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with a rare humour. ‘I told Bianca about your arrival, and she’s looking forward to meeting you. You’re providing a new hope for all of us, Allegra.’
Allegra nodded. ‘Just remember there are no guarantees, no promises.’
‘No, but there aren’t with anything in life, are there?’ He spoke lightly, yet Allegra heard an undercurrent of bitterness, saw it flash across his face. Was he referring to something else? Their own disappointed dreams?
She gave herself a little shake and gazed out of the window as they came on to the motorway. She had to stop reading innuendo and remembrance into every word Stefano said.
The past was forgotten.
It felt like a prayer.
They took a private jet to Rome. Allegra realized she should have expected no less, yet the blatant, if understated, display of Stefano’s wealth and power awed her.
‘Are you richer now than seven years ago?’ she asked curiously when they were seated on the plane, the leather seats huge and luxurious.
Stefano glanced at her over the edge of his newspaper. A bit.’
‘I know my father was wealthy,’ Allegra said, ‘but, to tell you the truth, I don’t feel I saw much of it.’
‘You were comfortable?’ Stefano asked, his eyebrows raised, and Allegra laughed.
‘Yes, of course. Trust me, I’m not giving you some poor little rich girl story.’ She shrugged. ‘I just saw very little of life, and I think that’s why I was so swept away when I met you.’
‘I see.’ His voice was neutral, betraying no indication of agreement.
Allegra gazed out of the window. The plane was rising above the grey fog that covered London and a bright, hard blue sky stretched endlessly around them.
She had a strange urge to talk about the past, even though she knew there was no point, no purpose. She wanted to exorcise it, to show Stefano how little it mattered, how utterly over it she was.
It was a childish impulse, she knew, and worse, she wasn’t even sure if she could pull it off.
Yet what was there to talk about? What was there to say, that hadn’t been said that night?
Do you love me?
What more is there?
Even if their marriage hadn’t been a business arrangement, Allegra knew, it wouldn’t have been a good match. It wouldn’t have made her happy. Stefano hadn’t loved her, not in a real or worthwhile way. He’d only thought of her as a possession, something to be protected and provided for, tucked on a shelf. Taken care of.
Nothing else, nothing equal or giving or real about it.
And he’d shown her in a thousand tiny ways since then that he was the same. Thought the same, loved the same, which really wasn’t love at all.
Worthless.
Allegra turned back to Stefano. He was reading the paper, his head bent, his legs crossed.
‘You have a flat in Rome,’ she said. ‘Which part?’
He glanced up, smiling at her faintly, the glint in his eyes making Allegra feel as if he were simply humouring her. ‘Parioli, near the Villa Borghese.’
‘I’ve never actually been to Rome,’ she admitted, a bit embarrassed by her own inexperience. Her life in Italy had consisted of home and convent school, summers at their villa by the lake, and nothing more.
‘I’d show you the sights, if we had the time,’ Stefano said.
‘We’ll leave for Abruzzo right away?’
‘Tomorrow. I have a business dinner tonight. A social occasion.’ He paused, his gaze sliding away from hers. ‘Perhaps you would care to come with me.’
Allegra stiffened, felt the confusion of conflicting emotions. Alarm, surprise, pleasure. ‘Why?’ she asked. Her question was blunt but necessary.
Stefano raised his eyebrows. ‘Why not? Most people bring dates and I don’t have one.’
‘I’m not a date.’
‘No, you’re not,’ he agreed, unruffled, unconcerned. ‘But you’re with me, and there’s no point in you staying alone in the villa, is there?’ He smiled again, humour flashing briefly in his eyes. ‘I thought we were supposed to be friends.’
‘We are,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s just—’
Eyebrows still raised, Stefano waited. Allegra realized he’d tangled her up in her own words. Yes, she wanted them to be friends, and therefore these innocent, innocuous occasions should provoke no alarm or anxiety. And yet …
And yet they did. They did, because they weren’t just friends. No matter how much she wanted to dismiss their kiss, their entire past, she couldn’t. Not as much as she wanted to.
And yet she couldn’t avoid it. Perhaps the only way across this swamp of memory and feeling, Allegra thought, was straight through. It might mean getting muddy, wet, dirty, and even hurt, but she couldn’t avoid Stefano, or what was and had been between them. She didn’t even want to.
The past, forgotten as it might be, had to be dealt with. Directly.
‘All right,’ she said, and gave a little nod. ‘Thank you. That should be …’ she sought for a safe word and finally settled on ‘… pleasant.’
‘Pleasant,’ Stefano repeated musingly. He turned back to his paper. ‘Yes. Indeed.’
She turned back to the window.
They didn’t talk again until the jet landed at Rome’s Fuimicino airport, and Stefano helped her from the plane.
The air wrapped around her like a blanket—dry, hot, familiar. Comforting.
Home.
She took a breath, let it flood through her body, her senses. The air was different here, the light brighter.
Everything felt different.
‘It’s been a long time,’ Stefano said, watching her, and Allegra shrugged.
‘Six years.’
‘You came back for your father’s funeral.’
‘Yes.’ They were walking across the tarmac to the entrance to customs, and Allegra kept her head averted. Her father’s funeral. Her father’s suicide. More things she chose not to think about. To remember.
‘I’m sorry about his death,’ Stefano said after a moment, his voice quiet and far too understanding.
Allegra shrugged. When she spoke, her voice sounded as hard and bright as the sky shimmering above them. ‘Thank you. It was a long time ago.’
‘The death of a parent still hurts,’ Stefano replied, his gaze searching hers, and Allegra shrugged again and looked away.
‘I don’t really think of it,’ she said, and felt as if she’d revealed something—had exposed it to Stefano’s unrelenting gaze, unrelenting knowledge—simply by making that throwaway comment.
Mercifully Stefano dropped the subject and they spent the next short while dealing with customs and immigration.
Stefano had all of their papers in order and it didn’t take long. All too soon they were pulling away in yet another hired car, the ocean a stretch of blue behind them, the flat, dusty plains in front and the scattered brown hills of Rome against the horizon.
Allegra felt exhaustion crash over her in a numbing wave. She’d been physically busy these last few weeks but, more to the point, emotionally she’d been in complete overdrive. She leaned her head against the leather seat and closed her eyes.
She