CHAPTER TWO

Six months later, Rome

‘V ITALE ! W HERE THE hell have you been?’

Vito forced a smile at the man who’d called at him. He made his way through the crowd of Rome’s most monied and exclusive people in one of its oldest and most venerated hotels.

There had just been a charity auction at an annual fundraising event and people had paid eye-watering sums for things like yachts and Caribbean islands, all without batting an eyelid.

He used to take this scene for granted, but lately...he’d been finding such displays of wealth tedious.

A woman’s hand landed on his arm. He looked down. Long perfect nails. Blood red. Perfectly tanned skin. The ubiquitous diamond bracelet. His nose wrinkled at the perfume. Too heavy. He looked up and registered a model whom he vaguely knew. Beautiful. Stunning. He waited for a beat.

Nothing.

He took her hand and lifted it from his arm. Her eyes widened. Immediately incensed. Vito moved on towards the man he knew. ‘Roberto, ciao —’

At that moment, there was a loud crash, what sounded like a hundred glasses breaking and shattering. Vito looked around and saw the back of a waitress. She was bending down and trying to deal with the tray that had just fallen, spilling its contents of glasses.

He didn’t take in much detail apart from her black skirt and white shirt. Brown/golden hair pulled up into a bun. A space had formed around her as if people were repelled by the scene. Something about that irritated Vito. He went over and bent down, picking up the larger pieces of glass.

She immediately said, ‘Oh, please don’t, I’ll get into even more trouble.’

Something about her voice made him go still. He looked at her and even though her face was turned away, there was something about the curve of her cheek and jaw that made him stare.

As if aware of him staring, she looked at him. He saw her eyes widen and the colour leach from her face.

Flora Gavia.

Vito frowned, trying to take in what this was. Flora Gavia, an heiress, member of the hated family, dressed as a waitress at an event. Not dressed as a socialite.

‘You...what...?’

Flora looked at something over his head and hissed, ‘Please leave me alone.’

She muttered to herself as she continued picking up shattered glass. ‘I’m in so much trouble. There’s no way they’ll take me on after this—’

Vito put his hand around her wrist. It felt unbelievably slender and delicate. Her scent hit him then too, floral with a hint of musk. Instantly pleasing.

She looked at him. ‘What are you doing?’

He looked down. ‘You’re bleeding.’

She looked down to see blood seeping from a finger. She groaned. ‘Now I’m really in for it. They hate blood.’

Before Vito could make sense of that, someone was arriving and apologising profusely. ‘So sorry, sir, please, let us deal with this.’

Vito was all but pulled to standing by a veritable team of event staff who huddled around Flora and within seconds, like magic, she and the tray and all the broken glass were gone. The place was pristine again. For a second Vito wasn’t even sure if he hadn’t hallucinated it.

But then he noticed the slightly pink stain on the floor. Her blood. And that made him feel a surge of such a mix of emotions that he couldn’t even name them. What he did feel was an urgency to go after her, to see if it really was her.

‘Hey, Vitale, didn’t that waitress look very like the Gavia woman you stood up at the altar?’

Vito looked at the man who’d come to stand beside him. He forced a smile again. ‘I have to go, if you’ll excuse me?’

Vito didn’t wait for a response. He strode off the ballroom floor and out to the lobby. He stood there for a moment, not even sure where to start looking, but then he saw a figure with hair pulled up into a bun. Black skirt. A denim jacket over her shirt. A crossbody bag. Black sheer tights. Flat brogues.

She was walking quickly towards the entrance and Vito didn’t think. He moved, and caught her just before she was about to disappear out of a side door. She looked up at him and went pale again. ‘You.’

‘Yes, me,’ Vittorio Vitale said grimly, with his hand wrapped around her arm. Flora’s finger was still throbbing under the makeshift tissue bandage but she was hardly aware. Of all the luck, and all the people she could have bumped into, it had to be him, in her moment of total and utter humiliation. She couldn’t think of anyone who would get more out of this.

‘Well?’ she said pugnaciously. ‘When you’ve stopped looking at me and getting pleasure out of seeing me scrabbling around the floor picking up broken glass in front of the most important people in Rome, I’d like to get on.’

If anything, the man looked even more gorgeous than Flora remembered. He was dressed in a classic black tuxedo and the material did little to disguise his powerful body. She could see the bunched muscle of his biceps and felt a little woozy.

Lack of blood.

That was it.

He was shaking his head. ‘What are you doing here?’

She looked at him and then gestured at herself with her free hand. ‘Do I really need to spell it out?’

He didn’t answer, he just looked over her head and then tugged her with him, across the lobby to the reception desk, where a manager jumped to attention, barely glancing at her. ‘Signore Vitale, how can I help you?’

‘I’d like a room, please.’

Flora’s mouth dropped open as she watched the manager issue Vittorio with a room key without so much as an eye-flicker. Now he was leading her across the lobby to the elevator. They were inside the small but luxurious space before Flora pulled her arm free and found her voice. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’

Vittorio stabbed at a button. He said, ‘That’s what I’d like to ask you.’

Flora said, ‘As it happens, before you accosted me I was going home because I’ve just lost my job. Tonight was part of a month’s trial, and I failed.’

Vittorio looked at her as the elevator ascended. ‘Since when are you working as a waitress?’

Flora pretended to look at her watch and said tartly, ‘As of about ten minutes ago I’m no longer a waitress. It was a short-lived career.’

The elevator doors opened onto a quiet corridor with plush cream carpets, soft lighting and walls painted in hues of cream and gold.

Vittorio stepped out but kept a hand on the door, stopping it from closing again. He sounded impatient. ‘Please, Flora, I think we need to talk.’

‘About what? I think we said all that needed to be said on the day you stood me up at our wedding.’

A muscle in his jaw pulsed. The muted sound of voices came from nearby. He glanced away and Flora had an urge to smack his hand aside and quickly press the button to escape but at that moment an elegant older couple appeared.

The woman smiled at Flora and even though Flora was being offered an opportunity to use this couple as an excuse to stay in the elevator and travel back down, something else inside her compelled her to step into the corridor, out of their way, signalling that she was with Vittorio, even though she couldn’t have looked more mismatched with her white shirt, black skirt and serviceable shoes.

The doors closed again and Vittorio was heading for a doorway at the end of the corridor. Flora followed him, her feet sinking into the carpet. It had been months since she’d inhabited surroundings as salubrious—not that her uncle’s palazzo had even been that luxurious. It hadn’t been comfortable. It had been more like a museum, stuffed with antiques and forbidding portraits of ancestors who looked nothing like her.

Flora had taken after her English mother’s side of the family, perhaps something else that had never endeared her to her uncle.

Vittorio was standing in the open doorway now and looking at her as he undid his bow tie with his other hand. He cut a rakish figure with stubble lining his jaw.

Before taking a step over the threshold Flora commented, ‘You obviously do this a lot.’

‘What?’

‘That manager didn’t even blink when you asked for a room.’

Vittorio’s mouth quirked ever so slightly on one side. ‘That’s probably because, as of about a month ago, I own this hotel.’

‘Oh.’ Flora felt exposed. She’d been imagining that it was a regular occurrence for Vittorio Vitale to appear with a woman demanding a room at short notice. As if he would do that with a woman like her!

He stood back. ‘Please, come in.’

Flora took a breath and walked past him. His scent tickled her nostrils, sharp and musky with woodier undertones. All at once sophisticated but also with an edge of something indefinable. Very masculine.

She was very conscious of her own scent—eau-de-kitchen.

The room was palatial. Then she saw more rooms leading off this main one. It was a suite. With windows looking out over Rome. Flora could see a terrace outside.

She saw Vittorio reflected in the window, behind her. Tall and indistinct. She forced herself to turn around. ‘Why do you want to talk to me?’

His bow tie was undone now. Top button open. He spread his hands out. ‘What are you doing here like this? Why aren’t you with your uncle? I heard he was last seen in South America trying to make a name for himself where he’s less known.’

That stung. Vittorio knew more than she did. Her uncle hadn’t been in touch since that morning at the church.

Feeling hurt and hating that weakness, she said, ‘What my uncle does now, or where he is, is none of my concern. I haven’t seen him since that morning six months ago.’

Vittorio’s brows snapped together. ‘What?’

Flora shrugged. ‘It’s like you said, I was free. I did my own thing.’

‘What was that exactly...that has led you to this?’

The humiliation of his very public abandonment and the way he’d cast her out of his office as if she was nothing but an irritation made her say, ‘You know what? I don’t owe you any explanations. If you don’t mind, I have somewhere to be and I need to go.’ Because it was going to take her at least an hour to get back to where she lived on the outskirts of the city.

She moved back towards the door and Vittorio asked incredulously, ‘You really burnt through your inheritance that quickly?’

Flora stopped. Didn’t turn around. She felt like laughing and crying all at once. The inheritance she’d never seen! Because her uncle had taken it. The truly pathetic part was that she’d never really known how much was there. She’d been too young to know at first and whenever she’d brought it up, her uncle had been vague and assured her he was taking care of it for her. No doubt this man, Vittorio Vitale, who had rebuilt his family’s name and fortune, would laugh himself silly if he knew the full extent of her sad story.

As frigidly as she could, she said, ‘Yes, that’s exactly it. I squandered it and now I’m working in menial jobs. Goodbye, Vittorio, have a nice life.’

She was almost at the door when Vito broke out of his trance and said, ‘Wait.’ He was reeling. Nothing made sense. He knew something was very off but he wasn’t sure what it was.

Flora stopped. There was something fragile about her from the back. Her hair pulled up into a high bun. He realised that she’d lost weight. He had a strong aversion to letting her out of his sight. He put it down to needing to know what she was up to, because it was something. Even if it didn’t involve her uncle.

‘Look, can I offer you something to eat? Drink?’

For a long moment she didn’t move and then she turned around. She’d definitely lost weight. He could see it now. Even as he also noticed the same curves he’d noticed before, when she’d been in that wedding dress. Breasts high and full.

His body tightened in response.

Not appropriate.

It hadn’t been then, and it wasn’t now.

She said, ‘Actually, maybe a sandwich, please.’ Then almost as an afterthought, she said, ‘And some sausages, if that’s okay.’

Vito picked up the phone and made a call, then put it down again. She was hovering by the door, still in her jacket. ‘Sit down, Flora. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?’

With almost palpable reluctance she came back in and perched on the edge of one of the sofas. Not the reaction Vito was used to from women.

‘A glass of water, thank you.’

Vito went to the lavishly stocked mini-bar and took out some water for her and a small bottle of whiskey for himself. He put the drinks in glasses and came back over, handing her the water. He said, ‘If you want something stronger, let me know.’

She shook her head. ‘No, this is fine, thank you.’ She took a gulp of water.

Vito noticed something and cursed softly. ‘You’re still bleeding.’

She lifted her hand and blood was trickling down her finger. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise—’

Vito was already on the phone issuing an order. He put the phone back down and said, ‘Come into the bathroom, let me see it.’

Flora was rummaging through her bag clearly looking for something. ‘It’s fine, I have another tissue here somewhere—’

‘Flora—’

Her head came up and she looked at him.

He said, ‘Let me see it, please.’

Flora lifted off her bag and stood up. Vito went into the bathroom and turned on the light. She followed him in.

He said, ‘Give me your jacket.’

She slipped it off and he draped it over the back of the door. Then he took her hand in his and peeled off the makeshift tissue bandage. He muttered, ‘Didn’t they have any plasters?’

‘I didn’t hang around to find out. The boss was so angry.’

Vito looked at Flora. This close, he could see freckles across her nose. It felt curiously intimate. Her cheeks went a little pink. She wanted him. Vito was used to women wanting him but this was different. He sensed she’d never admit it, never mind use it.

She said, ‘What is it? Have I got something on my face?’

Once again he was struck by how...pretty she was. With no make-up or adornment. Huge eyes. Long lashes. Those cheekbones. A mouth that was pure provocation, lips full and soft.

How had he not noticed before?

He knew how—because he’d been so fixated on her uncle.

He shook his head. ‘No, there’s just something...different about you.’

With visible self-consciousness, she touched her head with her free hand. ‘It’s probably my hair. I don’t straighten it any more. Can’t afford to. And I never could do it myself.’

Vito could see that it looked a little wild, with curly tendrils close to her hairline. He curbed the urge to free it and see it spill over her shoulders. He turned on the cold tap and put her finger under the water, hearing her intake of breath.

There was a knock on the door outside. Vito said, ‘Hold it there until I get back.’

He could have sworn he heard a muttered ‘yes, sir’ , but he went out and opened the door and admitted the room-service attendant who had arrived with a trolley containing the food and a first-aid kit.

Vito thanked him and tipped him and brought the first-aid kit into the bathroom, where Flora was still dutifully holding her injured finger under the water. He turned off the tap and dried her hand with a small towel, careful to be gentle.

He noticed her nails were short. Unvarnished. He took a plaster from the kit and placed it over the cut, saying, ‘It was deep.’

Flora said, ‘Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.’

Vittorio threw away the wrapping and closed up the box. ‘It was nothing.’

Impressed by his practicality, she asked, ‘Where did you learn to do that?’

He looked at her, amused. ‘Put on a plaster?’

She flushed. ‘Some people are squeamish.’ She remembered cutting her leg badly on barbed wire when she’d been smaller and going to her aunt. Her aunt had almost fainted on the spot, causing such a commotion that her uncle had had the house staff attend to her aunt before they’d even noticed that Flora was the one who required urgent attention. She’d ended up in hospital needing stitches.

She took her hand back, cradling it to her chest. It suddenly felt as if there were no air in the room. But before Flora could move or say something, Vittorio said, ‘My mother was ill, as I mentioned before. I nursed her for a time. Medical stuff doesn’t make me squeamish.’

Flora recalled what he’d told her about his parents. The reason for his revenge mission on her uncle. She could empathise.

Vittorio said, ‘The food is here. You should eat.’

Food.

Flora’s stomach rumbled faintly. It was the reason she’d stayed. Because she’d learned in the last few months not to look a gift horse in the mouth. She wasn’t too proud to accept food, especially when it wasn’t just her she had to think about.

She followed Vittorio back out to the suite. He’d taken off his jacket and his back was broad under the shirt, tapering down to slim hips. The trousers did little to hide the definition of his muscular buttocks.

He was standing at a trolley and lifting a silver domed lid from a plate. Flora’s eyes went wide. A toasted sandwich with fries. Sausages on the side. She’d never seen anything that looked so delicious.

Vittorio put the plate of food on the table and pulled out a chair. ‘Please, sit.’

Flora did. She picked up a chip and popped it into her mouth, almost closing her eyes at the salty tastiness. She noticed that there was no other food. ‘Aren’t you hungry too?’

Vittorio shook his head. ‘I’m fine.’

Flora picked up the sandwich and was about to take a big bite out of it when she stopped. ‘Can you not look at me? You’re making me feel like an animal in the zoo.’ In fairness, she conceded, he probably wasn’t used to the spectacle of women actually eating in front of him. Her aunt had eaten like a bird and only Flora and the staff had known of the midnight trips to the palazzo kitchen where she would binge periodically, out of sight.

Vittorio looked at his watch. ‘Actually, I need to speak to someone downstairs. I’ll let you eat in peace.’

Flora felt a surge of relief not to be pinned under that obsidian gaze for a minute. He started walking to the door and then stopped and turned back. ‘You’ll be here when I get back.’ It wasn’t really a question.

She said, ‘I do have to leave soon.’

‘I won’t be long, a few minutes. And then I can take you wherever you need to go.’

Flora immediately balked at the thought of him seeing where she was staying. ‘Oh, no, that’s fine, but I’ll wait until you come back.’

He left and Flora took advantage of the privacy to polish off the sandwich and fries. She drank the water. And carefully wrapped up the sausages in a napkin.

When she was finished she put her jacket back on so she’d be ready to go when Vittorio got back. She would thank him for his hospitality and leave and go back to a world where he didn’t exist. And hopefully she wouldn’t have any more unnerving encounters with him. He stirred up way too much inside her.

When Vito returned to the suite it was empty. He felt an instant sense of panic mixed with regret mixed with irritation.

Disappointment.

He hadn’t met many people he could trust and there was no reason why Flora Gavia would be any different.

But then he noticed that the French doors were open, leading out onto the balcony where a figure stood at the wall, and he felt exposed for his initial reaction. Why should he even care if Flora Gavia disappeared into the ether again?

Because he wanted to know what was going on.

He had the same slightly unsettling sense that he’d had the day she’d walked out of his office in the wedding dress—that he’d missed something huge and vital. Then, he’d reassured himself that it was nothing. He was just used to having all the information and leaving nothing to chance. He hadn’t expected her to confront him on the day of the wedding.

She’d walked out of his office leaving more questions than answers. And now there were even more questions. Vito didn’t like loose ends or things that didn’t make sense. That was how you got caught out.

The fact that Flora Gavia was working as a waitress for an event company and that at least one person had recognised her was a potential problem. Perhaps it was part of a plan with her uncle. Perhaps she was now working solo, but until Vito knew for sure he’d have to keep her close.