The Undoing of de Luca (20 page)

Loved.

Ellery swallowed.
Now you know.
Yet, despite all this, despite how full her heart and mind both were, she still felt as if she didn’t know anything. Every thought, every assumption and belief she had was shaken, overthrown, leaving her with nothing more than a handful of doubts. And hope, too, tiny and precious.

They drove in silence to the Hotel Excelsior, yet another luxury hotel, this one on the Bay of Naples. As Ellery took in the stunning architecture, the opulent lobby and, of course, the magnificent penthouse suite, she realized she felt only tired. This wasn’t her; this wasn’t even Larenz. It was just a way—a luxurious way—to keep from really living.

She had so many unnamed hopes, yet she could not give voice to them, even to herself. She was too afraid. Too much had happened too quickly. She couldn’t trust if it was real, if it even existed at all. She sank onto the bed and closed her eyes.

Yet why did the thought of leaving him make her want to cry?

‘Don’t cry,
cara
,’ he said softly. Ellery felt the feather-light touch of his finger on her cheek and opened her eyes.

Larenz knelt in front of her, his face full of such a sorrowful compassion that another tear slipped down her cheek. She hadn’t even realized the first one had fallen. She let out a little choked sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob. ‘I don’t know why I’m crying.’

‘It’s strange, is it not?’ Larenz said. He brushed the second tear from her cheek. ‘So much has happened in so little time. It is hard to know what to think.’

Ellery swallowed.
Or what to feel.
Yet, as they sat there in the half-darkness of the room, the only sound their unsettled breathing, she was reminded of that night at Maddock Manor when he’d held her so close, when he’d let her decide.

When they’d made love. And, perhaps, when she’d fallen in love.

For surely she loved him? Surely this was love, this restless churning, this fierce hope, this deep need? She rested her forehead against his and let the realization—the hope and the need—trickle slowly, certainly, through her.

She loved him. Perhaps since she’d first seen him walking so arrogantly into her home and resented him for it; certainly later, when she’d seen the little thoughtfulnesses that betrayed the man he truly was. A man with humble beginnings, who still cared for his mother. A man who washed her hair and wiped away her tears. A man as afraid of love and the hurt it could cause as she was.

Or perhaps more.

Yet still she loved him. The thought was wonderful. Terrifying. For she had no idea if he loved her back, and she was afraid—so afraid—to find out. Afraid to test the weight of the bridge Larenz had built across this chasm between them.

Ellery drew a shuddering breath. She drew back just a little. In the shadowy room she couldn’t quite see Larenz’s expression. She wanted to say something of what she felt but the words clogged in her throat. Fear kept them in.

Larenz lifted a hand to touch her cheek again. A shaft of moonlight bathed his face in silver, illuminating his expression of hungry hope, almost like desperation. ‘Ellery—’

His mobile phone buzzed like an angry insect in his breast pocket and, with a muttered curse, Larenz reached to turn it off.

And then Ellery spoke, not from the love rising inside her but from the fear that was determined to keep it down. ‘No, you should answer it. It might be your mother—’

Larenz gave her a strange look, his lips thinning, and then he glanced at the little glowing screen of his phone. ‘It’s just a business call,’ he said flatly.

Ellery rose from the bed. She barely knew what she was saying, only that she was so afraid to make this jump, to let herself feel. Love.

Be hurt.

‘Then you should certainly get it,’ she said, her voice sounding absurdly false and light. ‘It’s bound to be important.’

‘You want me to answer it?’ Larenz said, and he sounded incredulous.

Ellery forced the single word through numb lips. ‘Yes.’

‘Damn it, Ellery—’ His voice turned raw, ragged, and Ellery nearly broke inside. Yet the numbness and fear still held and she shook her head.

‘Answer it, Larenz.’ She knew she was telling him much more than to answer a call, and it made her heart break. She was pushing him away and she didn’t know how to stop.

With another muttered curse, he punched a button on his phone and spoke tersely into it.

Ellery left the room.

Larenz snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the bedside table. A stupid business call, and it had ruined what had been one of the most important moments of his life. Almost.

He felt rage course through him and, worse, far worse than that, hurt.

He was hurt. He was a blind, stupid fool, for he’d let someone get close enough to hurt him and he
never
did that, not since the day he’d walked up that endless drive to his father’s palazzo and raised the heavy brass knocker. Not since his father had, reluctantly, seen him, his eyes shrewd, his face cold.

I’m Marina de Luca’s son
, Larenz had said. He’d been fourteen, tall and bony and awkward, not yet a man.
I’ve been wanting to meet you.

I don’t know you.

He’d tripped over his words in his haste to explain, to reassure.
I don’t want anything from you. I know…how it is. I just wanted to see you…
The longing in his voice! Larenz closed his eyes now as he remembered. There had not been a shred of pity or compassion in his father’s face. Yet there had been knowledge. Larenz had seen that. His father had recognized him, or at least had known who he was.

I don’t know you. Goodbye.

He’d closed the door in Larenz’s face. A moment later, one of the staff had escorted him from the property, making it quite clear that Larenz was never to return again, unless he wanted trouble.

From that moment on, Larenz had hardened his heart. He’d done it methodically, deliberately, knowing full well what he was doing and why. He’d never let anyone get close, never cared when he was mocked or teased, as he had been for that one hellish year at Eton. His mother had told him he’d won a scholarship; it was only later he’d learned that his father, in a moment of guilt, had funded his sorry education.

Larenz had walked out the moment he’d learned. He wouldn’t take a penny from anyone, and certainly not from the man who’d sired him.

From then on he’d kept acquaintances, employees, mistresses. Not friends, not lovers. No one came close. No one touched him, no one made him need or even want.

Except Ellery.

Somehow Ellery had slipped past his defences without even knowing she was doing so. She’d touched him with her bruised eyes and fierce pride and sweet abandon in his arms. He’d begun to believe it could all
mean
something.

And in that treacherous moment he’d been about to say—what? That he
loved
her? Larenz didn’t know what words had been about to come out of his mouth, from deep in his heart, but they would have meant something to him. Too much.

And she’d told him to answer a damn call.

Larenz glanced at his discarded mobile. He felt his head clear, his heart harden once more. It felt good. Right. Safe. This was who he was—who he’d made himself be. Who he had to be. He let out a long slow breath. He’d just come very, very close to making a terrible mistake.

Thank God he hadn’t made it.

In the living room, Ellery sat on the sofa and stared sight-lessly out of the window. Her mind was spinning, seeking answers to questions her heart was demanding. Why had she made Larenz take that call? Why hadn’t she let him speak?

Had she been afraid he was going to tell her that he didn’t love her…or that he did?

Which was more terrifying?

Love was so scary, Ellery thought with a distant numbness. Opening yourself up to all kinds of pain. And with a man like Larenz…

He’s not that kind of man. That’s just your excuse, because you’re so damn frightened.

She let out a shuddering sigh that was far too close to a sob. Larenz came into the room and she felt his silence, heavy and oppressive with unspoken words. She couldn’t bear it. She had to say something, anything. ‘I’ve had quite the whirlwind tour of Italy,’ she made herself say, her voice cringingly bright. ‘I haven’t been here since my sixth-form year, on a school trip—’

‘Ellery.’ She stopped, alarmed by his tone. It was flat and final and unlike anything she’d ever heard from him before. ‘It’s over.’

Ellery opened her mouth soundlessly and then closed it again. Her mind spun in empty circles. She couldn’t think of a single thing to say, so she just repeated his own word. ‘Over?’

‘Yes.’ Larenz didn’t look at her as he crossed to the suite’s minibar and poured himself a whisky. ‘I have to get back to work. I’ll put you on a flight back to London in the morning.’

Ellery blinked. She supposed she should have expected something like this and yet, considering what had just happened…what she’d been afraid was going to happen…

What she’d
wanted
to happen.

She swallowed, her mouth turning terribly dry. ‘Just like that?’

He shrugged, his back to her. ‘You knew the rules, remember?’ The words sounded like a sneer.

‘And you told me there were no rules between you and me,’ Ellery flung back, her voice breaking, the sound of vulnerability, of need. This was what she hadn’t wanted, this hurt and pain, but now that it was here, coursing through her, she found a new kind of courage, the kind borne of desperation. She drew a breath. ‘Larenz, I know I acted…strangely…a few moments ago, when I told you to answer the phone, but I was scared…This is all so new to me…I’ve never felt…’ She was babbling, unaware of what she was saying, the words coming from the well of need and fear—a far greater fear—that a life without Larenz in it was far worse than the pain of rejection.

‘It’s over.’ Larenz’s voice was low, savage. ‘Don’t embarrass yourself, please.’

Embarrass
herself? Was that what she was doing? Ellery blinked hard, as though she’d been slapped; her head reeled as if she’d been hit. Hurt. Suddenly she wondered if, in her own desperation and desire, she’d completely misread the situation. Maybe that conversation really
had
been about a phone call.

Maybe Larenz was used to these intense, crazy week-long affairs, maybe this was how he always acted with his
mistresses.

She’d fallen for his damn
lines.

And then another line came to her:
She hath no loyal knight and true, the Lady of Shalott.

There was too much damn truth in that wretched poem, Ellery thought bitterly. Too much truth, and she was tired of it. She wouldn’t be Larenz’s failure; she didn’t buy the unhappy ending or the sentimental tragedy. She felt cold, and clear, and quietly angry. She rose, standing before him; his back was still turned. ‘Fine,’ she said, and her voice sounded as flat and final as his. ‘Since it’s over, you can sleep on the sofa.’

She’d made it to the bedroom door before Larenz spoke again. ‘By the way, that was my assistant calling to tell me Amelie wants to start the photo shoot next week. The normal fee is ten thousand pounds. I’ll send you a cheque.’

Ellery stiffened. Her hand shook as she reached for the doorknob. ‘Fine,’ she said, and went into the bedroom.

Chapter Twelve

E
LLERY
must have slept, for she awoke in the morning, gritty-eyed, her body aching, her heart like lead inside her. Sunlight poured through the windows and in the distance the Bay of Naples sparkled like a diamond-scattered mirror.

The world was moving on.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, her head bowed, her hair hanging down. She let herself feel the agony of rejection, the intense pain of loss, and then she pushed it all down, deep down inside.

She was moving on, too.

Dressed in a pair of jeans and a woollen jumper—Maddock clothes—she came into the living room with her bag packed, her manner brisk.

Larenz was already showered and dressed, a mobile clamped to his ear. His sweeping gaze took in her clothes, her bag, her purposeful expression, and then he turned away.

Ellery poured herself a cup of coffee from the cafetière left on a tray and took two bitter sips. Larenz shut his phone. ‘I called you a taxi.’

Ellery put her cup down. She felt worse than a mistress; she felt like a whore. ‘Thanks, but it’s not necessary. I can find my own transport.’

An emotion flickered across Larenz’s face, darkening his eyes, but Ellery couldn’t tell what it was. She made herself not care.

‘I booked you a flight to London, first class. You change in Milan.’

‘Again,’ Ellery replied, her voice crisp, ‘it’s not necessary.’

Now she recognized the expression on Larenz’s face: impatience. ‘Ellery, you don’t need to make a point. You can’t afford a plane ticket—’

‘Actually, I can—’ Ellery cut him off coolly ‘—considering I’m ten thousand pounds richer.’

‘And shouldn’t that money go towards the house?’ Larenz demanded, and Ellery faced him with blazing eyes.

‘I hardly think,’ she told him coldly, ‘that you’re in any position to offer me advice.’

Larenz exhaled impatiently, and Ellery reached for her bag. The fact that her heart was breaking and he just looked tired and impatient made her feel both furious and pathetic. He was done. Well, so was she.

‘Goodbye, Larenz,’ she said coolly, without looking at him, and then she walked out of the door.

Larenz stood in the centre of the suite, the sound of a door closing echoing through his empty heart. Except it wasn’t empty any more; it was far too full.

He’d cut off Ellery to keep himself from getting hurt and it hadn’t worked. He ached all over, inside and out. He was crippled with pain.

And that, he told himself savagely, was surely a sign that he’d made the right decision. Even if it was agonising.

Ellery booked the cheapest flight to London, which required three changes and took twenty-four hours. By the time she stumbled out of Heathrow, she was exhausted and yet she had another journey to make.