CHAPTER FOUR

      NATALIE was in a state of high anxiety by the time Tuesday came around.

      She hadn’t eaten for three days. She had barely slept. She had been dry retching at the thought of getting on a plane to Italy.

      Angelo had called her each day, but she hadn’t revealed anything of what she was going through. He had assured her Lachlan was out of harm’s way. Her parents had called too, and expressed their satisfaction with the way things had turned out. Her father was greatly relieved that the family name hadn’t been sullied by Lachlan’s antics. Angelo had miraculously made the nasty little episode disappear, for which Adrian Armitage was immensely grateful. He’d made no mention of Natalie’s role in fixing things. She had expected no less from him, given he had never shown an interest in her welfare, but she was particularly annoyed with her mother, who hadn’t even asked her how she felt about marrying Angelo. But then Isla had married Natalie’s father for money and prestige. Love hadn’t come into it at all.

      She felt annoyed too at having to lie to her friends—in particular Isabel. But strangely enough Isabel had accepted the news of her marriage with barely a blink of an eye. Her friend had said how she had always thought Natalie had unresolved feelings for Angelo since she hadn’t dated all that seriously since. She thought Natalie’s aversion to marriage and commitment had stemmed from her break up with Angelo. Natalie hadn’t had the heart to put Isabel straight. As close as she was to her, she had never told Isabel about the circumstances surrounding Liam’s death.

      Natalie heard a car pull up outside her house. Her stomach did another somersault and a clammy sweat broke out over her brow. She walked to the door on legs that felt like wet cotton wool. It wasn’t a uniformed driver standing there but Angelo himself.

      ‘I … I just have to get my bag …’ she said, brushing a loose strand of sticky hair back behind her ear.

      Angelo narrowed his gaze. ‘Are you all right?’

      ‘I’m fine,’ she said, averting her eyes.

      He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her to look at him. ‘You’re deathly pale,’ he said. ‘Are you ill?’

      Natalie swallowed the gnarly knot of panic in her throat. ‘I have some pills to take.’ She rummaged in her bag for the anxiety medication her doctor had prescribed. ‘I won’t be a minute.’

      She went to the kitchen for a glass of water and Angelo followed her. He took the packet of pills from her and read the label. ‘Do you really need to take these?’ he asked.

      ‘Give them to me,’ she said, reaching for them. ‘I should’ve taken them an hour ago.’

      He frowned as he handed them to her. ‘Do you take them regularly?’

      She shook her head as she swallowed a couple of pills. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Only in an emergency.’

      He was still frowning as he led her out to the car. ‘When did you develop your fear of flying?’ he asked.

      ‘Ages ago,’ she said.

      ‘What caused it?’ he asked. ‘Rough turbulence or a mid-air incident?’

      She shrugged. ‘Can’t remember.’

      His dark gaze searched hers. ‘When was the last time you flew?’

      ‘Can we get going?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want to fall asleep in the car. You’ll have to carry me on board.’

      Angelo glanced at Natalie every now and again as he drove to the airport. She was not quite so pale now the medication had settled her nerves, but she still looked fragile. Her cheeks looked hollow, as if she had recently lost weight, and her eyes were shadowed.

      Her concern over her brother was well founded. He had struck a deal with Lachlan, but already Lachlan was pushing against the boundaries Angelo had set in place. The staff at a very expensive private rehab clinic had called him three times in the last week to inform him about Lachlan’s erratic and at times uncontrollable behaviour. He had organised a therapist to have extra sessions with him, but so far there had been no miraculous breakthrough. It seemed Lachlan Armitage was a very angry young man, hell-bent on self-destruction.

      Speaking with Natalie’s father had made Angelo realise how frustrating it must be to have a child who, no matter how much you loved and provided for him, refused to co-operate. Adrian Armitage had hinted at similar trouble with Natalie. Apparently her stubborn streak had caused many a scene in the Armitage household over the years. In spite of all of her father’s efforts to get close to her she had wilfully defied him whenever she could. Angelo wondered if it was a cultural thing. He had been brought up strictly, but fairly. His parents had commanded respect, but they had more than earned it with their dedication and love for him. He hoped to do the same for his own children one day.

      He turned off the engine once he had parked and gently touched Natalie on the shoulder. ‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ he said. ‘Time to get going.’

      She blinked and sat up straighter. ‘Oh … Right …’

      He put an arm around her waist as he led her on board his private jet a short time later. She was agitated and edgy, but he managed to get her to take a seat and put the belt on.

      ‘Can I have a drink?’ she asked.

      ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘What would you like?’

      ‘White wine,’ she said.

      ‘Are you sure it’s a good idea to combine alcohol with those pills?’ he asked.

      She gave him a surly look. ‘I’m not a child.’

      ‘No, but you’re under my protection,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you getting ill, or losing consciousness or something.’

      She started chewing her nails as the pilot pulled back. Angelo took her hand away from her mouth and covered it with his. ‘You’ll be fine, cara,’ he said. ‘You were in far more danger driving to the airport than you ever will be in the air.’

      She shifted restively, her eyes darting about like a spooked thoroughbred’s. ‘I want to get off,’ she said. ‘Please—can you tell the pilot to stop? I want to get off.’

      Angelo put his arm around her and brought her close against him. ‘Shh, mia piccola,’ he soothed. ‘Concentrate on your breathing. In and out. In and out. That’s right. Nice and slow.’

      She