food, and she felt deliciously tipsy. She swayed slightly when she bent down to remove her sandals in the hall and stood up again giggling, one sandal still on. Vito looked at her and then she hiccuped, which made her giggle again. She whispered loudly, even though there was no one to hear them, ‘I think I might have had a little too much champagne.’

Vito smiled, but there was something about it that registered with Flora as being off , but she was too tipsy to figure out what. She slipped off the other sandal and tossed it aside.

She threw her arms wide and declared, ‘Take me to bed and make love to me, Vito.’

He came towards her and said, ‘I think we might just get you tucked up for now, hm?’

He swung her up into his arms, and her head swirled for a second. She muttered, ‘Spoilsport.’ She spied the opening of his shirt and explored underneath with her fingers, caressing his skin.

‘Flora...’ Vito said warningly.

‘Hush,’ she said, suddenly feeling quite sober as another type of inebriation took over. Desire. She pulled his shirt aside, undoing a couple of the top buttons to give her access to more skin, and pressed her mouth there, drinking in his scent, tasting his skin with her tongue.

She felt his arms tighten around her. He was walking them into his bedroom now and he placed her down on the bed. Flora looked up at him. He stood for a long moment and said, ‘You should sleep.’

But Flora felt no more like sleeping than she did not breathing. He turned and went towards the door. Flora stood from the bed and said, ‘Wait, Vito...’

He stopped and turned around. Flora found the catch at the top of her shoulder and undid it, making the top of the dress fall to her waist, baring her breasts. It clung perilously to her hips. She made a minute move and the dress fell all the way off to the floor. ‘Oops,’ she said.

She could see Vito’s body stiffen. Her blood rushed in response. He came back towards her, shedding his jacket as he did. He stood before her, tall and intense. She shivered at the look in his eyes, shivered with anticipation.

‘Flora, are you trying to tempt me?’ he asked.

‘Is it working?’

A muscle in his jaw pulsed. ‘Yes, damn you. Are you sure—?’

Flora closed the distance between them and lifted her hands to undo the rest of his shirt buttons. ‘Yes, Vito, I’m sure. I’m a little tipsy, that’s all. I know what I’m doing and what I want.’ She looked up at him as she spread his shirt wide, revealing his chest. ‘And what I want is you. Now. ’

Vito was naked in seconds and tumbling back onto the bed with Flora. She revelled under his delicious weight, his hard planes and surfaces and the very hard evidence of his desire for her. She wrapped a hand around him, widening her legs, inviting him in... The head of his erection touched her sensitive skin, Flora’s entire body waited on a bated breath and then Vito huffed a curse. ‘You’re a witch. I need to get protection.’

Flora hadn’t even noticed. She’d wanted Vito that badly. Or had she known on some deep level and been prepared to take the risk? Flora’s conscience pricked.

Before she could overthink it, Vito was back and sliding between her legs again, and with one smooth thrust he drove deep into her body, stealing her breath and sanity.

All of the emotions Flora had been feeling earlier and suppressing rose up inside her now. She was too raw to hold them back. As the storm broke over them, too strong to resist, Flora cried out with the pleasure and beauty of it. Her body spasming around Vito’s for long seconds, loath to let him go. Legs wrapped around his hips. Arms around his neck. Breasts crushed to his chest.

It hadn’t been like that before. She pressed her mouth to his shoulder, tasting the salty tang of his sweat, revelling in it. He went to move, to extricate himself, but Flora said, ‘Wait, don’t move.’

She had some instinct that she wanted to imprint this memory onto her brain for ever. How it felt to have Vito in her, over her. So entwined that she didn’t know where he ended and she began.

And at that moment it bubbled up inside her, the need to tell him, to let him know, and as he said, ‘Flora—’ she blurted it out.

‘I love you.’