Chapter 11

ELEVEN

Sabella

After dinner, Angelo takes me aside and brings me up to speed with the trouble Johan caused at school.

"Are you sure he's guilty?" I ask. "Maybe the other kid fabricated the story." I can't help but consider the possibility after the scene I saw in Roch's classroom.

"I confronted Johan." Angelo's gaze is wary. "He admitted he's guilty. It doesn't surprise me." He chuckles. "When I first went to see the old man in the valley, Johan tried to sell me weed."

The concern keeps me awake when I go to bed. I lie in the dark, worrying about Johan's future. I'm still afraid that Angelo will send them to a boarding school. I hope Johan understands how serious the situation is.

As the minutes roll into hours, I expect Angelo to open the door and get into bed beside me. I left him working on his laptop in the kitchen when I came upstairs for my shower, but it's almost two in the morning.

Unable to sleep, I get up to go make a cup of chamomile tea. On the landing, I pause. Angelo is fast asleep on the sofa. His ankles are crossed and his hands are folded over his stomach. He's still dressed in the smart slacks and button-down shirt in which he arrived this morning. He only removed his shoes, which stand next to the sofa.

With his head slightly turned to the side, he almost appears innocent, but at a closer look, he wears his habitual stern, harsh expression even in his sleep. He's a man in control of his life as well as the lives of the people he's responsible for. He never lets his guard down, not even in his dreams. Yet a weary tension seems to weigh on his body. Under the designer cut of his well-fitting clothes, the set of his hard, steel-like muscles is tense. Despite his brutal masculinity, there's something vulnerable to him in his unconscious state, something that reminds me of the man I once loved.

The sight threatens to soften my heart, but I harden that treacherous organ and turn back to the room with my bitter resolve intact.

Saturday passes without any incidents.I spend as much time as I can with Sophie, trying to involve her brothers in some of our games. As it turns out, they're more interested in hunting for treasures in the forest. Heidi cooks big, scrumptious meals that we enjoy in the sun on the veranda. During mealtimes, she and the kids act as buffers between Angelo and me, forcing us to remain civil.

Angelo doesn't come up to bed on Saturday night either. It should make me glad. Instead, it bothers me. I became addicted to our passionate, uncontrollable physical bonding. Sex turned into an outlet for my frustration and violent feelings. But it's best like this. We shouldn't have wild, angry sex with the kids under the same roof.

When Sunday dawns, I'm anxious. I'm going to miss the kids. I don't look forward to saying goodbye. I try to make the best of the time we have left without spoiling it with the dark mood creeping up on me.

In the late afternoon, the dreaded moment arrives when they prepare to leave.

I use the opportunity when Angelo and Heidi carry the bags to the car to pull Johan aside. "Mr. Russo told me about the marijuana."

He looks guilty for all of two seconds before he snaps his teeth together and obstinance hardens his face. "So what?"

"You're a clever and industrious young man. I'd hate to see you get expelled and throw a chance at building a good future for yourself away. I really don't want Mr. Russo to send you to a boarding school in a different city."

"Don't worry," he says with a wry smile. "It was my last batch anyway. We grew it in the valley, and we're not going back there, are we?"

"I hope not."

Sophie runs up to hug me. "Sabella! Sabella! Angelo says we have to go."

Johan makes as if to leave.

"By the way," I say, "I like your new haircut. It suits you."

He blushes to the roots of his hair. Muttering, "Cheers. See ya," under his breath, he spins around and sprints to the car.

Sophie pulls on the hem of my sweater. "Angelo says we can come back soon."

I bend down and wrap my arms around her. "Then you can teach me what you learned in class so that I can practice my French."

She giggles. "I can teach you and Beatrice and Alison." Her eyes light up. "I'll be the teacher, and you'll be the kids in the class." Touching the sea turtle pendant around her neck, she says, "I'm less sad now that you'll always be with me."

Angelo approaches.

I kiss her forehead. "See you soon, sweetheart."

She skips to the car, seeming much happier than when she arrived.

Angelo stops in front of me, studying me with his hands shoved in his pockets. After a beat, he says, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For caring about them."

"It's only natural."

"No, I don't think it is," he says thoughtfully. "I think that's just you."

"Thank you for bringing them to visit." I swallow the lump in my throat at the thought of not seeing them for some time. "It was a nice weekend."

"It felt…" He hesitates, seemingly searching for a word. "Normal."

I try to keep my voice neutral. "I suppose it did."

He cups my nape and drags me closer to plant a kiss on my lips. I let it happen, giving in without making a scene, but I'm not kissing him back. My heart contracts painfully, but this is the best way. The only way.

"Sabella," he huffs in frustration, breathing my name over my lips.

I pull away. "I guess I'll see you when I see you."

His shoulders slump. "Yes."

I wave at the kids and Heidi who are already seated in the SUV, considerately giving my husband and me space, and then I go back inside the house.

The engine starts up and fades away. I don't know for how long I stand on the same spot in the lounge, but it's dark when I finally gather the courage to walk into the empty kitchen. After the full house this weekend, it feels lonelier and quieter now. The darkness is depressing, so I switch on the lights and do what I do to cope. I keep busy by baking banana loaves for Mr. Martin and Mrs. Paoli. When I've set the loaves out to cool, I have a shower and get into bed, but I'm once again lying awake for most of the night.

At dawn, I'm up. After breakfast, I set out to the village. I have a cup of tea with Antoinette when I deliver her banana loaf and drop one off for Corinne before I head toward Mr. Martin's place. When I hand him the loaf, he cuts a thick slice and butters it.

"This is good," he says around a mouthful of cake. "Haven't had this before."

"It's a recipe from home."

Doris, our housekeeper, never allowed us in the kitchen when she baked. I have no idea if I did it right. I had to adjust a cake recipe and experiment with the quantity of the ingredients, but the loaf turned out all right.

"You're a kind person," he says, patting my arm.

When I'm done with cleaning his house, I swing by the pharmacy.

"More cake?" Mrs. Campana asks as she takes the loaf from me. "You'll make me fat."

"It's another first attempt." I smile. "I had to share that with you."

"You haven't done much cooking before, have you?"

"No," I admit. "We had a housekeeper who was a great cook and an even better baker."

"Lucky you." She pulls up her nose. "You sound like you're from the same stock as your husband."

She has no idea how right she is. My dad wasn't that different from the Russos.

"I've been spoiled." I lean my elbows on the counter. "To be honest, I've never been interested in baking or cooking before."

"What did you want to do?"

"I wanted to become a marine biologist."

"Really?" She crosses her hands over her stomach. "Did you ever look into it?"

"I completed my first year at university." The memory of finding out that Angelo paid my tuition fees still leaves me bitter.

"Why didn't you carry on?"

"I came here."

"Why marine biology?"

"I love the sea." I shrug. "It's my passion. There's something about the sounds and the light under the water that makes me feel as if I'm in a different world where everything is calm and safe. Drifting in the water is like being rocked in a crib. Even the violence of the big waves has an irresistible pull. I like the challenge of surfing them without getting trashed to a pulp. When I go with the flow and don't fight the sea, it always pushes me out on the shore. It's as if we have a secret complicity. I can swim out for hours and never tire of discovering all its surprises."

"Ah." She pushes her glasses onto the bridge of her nose and shudders. "Diving into so much dark water when you can't see what's underneath gives me the creeps."

"It's actually not that bad. Most of the time, you have a few meters of visibility."

"No thanks." She wiggles her shoulders as another shiver runs over her. "I'm afraid of water. I can't swim."

"Sophie is scared of water too. I was thinking of teaching her to swim in the summer. If you like, you can join us. I can teach you too."

"Oh, I don't know. At my age?"

"You're never too old to learn new skills. If it's a fear you really want to overcome, I'll be happy to help you."

"If anything should motivate me, it won't be overcoming my fear." She reflects for a moment. "I'd like to go out on a boat and not be afraid. When the summers get unbearably hot, I'd like to cool down in the water. It'll be nice."

"Then it's a deal." I hold out my hand. "Come summer, we're doing swimming lessons."

She drags in a long breath. "I'm only brave now because that's still months away." Giving my outstretched hand a long look, she finally clasps it in hers and says, "Oh, what the hell. I'm not going to die without at least trying. The village won't remember me as the brilliant pharmacist who passed her degree with honors. They'll only think of me as the woman who couldn't swim."

I laugh. "I'm sure they'll remember you for much more."

She scoffs. "Don't be so sure about that. It's how it works in these small towns. Talking about scary waters, have you seen the river?"

"The banks by Mr. Martin's house are flooded."

"It's coming down from the mountains with a vengeance. With the turn of the season, the snow is melting. Every year, the bridge gets flooded and sheep grazing on the slopes are washed away. You better be careful when you cross it."

"I'll remember that."

A client enters, so I greet Mrs. Campana and take my leave.

Closer to the school, the river comes down with such a strong flow it overflows the footbridge that connects the two banks. On the south side of the bridge, the water rushes toward a few shallow rapids. The ducks that usually float on the flat surface of the river fled to the shelter of the reeds higher up under the trees.

I make my way along the bank, staying off the road and using the shady lane of giant plane trees as cover to stay out of sight. The school will close soon, and Angelo's driver can turn up at any moment. Angelo told me he was going to ground Johan for the two days that he's been expelled. I want to reassure myself that the other kids are fine.

The grass underneath my feet is spongy, and the earth smells mossy. The ring of the school bell sounds above the noise of the river. A moment later, the principal opens the gate. Children rush out, laughing and yelling as they run toward the adults waiting on the pavement or in the parking lot. I stay behind the trunk of a tree, peering around it to see if I can catch a glimpse of Sophie and the boys.

Two older boys run toward the river. At the bridge, they take off their shoes and socks and, screaming with excitement, run through the overflow to the other side. A few adults follow their example, crossing the bridge with their shoes in their hands.

Guillaume's auburn curls catch my attention. He walks through the gate with his brother in tow. Sophie runs to catch up with them, calling after them to wait. She seems annoyed but not sad. It's an enormous relief. My heart warms as I spy on the trio from my hiding place. They look very different from the dirty, neglected children I first met.

Sophie catches up with her brothers who stopped on the pavement. The boys look up and down the street. I scan the cars parked on the curb as well as in the parking lot, but there's no sign of the SUV. Just as I'm getting concerned, the SUV rolls up the street and pulls into the parking lot. The kids wave and run toward the vehicle. I expect the same driver from the last time to get out, but instead, Angelo gets out from the driver's seat.

My pulse spikes. Underneath a black jacket that stretches over his broad shoulders, he wears a crisp, white shirt. The matching suit pants hug his powerful legs. The cut is fitted, emphasizing his perfect physique. His dress shoes are fancy. He's not wearing a tie. The top two buttons of the shirt are open, adding a casual touch to the formal clothes and giving a glimpse of the black ink on his chest. His dark hair is brushed back. The wavy curls are just messy enough to look sexy.

I duck and flatten my body against the trunk. My heart beats so loudly in my ears it drowns out the sound of the water. When I steal a quick peek, he's going down on his haunches and opening his arms wide. Sophie runs into his embrace and hugs him tightly.

People stare. Not openly, but they gawk all the same. The moms' gazes linger as they pass with their offspring in hand.

It's unfair. He's too hot to be a mere mortal. The other dads with their beer bellies and balding heads don't compare. It's as if a male supermodel walked onto the scene. Add a dangerous mafia boss to the title, and who can blame people for their morbid fascination?

He lets Sophie go and straightens to grip étienne's shoulder. He says something, maybe asking how their day was at school. Guillaume replies with animated gestures. An amused smile tilts Angelo's sensual lips as he gives the boy his full attention.

I blow out a long breath and make myself small behind the tree again, waiting for them to leave before I dare come out of hiding.

A mom with a Labrador puppy on a leash leads a boy of Sophie's age by the hand down the path over the grass. She stops at the bridge to remove her shoes. When the boy has taken off his sneakers, they cross the bridge hand-in-hand. The puppy strains on the leash, barking excitedly at a duck that's braved it out on the water. The woman slips and almost loses her balance. Taking advantage of the slack in her hold, the puppy charges to the edge of the bridge. It miscalculated the strength of the flow, because the next minute, the water washes the dog over the side. The woman cries out in alarm as the small body slips through the bars and disappears under the foamy mass of the water.

I suck in a breath, shock freezing me in place.

The woman screams and hangs with her full weight on the leash, but then the tension in the strap gives, and she stumbles back as the leash comes up empty.

"My puppy," she yells, searching the river with a terrified expression.

I act instinctively, pulling off my sneakers while scouting the maelstrom of water. The puppy's head breaks through the surface beyond the crush of the water on the other side of the bridge. It's swimming for all it's worth as the flow carries it swiftly toward the rapids.

I'm about to charge to the river when a tall, big figure sprints into my line of vision. Angelo removes his jacket in the run, tossing it carelessly onto the muddy bank before diving shoes and all into the water.

At the same time as every muscle in my body gears for action, my heart stops.

The woman utters a shriek.

Angelo surfaces a few meters downstream. He doesn't seem bothered by the turbulence or the cold of the water. He cuts with ease through the violent flow, his strong breaststrokes quickly eating up the distance between him and the puppy. He catches up with the panicking animal just as it reaches the rapids.

The dog yelps. Angelo scoops it under one arm and uses the other to keep them afloat as the rapids bounce them over the smooth rocks. A few meters farther down, a small waterfall tumbles onto sharper rocks before the river flattens out near the mill. There's a good chance that Angelo will get his head bashed in. He may be knocked unconscious.

My stomach twists with horror. I'm so caught up in Angelo's fight against the freezing cold river I only notice now that adults and children are gathered on both banks. Some people are running next to the river, offering hands and long sticks for Angelo to grab.

I'm a good swimmer. I must help him. I'm halfway over the grass when he finds purchase on the overhanging branch of a tree. I watch with my heart beating in my throat as he swings himself and the puppy up and climbs out onto the bank.

The adrenaline that pumps through my veins drops as abruptly as it spiked. Relief crashes down on me. The sensation is so powerful I'm nauseous in its wake.

The owner of the puppy runs toward Angelo, her son following short on her heels.

"Oh my God," she exclaims, reaching for the puppy.

Angelo hands it over.

"Thank you," she gushes, hugging the wet dog against her chest. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," he says, brushing his wet hair back with his fingers.

His soaked shirt clings to his chest, emphasizing the well-cut muscles of his pecs and abs underneath. The darker disks of his nipples are visible through the white fabric, as is the black picture tattooed on his chest. She drops her gaze to his torso, cutting a path over the scrumptious picture of masculinity with her eyes. A zap of jealousy hits me straight in the gut.

Someone who exited from a house on the bank runs over with a blanket and wraps it around Angelo's shoulders. If he looks up now, he'll look straight at me. I backtrack until I'm in the middle of the crowd, shielded by two tall men.

"I don't know how to thank you," the woman says, staring up at his face with a swoony expression.

I'm so close I can hear the breathlessness in her voice, and I bet it's not from running.

"Thanking me isn't necessary." He strokes the shivering puppy's head. "I'm only glad I got to him in time. You better get him dry and warm."

"You must be freezing." She perks up. "I don't live far from here. Why don't you come home and dry off before you catch pneumonia?"

"Thank you," he says with an impersonal smile, "but I don't want to impose on you and your husband."

"I live alone," she says quickly before adding in a sultry tone, "I'm divorced."

"Thanks for the offer, but I have to get back to my niece and nephews."

She glances toward the children who followed the rest of the spectators to the bank and are standing next to the bridge. In a small town like this, everyone knows who Angelo's niece and nephews are. Sophie, étienne, and Guillaume are gaping, looking at their uncle with a mixture of shock, admiration, and pride.

She stretches out an arm, offering him a hand. "I'm Julie. My son and your niece are in the same class."

He shakes her hand. "Angelo. Nice to meet you." When she doesn't let go, he frees his hand gently but firmly from her grasp. To the woman who offered him the blanket, he says, "May I return this tomorrow?"

"Oh." The woman blushes. "Don't worry about it. You can keep it."

His lips quirk. When he turns and makes his way up the bank, she fans herself.

A murmur breaks out in the crowd. They follow him with their gazes as he picks his jacket up from the mud, walks to the children, and leads them to the SUV. Once he's buckled them up in the back, he gets behind the wheel. Half of the village stare after the vehicle when he pulls into the road.

I stay out of sight until he turns the corner. Even then, I'm careful, sticking to the outskirts of the crowd as I collect my sneakers, put them back on over my wet socks, and make my way to the street. In a village where everybody knows one another, a stranger stands out like a lighthouse on a stormy sea. I can't let Angelo find out I was at the school. I don't want the other parents to pose questions, but nobody pays me attention. They're too hyped up about the incident, talking about it in hushed voices.

By now, the teachers who clocked off for the day are filing through the school gate. Ducking my head, I quickly walk in the opposite direction. I don't make it five steps before a strong hand wraps around my wrist.

On edge from the scary scene that just played off, I give a start. I look up into Roch's stern face. He's wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt. In his free hand, he carries a briefcase. It's still strange to see him in casual attire instead of the black suit I got used to in South Africa.

"We need to talk," he says.

Not giving me a chance to argue, he drags me around the school building. In a small park that borders on the side of the school, he lets me go.

A moment of silence passes as he scrutinizes me. "You look like you saw a ghost."

I wrap my arms around myself. "I just saw my husband."

He exhales through his nose. "Sophie's teacher encouraged him to drive the kids to school instead of sending the driver. She thinks it'll help if he's more involved." His mouth lifts in one corner in a semblance of a smile, but the gesture isn't friendly. "To appear more normal, I suppose."

I don't want to discuss my husband or how abnormal our life is. "What do you want?"

"I heard about the marijuana."

"Mr. Russo spoke to Johan. It won't happen again."

"Here." He takes a cell phone and a charger from his briefcase. "These are for you."

My lips part as I look at the items in his hand. "For me?"

"I carried them on me in case I ran into you. I had a feeling you'd show up again." When I don't move, he continues, "It's a burner phone. Safer. More difficult to trace."

I lift my gaze back to his. "Why?"

"We have our differences, but I can't let you walk up and down that damn mountain without a phone."

"How did you know I didn't have one?"

"It seems you made friends in town. When you didn't show up in the village for a week, they got worried about you. Knowing I used to work for your husband, they asked me if I had any news."

"What did you say?"

"That Mr. Russo and I parted on bad terms and that I no longer had contact with him. That's when the pharmacist told me you didn't have a phone."

Bowled over by his consideration, I say, "So you bought me one. I don't understand. I thought you hated me."

He thrusts the phone at me. "Just take it." His expression stays serious—concerned, almost—as he says, "If you need anything, call me." He motions at the phone. "My number is programmed on there."

At a loss for words, I can only gape at him.

Taking my hand, he slams the phone and the charger on my palm, and then the turns and stomps away.

He's already at the corner before I find my voice. "Thank you."

I don't expect him to acknowledge my gratitude, but I can hear the smile in his voice when he says, "You're welcome."