Under the Italian's Command (15 page)

She stared at him tensely for a moment, and then she made a little noise—not quite a laugh, but getting there.

‘You’re impossible!’ she flung at him, shaking her head.

‘And you’re perfectly reasonable,’ he said back. ‘Now let’s get real. I’ve got a bottle of Krug open waiting for someone to take a slug out of it. Interested?’

She hesitated and then followed him as he turned to the kitchen.

Climbing up on one of the bar stools, she waited in silence while he found some glasses and poured the champagne. ‘Cheers!’ he said softly, clinking glasses with her.

‘Happy Christmas, Lorenzo…’ She wouldn’t look at him.

‘So, what plans have you made?’ he prompted.

Thanks to the revolving chairs and the way she’d angled herself he couldn’t see her face, but then he saw her shoulders shaking and swung her round. He stopped her sobbing the only way he knew, with a kiss, and with his arms binding her close so she would know how it felt to be safe. ‘You taste salty,’ he said, pulling back so he could smile against her mouth.

‘So do you,’ she said with a little laugh that made his heart swell.

‘Well, are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or not?’ He tipped her chin, giving her nowhere to look but in his eyes.

‘My mother doesn’t want me home.’ She tossed the words off as if they were of no importance to her; she even managed the approximation of a smile.

‘She doesn’t want you home?’ he repeated incredulously.

‘That’s right. She said it would be better if I left things to calm down a bit after the scholarship fiasco.’

He was raging inside. What sort of family made a child feel that it couldn’t come home unless it brought a prize? It put a price on love, and it seemed to him
Carly
could never meet that price however hard she worked.

‘I didn’t think it would hurt so much,’ she admitted with a frankness that brought them closer.

Lifting her face, she stared him right in the eyes as if to say she was all right now. He didn’t believe her for a minute. ‘So, what shall we do about it?’ he said.

‘We?’

‘Well, I don’t want to be on my own for Christmas.’ He had meant to make it easier for her, but the last thing he wanted happened—more tears, and this time they were tears of humiliation.

‘You don’t have to be kind to me, Lorenzo.’

‘Kind?’ He gave her one of his looks. ‘Me?’

‘Stop it. You know what I mean. I’ll be fine—’

‘I don’t have to do anything, but if I want to…’

Lorenzo would do exactly as he pleased,
Carly
thought, silently finishing the sentence for him. But she didn’t want to be anyone’s charity case, and she wasn’t sure how long she could keep this up, this casual pretence that sex was fun, kissing was fun, eating together was fun, when there was so much love inside her scorching a trail for him through her heart.

‘I’VE COME TO a decision,’
Carly
told Lorenzo. ‘I’d like to be alone for a few days. I need to sort out my head. I need to learn how to stand on my own two feet.’

‘You’ve been doing that all your life, as far as I can tell. You’re strong,
Carly
. Why can’t you see that?’

‘I’ll admit to being determined and driven, but I’ve always walked in the direction someone else has pointed me. What I want now is time to work out where I want to go.’

‘You’d consider quitting law?’ His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t going to tell her what to do, though it was so obvious, at least to him. The last thing she needed was someone else pulling her strings.

‘I haven’t made any decisions yet. I thought the scholarship was what I wanted, and that it would be an end in itself, but I was wrong, and now I need a new goal.’

‘How about personal happiness?’ he suggested. He was growing impatient with her inability to see how easy it was to throw a life away on someone else’s aspirations. ‘Your parents will get over this—’

‘You don’t know them.’

And, increasingly, he didn’t want to. ‘You’ll do lots of things to make them proud.’

‘I understand why they’re disappointed,’ she said. ‘They gave up so much for me. They’re entitled—’

‘Parents aren’t entitled to live their children’s lives for them,’ he cut across her. ‘They can only love them, and equip them for the world as best they can—’

‘That’s your way of thinking, Lorenzo, not mine—’

‘But it’s your life—’

‘And I’m not sure what my life is right now, so please—’

‘I won’t stop you going,’ he said as she glanced towards the door. He eased away from the cabinets to let her get by him. ‘If you need me you know where I am.’

An expression crossed her face that told him she was surprised and hurt he could just back off like that. His intention had been to give her space, but maybe space wasn’t what she needed.

‘Enjoy your supper,’ she said.

It was a crossroads, a turning point in his life. She let herself out of the front door while the energy they had created was still springing round him. He wasn’t about to wait around for it to fade. Snatching up his jacket, he went after her.

The moment she opened the front door of her flat he knew she’d been crying. ‘Go wash your face. I’m taking you out,’ he said.

She stared at him blankly, and then to his absolute relief she opened the door fully, murmuring, ‘Come in…’

He wanted to take her in his arms straight away. She was so vulnerable, he would do anything to heal the hurt inside her, but he held back, respecting her desire to find the path she wanted by herself.

Thankfully, she rallied quickly, the way he’d hoped she would. ‘Where are you taking me?’ she said after a protracted tidying-up session in her bedroom.

‘That’s my surprise.’

‘But it’s Christmas Eve,’ she reminded him. ‘Won’t everywhere be too busy for us to find a table?’

‘It will be fine,’ he reassured her. ‘Trust me.’

She gave him an ironic look. ‘You’d better tell me if I’m dressed appropriately?’

If she’d been wearing a dustbin liner tied with string she’d have looked just as beautiful to him.

‘No comment?’ She gave a twirl.

The ice-blue sweater against her ivory skin made her look ethereal, beautiful. He had only one suggestion. ‘Let your hair down…’

Reaching up, she removed the tortoiseshell pin holding it, and the whole glittering cascade fell and bounced around her shoulders.

‘Perfect. Do you have a warm jacket?’

‘How warm do I need to be?’

‘No clues,’ he said. ‘You’re too good a lawyer. If I’m not careful you’ll have the whole story out of me before I’m ready for you to know.’

The smile on her face was the only reward he wanted.

Her face turned ashen when she
realised
where they were going.

‘You said nothing when I asked if you trusted me,’ he reminded her.

‘Yes, I know, but I hate flying.’

‘I’ll ask you again—do you trust me?’

She gulped and stared up the steps of the small
aeroplane
. ‘Are you the pilot?’

He laughed. ‘Unless you’d like to take a turn?’

‘No! I just—’

‘What you’ll just do,’ he said, ‘is sit in a very comfortable seat, reading a selection of magazines, while sipping champagne and nibbling some delicious snacks.’

‘I will?’ she said uncertainly.

‘You will.’

‘Will it be a long fright…flight?’

‘Quite a short one, actually,’ he soothed, escorting her up the steps. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I have a plane to fly…’

Lorenzo must be taking her to Italy,
Carly
guessed as they took off. She knew he had family there. Or perhaps a Christmas ski trip. But if that were true, why hadn’t he suggested she pack even warmer clothes?

It was no use worrying about it now she was buckled into her seat. She just had to accept they were heading somewhere—

And landing already?

Not Italy, then.

So where?

Peering out of the window told her nothing. One runway looked much like another in the dark.

‘Did you enjoy the flight?’ Lorenzo said, ducking his head as he came back into the cabin to collect her. ‘I told you it wouldn’t be long.’

‘So where are we?’

‘That’s my surprise.’

As they stepped outside the aircraft and the sleet hit her in the face she read the sign.

‘I told you it would be a surprise, didn’t I?’

But not a good one,
Carly
thought in silence.

Linking arms with her, Lorenzo hurried her across the tarmac towards a waiting limousine. ‘I’m taking you home,’ he said as if that should please her. ‘Families should be together at Christmas. It’s a time for reconciliation, and for love…’

It wasn’t much of a village, though she was right; it was in the middle of nowhere. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it.
Carly’s
talk of an English village had conjured up an impression in his head of a picture-perfect place like something you might find on the front of a greeting card. This was more like a village some local planning team had come up with fast on a Friday afternoon. It had been built without thought for the eventual inhabitants’ convenience, either side of a busy main road. He could see why
Carly
would want to escape; it was harder to understand why anyone would want to settle there in the first place.

He turned to smile reassurance at her, having noticed how quiet she had become. He had hoped this trip back home would give him the answers she wouldn’t, but now he was beginning to wish he’d had more patience and had waited until she was ready to tell him.

When the limousine had halted he helped her out. He was using a driver because he had wanted to sit with her, but she’d put acres between them on the back seat. She was going home, he thought, frowning inwardly. Shouldn’t that have been a cause for celebration? Maybe those answers he was looking for were right here.

He stood close to her as she rang the front door bell. She had nodded when he had asked her if she was okay, but the set of her shoulders told him something different. He wanted to tell her it would be fine, and that he was there for her, but suddenly even he wasn’t so sure he could make it right. For a start, it was up to
Carly
to decide how much or how little she wanted to tell her parents about them…

The door was opened by a thin, pinched-face woman who looked as if she sucked lemons for a treat.

‘Mum!’

The excitement in
Carly’s
voice contrasted starkly with the way the older woman flinched.

‘
Mrs
Tate,’ he said, extending his hand formally. His hope had been to distract
Carly
so she wouldn’t notice her mother’s reaction to her. The calculation in
Mrs
Tate’s eyes as she turned her attention to him was a real eye-opener.

‘This is Lorenzo, Mother,’
Carly
said, blissfully unaware, he sincerely hoped, of the undercurrents running from the house to the step. ‘Lorenzo
Domenico
…my pupil master in chambers?’

Mrs
Tate stood back to take a proper look at him. ‘To what do we owe this
honour
?’ she said.

‘Can we come in?’
Carly
prompted with an edge of anxiety in her voice.

‘Of course you can,’ her mother said, standing back. ‘What are you waiting for?’

A welcome, maybe, he thought.

Once inside they walked down a narrow hallway and into an impressively neat sitting room. An older man was sitting in an easy chair watching football on the television. He looked weary, and barely glanced up, though judging by his slippers he had little enough cause for exhaustion.

‘
Mr
Tate?’ It was a relief when the man turned to look at him, and even more of a relief to see his gaze brighten.

‘Yes, that’s me,’ he said, a little awkwardly, as if he were unused to being in the spotlight. Then his face transformed, and he sprang up. ‘
Carly
!’ he said, going to her.

‘Dad!’

It was touching to see them embrace; it brought some warmth into the chilly atmosphere.

‘You’ve put on weight,
Carly
.’ Her mother’s voice shattered the touching tableau. ‘You need to watch that,’ she said.

Carly’s
cheeks reddened, and her father returned mildly to his seat.

‘My other daughter will be back soon.’

He
realised
Mrs
Tate was addressing him, and speaking as if she expected him to be riveted by this piece of information.