Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

" S HOULDN'T YOU BE CELEbrATING?"

Rocco grunted in response to Dante's question.

"You got the last house, right?"

Rocco grunted again. He'd filed the paperwork a week after that last night with Maddie. A week in which he'd called her every morning and every night, texted her too, telling her he didn't want the house. Pleading with her to see him.

Begging her to give him a chance to explain.

She hadn't. And he supposed he should have been glad. How could he have explained, anyway? What could he have said that he hadn't already?

"So, the project can finally break ground?"

Another grunt, but he finally followed it with some intelligible words. "Demolition is due to start in a couple of weeks."

Dante let out a low whistle. "This is the Hamptons project, si?"

Rocco speared him with a frustrated glance. Dante simply arched a single, dark brow in response, and reached for his scotch.

"Is there another project I'm overseeing in Manhattan?"

Dante took a sip of the scotch, replaced the glass.

"The project you've been working on tirelessly for years? That you conceived of, worked for, fought for, and finally got off the ground?"

Rocco ground his teeth. Why had he set his sights on this? Because of the money, a voice shouted at him. Because despite the initial outlay to acquire these houses, the development they would build would earn them ten times as much, easily. Not only that, they'd also be putting their mark—and the Santoro name—on a blue chip stretch of coastline. How could he resist?

But if he'd only known about Maddie, then…

"So why exactly do you look like you've just been asked to amputate a limb?"

Rocco flinched, tried to focus, to cover up the emotions that were threatening to consume him.

"Where's Georgia?" After all, Dante rarely did anything without Georgia these days. They were as inseparable as they were deliriously happy. And Rocco was delighted for them both. Dante hadn't gotten over his late wife easily, and he'd never stop loving her, but he deserved the happiness he'd been able to find with his new family.

"With the twins," he responded, referring to Georgia's younger brothers, who were both on prestigious scholarships at a college in New York. "They're having dinner, so you're stuck with me all night."

Rocco's eyes swept shut.

" Cristo. That bad, huh?"

Rocco grunted, again. "It's not you."

"I'm aware of that," Dante said on a laugh. "I recognize ‘personal problems' from a mile away. So? What's going on?"

Rocco shook his head, but Dante was not to be put off. He took the seat opposite, staring at his cousin unflinchingly. "Is it Raf and Marcia? Has something happened?"

"Not that I know of."

"That's a relief. So?"

"It's nothing," Rocco lied.

"I don't believe you."

"Fine. It's none of your business."

"I don't accept that."

"You are seriously starting to piss me off."

"Am I? Then how about we walk a little way down memory lane, to a certain afternoon when you flew into London and practically beat me over the head with my own stupidity…"

That was true. At Portia's request, Rocco had played an instrumental part in helping Dante wake up and see what was right in front of him. If he hadn't, Dante would have let Georgia go.

Instead, Rocco had helped him see things clearly, and the rest was history. Except, Rocco was seeing things clearly—as was Maddie. Their situation was hopeless. He'd ruined any chance of a future with her—and that was even before he could say, with confidence, that he knew how to offer her that future. How could he give her promises when he had no idea if he could live up to them? He'd seen his dad break people apart, hurt them emotionally, and somehow, Rocco had always thought he'd be just the same. He went out of his way not to hurt the women he was with, but nor did he give them any part of himself beyond his body.

Until Maddie.

He groaned, dropping his head into his hands. And without even realizing what he was doing, he started to talk. He began at the beginning, funnily enough, describing his first meeting with Maddie. He spoke of her fiery hair and furious temper, of the way she seemed more alive and vibrant than anyone he'd ever met. He told Dante about their spark, about the way they couldn't be together without connecting. But he also told him about all his misguided thoughts—his initial temptation to use their chemistry to convince her to sell, and finally, mortifyingly, his offer after the wedding.

Dante listened with only a hint of sympathy on his face. He said nothing in response; no judgement, no reassurance. He was just a wall to Rocco, almost as though he were talking to himself. Afterward, Dante simply stood up and poured two more measures of scotch, bringing one to Rocco with a grim expression.

"What do you want?"

Rocco frowned, not quite understanding his cousin's question.

"Do you even know?"

Rocco's eyes were hollow. His gut, more so.

"Listen, my friend." Dante sat down once more, legs wide, elbows resting on his knees, his expression earnest. "Nothing about your life is normal." Dante sipped his drink, thoughtfully. "None of our lives are, Georgia informs me. How can you be born into money like this and live a normal life? But my parents loved each other. They raised us to respect those values, to want love for ourselves. Your father did the opposite. In every way imaginable, he poisoned you to the whole idea. I have watched from the sidelines for years, as you did everything you could to keep people—women—at a distance."

"Look who's talking."

Dante fixed him with a measured glance, but despite the provocation, he refused to be drawn into a conversation about the years he spent doing exactly the same thing.

"You love Maddie."

Rocco jack-knifed off the chair, the words like a curse, or a whip. It was not the first time he'd heard them. Those same words had whispered through his mind and soul all week, perhaps, even, longer. But they were not words he trusted; not words he had faith in.

"There is no future there."

"Perhaps not," Dante agreed. "Not after the way you've treated her. I suppose you'll never know unless you ask her."

"She won't even take my calls."

Dante stood, pressing his fingertips into the table, eyes on Rocco with a hint of disbelief. "How many difficult—no, almost impossible—deals have you negotiated? Pushing people to listen to you—getting them to see your way—is your gift, Rocco. Do so now. Make her understand."

"How? How can I explain?"

"By being honest. Tell her about your life. Your hesitations. Your pain."

He flinched, not wanting to admit any such thing. Not to another soul, and especially not to Maddie.

"It won't matter. Everyone has baggage—including her. She deserved so much better."

"So, tell her that, too."

He closed his eyes on a wave of frustration. "You make it sound easy."

"Do I? That's not my intention. I think it's going to be almost impossible. But what's the alternative to trying? To give up? To never see her again?"

Rocco's heart thumped against his ribs. That idea was impossible to stomach. He swore loudly, dropping his head.

"Forget about dinner," Dante said with a benign smile. "I'll go see what my brothers-in-law are up to, after all."

Maddie had worked through so many tears that she no longer even noticed them falling. It was only the occasional splash of salty water against cardboard that made her realize she was crying again, and in those moments, she'd use her sleeve to wipe her face, then keep working, packing up the remnants of their lives. Jack, at her urging, had taken himself on vacation to Florida. She'd wanted to spare him this. He'd been so happy to have finally accepted Rocco's offer and to have the matter in the background, that Maddie had wanted to spare him the task of sorting through their worldly goods and making piles. For goodwill, for selling, and for storage.

She had also wanted to save him from seeing her heartbreak, for that was what it was, she now admitted. Heartbreak, pure and simple.

It was heavy inside of her, an organ that had, at one time, been the core driver of her body's functions and was now a blackening lump. Useless and unnecessary. Instead of pumping blood, it served up a daily dose of grief, reminders, constantly, of Rocco. Of what he'd offered, and she'd refused.

Of what she could have been doing, night after night. Not the sex, though that was a part of it. But it was so much more than that. When she thought back to their time together, it was Rocco himself she'd come to crave. His laugh, his conversation, his personality, his power. The power that came from the very core of a man such as him—confident and commanding, naturally bent on shaping the world to his will.

But that had included Maddie, and she couldn't bear it. She couldn't bear the risk of succumbing to him completely—and was there any other way to be with Rocco? Could she ever really have been ‘casual' with him? Of course not. He was a man destined to be someone's sun and moon. Maddie's? No. Not Maddie's.

But that didn't mean she wasn't hurting, with all of herself. It didn't mean she wasn't almost catatonic with regret. She missed him, with all of her heart, and she was starting to think she might miss him, for all time.

"Maddison, open up. I can see the light," he said, banging on the door, looking up and down the street before remembering: no one was home. He'd made sure of that. He'd bought each and every one of her neighbours' houses. There was only this one remaining.

He banged once more, waited, then dropped his head.

She was home; he knew she was home. But she wasn't going to answer. She wasn't going to let him in. It was just like the calls she'd refused to take, the texts she hadn't responded to. She was showing him that it was over.

Why wouldn't he get it through his head? Why couldn't he just accept it?

Because you love her.

Dante had unlocked a vital piece of understanding and now that he had, Rocco couldn't fail to understand. He saw it every time he looked back on their time together, in each and every one of his misguided, stupid actions. His head had been pushing her away even when his heart had been pulling her towards him. It had been a contradiction, the whole time. That's what he had to explain to her. What Maddie did with that information, well, that was up to her.

Sleep had been another casualty in the past week. Maddie had found the nights torturous, her dreams dominated by Rocco, memories she didn't want to have swimming around her mind, so she'd worked on packing until all hours, until she was so exhausted that she could curl up at any time of day or night and drift off. It didn't last long, but just an hour here and there was enough to recharge her batteries for the next stint of this.

Sometimes, she wondered when it would end. When would she stop being tortured by thoughts of Rocco? When would she be free of this mess? And did she really want to be? It was the final question that made her whole body turn cold because surely she was glad she'd escaped. Before anything truly awful could happen.

Unlike with Brock, Maddie had made her escape in time. She'd done it on her terms, at the right time, and that was a good thing. Wasn't it?

She squeezed her eyes shut now, scrunched up in a ball on the sofa, ignoring his voice. Even his voice permeated her dreams, she thought, resentfully, but also with longing. What she wouldn't give to have his voice be real. To be able to reach out and touch him, to see him. One last time.

Just one last time, really?

She tried to swallow, but a lump had formed in her throat that made it almost impossible.

"I know you're there, Maddie. I just want five minutes."

She sat bolt upright, staring at the empty wall opposite, her heart banging around in her chest, then jerked her head towards the door.

"Maddie?" Three bangs, then silence.

She closed her eyes against wave after wave of longing and wanting. Of regret. Of missing. And even though she'd promised herself she would never answer his calls, reply to his texts, or see the man again, she found herself moving as if drawn by a strong magnetic force, pushing her to standing and then almost gliding her across the floor and down the corridor towards the door. She told herself she'd leave it to fate. If she opened the door and he was there, great. They'd talk. But if he was gone, that was great, too. A hole opened up in her core at the very idea he might have left, and without her knowledge, her step quickened.

She wrenched the door inwards, bracing herself for what she might—or might not—see.

But Rocco was there, hands on hips, body braced, eyes boring into her—or rather, the door, where it had been just a moment ago—as though he could open it with kinetic force.

The moment their eyes met, she felt a jolt inside, a locking into place of something she didn't understand. Wariness immediately came to her rescue, reminding her of all the reasons she couldn't just step forward and wrap her arms around him, reminding her of everything that had come before. Reminding her, even when the most incontrovertible truth of all was simply this: she missed him. No matter what had happened between them, or to Maddie in the course of her life, she missed him. And it hurt like hell.

But missing someone wasn't enough of a reason to throw caution to the wind and ignore all your guiding life principles. Was it?

She straightened her spine, angling her face to him with what she hoped was cool determination. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you."

Her heart thumped. She had to see him, too. She just hadn't been willing to break that barrier. She'd erected it, after all.

"Why?" Her voice emerged as barely more than a whisper.

He took a step forward and she flinched. Not because she was afraid, not because she didn't want him to touch her, but because she was terrified about what she would do if he were to wrap his arms around her. Fall against his chest and beg him not to leave? He froze, and his features contorted into a mask that made her whole body hurt, because it was filled with agony. Actual agony, like she'd been feeling. They were two tragic mirror images.

"I've been an absolute idiot."

Her heart twisted.

"For many reasons, in many ways, but primarily, the offer I made in Italy, on the night of the wedding. It was, without a doubt, the stupidest thing I've ever done."

She looked away from him, because it was hurting too much to hold his gaze, and because his words were ziptying parts of her together again.

"I just didn't want it to end. I thought I could leverage you into staying with me—which, as I said, was really, really stupid."

She sucked in a shaking breath, not sure how to speak, nor what to say.

"I thought we were both getting something we wanted. I thought it was ‘win, win'. But in reality, I didn't think at all. I just spoke, from the heart."

Her own heart did a little tremble at that.

"The thing is, Maddison," and he must have moved again, because his hand reached for hers, and sparks erupted just beneath her skin. "I just didn't want to let you go. I've never known anyone like you before; I was completely unprepared to feel what I feel for you, and I've spent as long as I've known you fighting those feelings."

She turned back to him, slowly, her eyes finding his, probing them, wanting to understand.

His jaw clenched visibly, and she felt the undercurrent of his nervous tension—something she would have sworn Rocco would never experience.

"What are you saying?" she asked unevenly. "What do you feel?"

His smile was bittersweet, and his features bore grief. "What do you think?" He moved closer still, lifting his other hand to her cheek, touching her as though he couldn't help himself. As though his fingers needed to glide over her cheek, to feel, to remember… "I love you."

Her heart stammered and her pulse gushed in her ears. She shook her head. Not because she was rejecting his words but because she wasn't sure she could possibly believe them. "You—what did you say?" Was she dreaming again? Still dreaming?

"I love you. I have fallen in love with you, and I don't ever want to stop loving you. No, that's not right. I'm still messing this up," he groaned. "I can't not love you. It's just who I am now. You've become a part of me. A wonderful, beautiful, unique, glorious part." He stroked her cheek lightly. "I know how things are between us. I know I messed everything up and that you might never forgive me, but I still just needed you to know…I love you."

Oh, sweet Lord. She reached behind her for the door frame, needing it for support. Be sensible , her brain pleaded. Brock had said he loved her too. He'd claimed to have done the things he did because he'd loved her and hadn't wanted it to end.

She hadn't forgiven him. She'd been furious.

But there was a difference. A vital difference. Brock had been malicious. He had been terrifying, bordering on abusive, with his threats to spread those digital images of her. That had been a true betrayal.

Rocco had truly believed he was giving her what she wanted, giving them both what they needed. And in exchange, he'd been willing to sacrifice the development he'd worked so hard for. Because he loved her.

He just hadn't known how to process that.

The epiphanies kept exploding inside of her, little bombs that were gradually washing away her resistance, because Rocco was nothing like Brock. Even now, Rocco was telling her he loved her without any expectation of success, simply because he wanted her to know.

"And if I ask you to go, now?" she murmured, staring at his face.

A small groan escaped his lips, and it tightened like a vice around her heart. "I'll go," he promised her, and she glanced beyond him to where his car sat. Memories of sharing that car with him, that first afternoon he'd come here to see her, danced like glitter on the edges of her eyes.

"I'm not asking you to leave," she clarified softly. "I was just…wondering."

Hope lit his eyes, but he stayed where he was. Only his thumb moved, padding the flesh to the right of her mouth, so she closed her eyes on a wave of longing.

"I never thought I would love anyone," he admitted. "And up until I met you, it wasn't hard to live that truth. I never met anyone who got close to making me want—need—things beyond…the physical. But with you, oh, with you, Maddie, it's been like walking in sunshine, every single day. Warm and sustaining and beyond my wildest dreams."

A sob bubbled up inside of her; she didn't bother to suppress it. "Why didn't you tell me this after the wedding?" she muttered. " This would have worked a lot better than your stupid proposition."

"I didn't know then. I didn't understand, or believe me, I would have been shouting it from the rooftops. Or begging you to make use of that wonderful wedding setup and marry me then and there."

Her eyes widened. Ancient dreams, hopes, visions of a family, a life filled with love and laughter, noise and pleasure, slammed into her. She squeezed the hand that held hers.

"I love you," he said, simply. "I just wanted you to know." And he dropped his hands from her, and took a step back, waited a moment, then nodded, once, before turning and starting to walk away.