Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T HERE WAS NO REASON for Maddie to stay for the wedding. She'd finished with the flowers. For days and nights, hours and hours at a time, she'd worked with the blossoms until they were utterly breathtaking. The abundance took her breath away. You could not take a step without seeing an arrangement, without catching a hint of the floral blossoms, without seeing and feeling the surroundings of nature. They were everywhere, down to the floral crowns she'd made for the Santoro children, who were dressed in white and busy blowing bubbles around the gardens.

The whole event had been idyllic in a way that had made Maddie's eyes well up. She watched with a few other members of staff, including Lilliana, from the sidelines. At a wedding, she supposed, it was normal to be engrossed by the bridal couple, but for Maddie's part, she found it impossible to look away from Rocco. He stood at the front, dressed in a jet-black tuxedo, and even in a sea of Greek God-type men, he stood out. Or perhaps that was just to Maddie, who knew that beyond looking tall, dark, and handsome, he was also strong and warm. She knew what it felt to be carried by those arms, kissed by those lips, pleasured by that body, entertained by that mouth.

At one point, during the ceremony, his eyes travelled the assembled crowd, and then beyond it, landing at the edge of the open-sided marquee, where Maddie was standing. His eyes landed on hers and held; it was like being caught in a vacuum; all the air left her lungs. Maddie stared at him, her pulse in her throat, her lips parting on a soft exhalation, her heart tightening with acceptance of the reality that this was almost over. Her reaction to a simple glance showed her why it had to be.

Her whole body tightened with the certainty that he was not a part of her future. With the safety that came from that decision.

She looked away quickly, a dismissive smile tightening her lips.

Frustration curdled inside of him.

It was his brother's wedding; he should have been focused on the vows, on the couple, on the marriage. But it was taking all of his concentration to stop looking at Maddie. Maddie with her riotous curls and wide, intelligent eyes. Maddie with those softly kissable lips. Maddie, who'd turned this wedding into a floral oasis, making him…proud.

Yes, proud.

He'd known she'd be good—he had an innate sense about these things. But he hadn't understood quite how good, until he'd walked into the garden today and seen what she'd been working on all week. She deserved every dollar he'd paid her, and then some.

It's time.

The promise he'd made her rung in his ears as he was briefly aware of the ceremony drawing to a close. His glance shifted to his brother and Marcia. He could only see the bride—Raf's back was to the groomsmen—but she looked happy enough. Happy, in the way one might, if they were in love.

God, he hoped that to be true.

He had put all his chips on that one square. He'd gambled his brother's happiness, choosing to keep silent and hoping for the best. Because he needed to hope that one of them could believe in relationships and love? Because he needed to know their father's choices hadn't ruined this for all of them?

If Raf had met someone he loved, then Rocco wasn't going to do anything to mess it up, even when he didn't believe in happily ever after for himself.

Again, his eyes shifted to Maddie, and now, a frown tugged at his lips.

Rocco had learned as a boy that loving someone, needing them, relying on them being in your life, was a surefire way to be hurt. He'd felt that hurt when his mother had died, and it had almost killed him. How bereft he'd been. How incensed at the injustice of it all, and his inability to change a damned thing.

It had hurt like hell. So, how to protect oneself from that pain? Well, he'd learned that from a master.

Avoid love.

Avoid commitment.

Date.

Fuck.

Walk Away.

Repeat.

His father had given them all a masterclass in walling off your heart—he'd even pushed his own children away when they were hurting the very worst. Rocco had done what he could to hold things together, but it had never seemed like enough.

Yeah, he had his reasons for avoiding relationships.

Maddie was different, though. Her childhood had been similarly less than ideal, albeit in different ways. Her mother had abandoned her, but her grandparents had loved her and raised her with that love. And then what?

It was a bad breakup.

His frown deepened. She had remained tight-lipped about her ex—someone significant enough to still be at the forefront of her mind, even now. Someone who'd meant something to her. Whom she'd loved.

His gut churned with emotions that he didn't fully comprehend—he knew only that they were darker than black.

Was that why she was single? Because of her ex? Because she still loved him? Or because he'd hurt her so badly? Neither answer gave him much joy.

A burst of applause caught him off guard and he blinked, as if coming to after passing out. For a moment, he'd forgotten where he was. But the reality of the wedding usurped all else, and he shook his brother's hand, a smile plastered on his face, before moving to the bride to offer his congratulations.

She wrapped her arms around him, kissed his cheek, smiled up at him then shifted her attention to Marco, so Rocco expelled a sigh of relief. He wanted to be happy for his brother; he wanted to believe he'd made the right decision.

As the happy couple made their way down the aisle, his eyes scanned the crowd for Maddie once more—harder now, that everyone was standing—but he did find her, a little further back, as if she were getting ready to leave. And suddenly, despite what he'd said, he wasn't ready for that. It wasn't time—not quite yet anyway.

As soon as he was at liberty, he cut away from the bridal party, just briefly, moving to her. He recognized a few members of staff that had formed a huddle to watch from a respectful distance; he didn't worry about them.

"Do you have a moment?"

Her eyes widened in shock, and her skin paled. She shook her head with disapproval. "No, sir," she added extra emphasis to the title. "I'm sorry, I don't."

His eyes narrowed. "It's important," he insisted with natural authority.

"Don't you have to do wedding photos?" she asked, thinking of the area she'd set up with even more elaborate arrangements, to form a perfect wall of flowers as a backdrop for the family pictures.

"They'll wait," he dismissed.

Maddie's teeth pressed into her lower lip and his whole body reverberated with awareness.

"Please," she whispered under her breath. "People are looking."

"They'll think I'm congratulating you on the exceptional floral arrangements."

"Not if they know anything about you and your—lifestyle—they won't," she contradicted, with a quick shake of her head.

For some reason, that pissed him off, even when it also brought a small smile to his lips. "Don't leave the property," he said, aware that he was, indeed, required for the formal photographs. "I want to speak to you."

Maddie's heart was in her throat as she made her way back to the marquee. She hadn't planned to leave right away, anyway. There was tidying up to do, and besides, it didn't feel right to simply disappear. She'd poured her heart and soul into this wedding; she wanted to float on the success of that for a while longer.

But Rocco had somehow managed to take the shine off it. Or maybe it wasn't that, so much as…he'd pulled on her, drawing her back to reality. When he'd stalked over to her, after the wedding, she'd wanted to be near him so, so badly, it had felt like she'd been drowning, and he'd thrown her a lifeline.

Except, she hadn't just wanted to be close to him. She'd wanted to touch him. To be completely consumed by him, as she always was when they made love. She'd wanted to wrap her arms around his waist, lift onto the tips of her toes and claim his lips with her own. How badly she wanted him had terrified her. The fact she was wasting time, cleaning up slowly, waiting for him to come to her, made her ashamed of herself. This was all getting so out of hand—the only saving grace she could cling to was that it was almost, almost over.

Soon they'd be back in America, and this would all seem like a distant dream. A fantasy.

The formalities were never-ending. When all Rocco wanted to do was to escape and find Maddie, there were endless photographs to pose for, and then the party began in earnest. Before he could sneak off, he was absorbed into conversation with his aunt and uncle, and then his cousins, their wives, and his brother. Anytime he thought he might be able to extricate himself, someone else came to speak to him, so it was more than an hour after the photographs had concluded before he finally found some space and used it to liberate himself. He grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, and weaved towards the side of the garden, around behind the stage which had been set up for the band, and towards the staging area for wedding central. A series of marquees had been joined together—one for floristry, one for staff, one for food preparation. He made a beeline for Maddie's, but once inside, he simply stopped.

And stood.

And stared.

She hadn't realized he was there, and she was caught up in arranging a bouquet out of leftover flowers. Her hands worked deftly, in the way a concert pianist's flew over the keys. Effortlessly, as if they were intuiting instructions from the divine. He watched, in awe, and with a sense of something else.

Attachment.

Not need

Attachment. It was quite distinct from physical lust. That was a feeling with which he was familiar; a feeling he could handle, because he'd felt it before.

Except…

Had he, really?

Had he ever actually felt anything like the visceral, aching desire that plagued him when he thought of Maddie? Right from the beginning, she'd set his blood racing, igniting fires in his veins that he couldn't control. He wanted her always, but this was different.

This was admiration. Affection. Feelings that he'd never felt. He'd never wanted to feel. He wasn't equipped to deal with them. He might have just witnessed his younger brother marry a woman he purported to love, but to Rocco, the whole idea was anathema.

So, what was the strange, cloying sensation in the middle of his chest? What was he meant to do with it?

As he watched, Maddie lifted a hand, curling her hair behind one ear, and his gut twisted with a portent of danger. Run away. Yes, that would be the smart decision. To bring her champagne, toast their time together, and then leave, because nothing good could come from the feelings that were starting to whisper through his soul, coaxing him to take steps to a place he never wanted to go. And he still didn't—not even with Maddie. Rocco wasn't cut out for relationships. He wasn't interested in their fallout.

Be that as it may, whatever was happening with Maddie was carved out separate from that. He might not have wanted a relationship, but he also didn't want to let her go. How could both things be true?

He took the smallest of steps forward, almost against his will, and perhaps it was the subtle gesture that called her attention, because she glanced in his direction, her eyes widening when they landed on him, her cheeks flushing in a way that made her whole face pretty and kissable.

"I thought you might have forgotten about me," she said with a lopsided smile.

He strode towards her purposefully then, his mind in disarray courtesy of the disorientating thoughts that had just been knotting inside of him. "Impossible."

God, could that be true?

He stopped walking, stricken.

He was not callous. It wasn't that he thought women were expendable, nor meaningless. He was not his father. But at the same time, he'd never let a woman become so much a part of him that he couldn't put her out of his mind. In essence, forget her, or at least, easily not think of her.

But with Maddie, he wasn't so sure. He didn't know that he'd be able to do that. There were parts of her that had started to bind to parts of him. He didn't know when it had happened, but she'd steeped herself in his soul, and extricating himself seemed like a Sisyphean feat.

"Are you okay?" she asked, eyes wide, studying him with a look of something like confusion. "You look as though you've seen a ghost."

"No, not a ghost." Except, hadn't he? Hadn't he been seeing ghosts all his life? The ghost of his father's failures, most specifically. His inability to love, to let anyone—a woman, or his sons—into his life, after the death of their mother. Hadn't the ghost of that been dogging Rocco, all this time? Hadn't it informed his own choices and attitudes, to the point where, without really having planned for it, he'd cast himself in his father's image, in so many ways?

"Rocco?" Maddie came around to him and put her fingers on his arm. "I'm worried. Has something happened?"

He blinked down at her, brow furrowed. What exactly had happened?

Pull it together, a voice inside him commanded. He'd just watched his younger brother get married. His thoughts were naturally all over the place. Except, hadn't he felt this before the ceremony? Hadn't he felt this growing sense of connection to Maddie, ever since she'd put an end date on this? From the moment he'd agreed that it was ‘time' to call their relationship, he'd been faced with a question: did he really want to?

The truth was, he didn't know the answer to that—not in the long term. But he did know he wasn't ready to walk away from her yet.

"Maddie, listen." There was an urgency to his voice, and even as he heard it, he knew he should make an effort to approach this conversation carefully. To ease into it, because he didn't want to mess it up. But Rocco was a man who operated on instincts, and instincts alone, and he wasn't about to start ignoring them now. "About us."

Her brows lifted. "Us?"

"This," he confirmed.

She glanced around skittishly.

"No one's here." His tone was impatient. Having started down this road, he wanted to have this conversation, to move beyond the words and into a future that was more assured.

She lifted one shoulder. "I was just checking." She turned back to him more fully. "What's going on?"

"I want to see you again."

She frowned. "What?"

"In America. I don't want this to end just because we go back there."

Her eyes dropped to the table between them and the delicate pulse point at the base of her neck went into overdrive. He fought an urge to reach out and press his fingers to it, to touch her and feel the gentle trembling of her heartbeat.

"We agreed," she said, slightly haltingly.

"I know that, but that was then."

"Four days ago?" she prompted. "What's changed in four days?"

"Nothing. And everything. I thought I'd be ready to let you go, but now I know I'm not. I want you in my life."

Her eyes jerked to his and there was anguish deep inside of them. Anguish and fear. She took a sip of her champagne, and he noticed the way her fingertips trembled slightly. "But—," her frown deepened. "I don't understand."

There was caution in her tone. Could he blame her? He didn't know what he was offering; how could she?

"Nor do I." Frustration crept into his voice. He tried to suppress it. "Let me put it another way. Do you really want to fly back to the States and never see me again?"