Summer Loving. Cathy Williams
Читать онлайн книгу.
tucked under his arm and his phone to his ear. A slight breeze ruffled his hair, and several women seated outside a smart café turned to ogle his long-legged body as he passed.
He seemed oblivious to the looks. In fact he seemed far away. Slowly, she lifted the camera and zoomed in on the man she’d shared her body with last night.
She clicked several times, the professional in her adjusting the camera to make the most of every single frame. But with each picture she took, her heart lurched.
Without warning, he stopped. The newspaper fell from his arm and Ava saw his face whiten. For several minutes he stared into space, until a scooter backfired in the distance, galvanising him into motion, the newspaper discarded.
When he disappeared from view to enter the apartment building, Ava slowly lowered the camera. With dread, she glanced down at the pictures she’d captured.
Ice clutched her heart as she reviewed each frame. Far from looking like a man who’d just left his wife’s bed sated and happy, Cesare looked as if he was caught in the middle of a living nightmare.
The sun disappeared behind a cloud, momentarily casting the terrace in shadow. The portentous effect wasn’t lost on her.
She’d risked her heart again by sleeping with Cesare last night. A heart that had never completely healed from being battered once. Now she knew she’d placed it in harm’s way again.
Her fingers clenched around the camera when she heard Cesare’s key in the lock. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the living room just as he entered.
He saw her and paused. Wordlessly, his gaze raked over her, sending her pulse on a roller coaster dive.
‘Thank you for this—’ she indicated the camera ‘—it’s very kind of you.’
‘Prego.’ His gaze stopped at her bare feet, then climbed back up. ‘I wasn’t sure what I’d hope for more on my return—to find you still in my bed or to have the temptation of making love to you again taken away from me by you being out of it. Not that a bed is necessarily a means to an end.’ The grim delivery of his words made her heart drop further into despair.
‘You don’t sound like you would’ve preferred the former option.’
His ragged laugh as he veered towards the kitchen caught at her insides. ‘Trust me, cara, I would’ve enjoyed it. I would take sweet oblivion with you over reality any day.’
She trailed behind him. ‘So, you don’t regret last night?’
The carton containing their breakfast landed on the countertop none too gently, followed by his phone. He came at her, stopping a bare inch shy of touching distance.
‘I explored your body so thoroughly that every inch, every kissable freckle is imprinted on my memory. I should be sated but my hunger for you burns with a force that almost hurts. Right this minute I would love nothing more than to spread you over this counter, bury my mouth between your legs, lap my tongue over your sweet spot until you come for me, again and again. Does that sound like regret to you?’ he breathed, his eyes fixed on hers in studied concentration.
Ava wasn’t sure how it was possible to feel hot and cold at the same time. But she did. Somehow, she managed to croak, ‘No.’
His body tight with tension, he stepped back and strode over to the coffee machine. ‘I’ll make another cup for you. This one’s cold.’
‘Cesare, what’s wrong?’ she asked because something was wrong. Desperately wrong. Despite her bold words, she quaked inside.
His shoulders stiffened, but he carried on pushing buttons. Only when the familiar sound of coffee percolating echoed through the kitchen did he face her.
‘You know that bit in a movie when you know the good guy has done something really bad and is going to get it in the neck but you keep rooting for him anyway?’
Ava set her camera down before she dropped it. ‘Yes?’ Her voice emerged shaky.
‘That’s not me, Ava. I’m the bad guy, who selfishly took what he shouldn’t have, then compounded his situation by making things a million times worse.’
‘How have you made things worse?’
He shook his head as if words failed him. She moved towards him, her feet hardly making a sound across the hardwood floor.
Cesare heaved a breath, struggled to calm the riotous feelings rampaging through him. He raked a hand through his hair, unable to bear the thought of telling her what he’d woken to—what the future held for them.
When he lowered his hand, Ava reached for it. He focused on her, his heart thumping now to a different beat, the hard pounding of want, of the selfish need to forget the last ten minutes. To go back and suspend time at the exact moment he’d woken up in Ava’s arms.
But questions flooded her eyes—questions she’d grown so tired of asking but had never diminished nonetheless. What had she asked him? What was wrong? As if he’d spoken aloud, she nodded. ‘Tell me,’ she demanded firmly.
He tried to speak but the words wouldn’t form. To speak would be to condemn him to hell for ever. But he’d known as he’d torn himself from Ava’s warmth this morning and seen the missed call from Celine that he’d run out of time.
His hand tightened around hers and he led her to the living room and urged her down onto the sofa. He paced, yearning with everything inside him not to have to shatter her peace. She watched him, her expectant gaze gradually turning into a frown.
‘For God’s sake, whatever it is, just spit it out. Please,’ she added, her plump lips trembling before she firmed them. ‘You’re scaring me with that bringer-of-the-Apocalypse look.’
Sucking in a breath, he sank down next to her. Immediately her evocative scent filled his nostrils. The urge to remain silent, to breathe it in and just drown in her heady essence almost overcame him. He suppressed a grimace.
He clasped his hands to stop their shaking. ‘Celine called this morning but I missed it. I called her back ten minutes ago.’
The fear that entered her eyes chilled his heart. ‘And?’
‘She had the results. Roberto died from Late Onset Tay-Sachs syndrome.’
A shake of her head. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’
‘It’s not a common condition. According to Celine, it is almost always misdiagnosed. Most people only know about it when it affects them.’
‘Is it...did Roberto suffer?’ she asked in a pained whisper.
His breath shuddered through his chest. ‘Sì. It’s a horrible disease.’
When she put her hand on his cheek, he nearly lost it. He greedily absorbed the touch because he knew it would be gone soon, once she knew the whole truth.
‘I’m so sorry, Cesare. For you and for what Roberto went through.’
‘Save your sympathy, cara. I don’t deserve it.’
Her fingers trembled against his cheek. ‘Why would you say that?’
‘Because the condition...it doesn’t begin and end with Roberto. It’s a genetic defect that is passed down from parent to child.’
Her eyes remained blank, then slowly widened, filling with horror as the implications of his words finally sank in. Her hand dropped like a stone and she paled, the freckles dusted along her cheeks standing out against milk-white skin.
With everything inside, he wanted to take the pain away.
Ava fought to breathe. Moments ago, she’d been harbouring hope that they were about to discuss how to find their way back to each other.
Instead, he’d dropped this...this...
‘Are you saying...that...you and Annabelle both have this gene?’ The words