LITMIR.BIZ

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Marco had relented. Sierra had walked away from the family that had embraced him. He’d believed she deserved what she’d got: nothing.

      ‘Is there anything you want from the villa?’ he asked. ‘Or the palazzo in Palermo? Some heirlooms or pictures?’

      She shook her head, her certainty shocking him even though he knew it shouldn’t. She’d turned her back on all of it seven years ago. ‘No. I don’t want anything.’

      ‘There’s nothing?’ he pressed. ‘What about a photograph of your parents? There’s a wedding picture in the front hall of the palazzo. It’s lovely.’ He watched her, searching for some sign of softness, some relenting towards her family, towards him.

      ‘No,’ she said, and her voice was firm. ‘I don’t want anything.’

      They worked in silent tandem, preparing the simple meal, and it wasn’t until they were seated at the table in the alcove with steaming plates of pasta that Sierra spoke again.

      ‘I always liked this spot. I ate breakfast here. The cook was an old battleaxe who thought I should eat in the dining room but I couldn’t bear it, with all the stuffy portraits staring down at me so disapprovingly. I much preferred it here.’ She smiled, the gesture touched with sorrowful whimsy.

      Marco imagined her as a child sitting at the table, her feet not even touching the floor. He imagined their daughter doing the same, and then abruptly banished the thought. Dreams he’d once had of a proper family, a real life, and now they were nothing but ashes and smoke. He’d never live here with Sierra or anyone.

      ‘You can have the villa.’ His voice came out abrupt, ungracious. Marco cleared his throat. ‘I won’t be using it. And it was your family home.’

      She stared at him, her eyes wide. ‘You’re offering me the villa?’

      He shrugged. ‘Why shouldn’t I? I didn’t need any of your inheritance. The only thing I wanted was your father’s shares in Rocci Enterprises.’ Which gave him control of the empire he’d helped to build.

      ‘Of course.’ Her mouth curved in a mocking smile. ‘That’s why you wanted to marry me, after all.’

      ‘What do you mean?’ He stared at her in surprise, shocked by her assumption. ‘Is that what you think? That I wanted to marry you only for personal gain?’

      ‘Can you really deny it? What better way to move through the ranks than marry the boss’s daughter?’ She held his gaze and even though her voice was cool he saw pain in her eyes. Old, unforgotten pain, a remnant of long past emotion, and strangely it gratified him. So this was why she’d left—because she’d assumed he had been using her?

      ‘I won’t deny that there were some advantages to marrying you,’ he began, and she let out a hard laugh.

      ‘That’s putting it mildly. You wouldn’t have looked twice at me if my last name hadn’t been Rocci.’

      ‘That’s not necessarily true. But I was introduced to you by your father. I always knew you were a Rocci.’

      ‘And he stage-managed it all, didn’t he? The whole reason he introduced you to me was to marry me off.’

      Marco heard the bitterness in her voice and wondered at it. ‘But surely you knew that.’

      ‘Yes, I knew.’ She shook her head, regret etched on her fine-boned features. Marco laid down his knife and fork and stared at her hard.

      ‘Then how can you object? Your father was concerned for your welfare. It made sense, assuming we got along, for him to encourage the match. He’d provide for his daughter and secure his business.’

      ‘Which sounds positively medieval—’

      ‘Not medieval,’ Marco interjected. ‘Sicilian, perhaps. He was an old-fashioned man, this is an old-fashioned country, with outdated ideas about some things. Trust me, I know.’

      She looked up, the bitterness and regret sliding from her face, replaced by curiosity. ‘Why do you say that? Why should you know better than another?’

      He shouldn’t have said that at all. He had no intention of telling Sierra about the shame of his parentage, the sorrow of his childhood. The past was best left forgotten, and he knew he could not stomach her pity. ‘We’ve both encountered it, in different ways,’ he answered with a shrug. ‘But if you knew your father intended for us to marry, why do you fault me for it now?’

      Sierra sighed and leaned back in her chair. ‘I don’t, not really.’

      ‘But...’ He shook his head, mystified and more than a little annoyed. ‘I don’t understand you, Sierra. Perhaps I never did.’

      ‘I know.’ She was quiet then, her face drawn in sorrowful lines. ‘If it helps, I’m truly sorry for the way it all happened. If I’d had more courage, more clarity, I would have never let it get as far as it did. I would have never agreed to your proposal.’

      And that was supposed to make him feel better? Marco’s chest hurt with the pressure of holding back his anger and hurt. He was not going to show Sierra how her words wounded him. She saw their entire relationship as a mistake, an error of judgement. Until she hadn’t come down the aisle, he’d been intending to spend the rest of his life with her. The difference in their experiences, their feelings, was too marked and painful for him to remark on it.

      ‘I didn’t intend to marry you simply because it was good business,’ he finally managed, his voice level. He would not have her accuse him of being mercenary.

      ‘I suppose it helped that I didn’t have a face like an old boot,’ Sierra returned before he could continue. ‘And I was so biddable, wasn’t I? So eager to please, practically fawning over you.’ She shook her head in self-derision.

      Marco cocked his head, surprise sweeping over him. ‘Is that how you saw it?’

      ‘That’s how it was.’

      He knew there was truth in what she said, but it hadn’t been the whole truth. Yes, she’d been pretty and he’d been physically attracted to her. Overwhelmingly physically attracted to her, so his palms had itched to touch her softness, to feel her body yield to his. And they still did.

      And yes, he’d liked how much she’d seemed to like him, how eager and admiring she’d been. What man wouldn’t?

      She’d been young and isolated, but so had he, even though he’d been almost thirty. Back then he hadn’t had many, if any, people who looked up to him. He’d been a street rat from the dusty gutters of Palermo, a virtual orphan who had worked through half a dozen foster homes before he’d finally left at sixteen. No one had missed him.

      Seeing Sierra Rocci look at him with stars in her eyes had felt good. Had made him feel part of something bigger than himself, and he’d craved that desperately. But Sierra made it sound as if he’d been calculating and cold, and it had never been like that for him.

      ‘You are painting only part of the picture,’ Marco finally said.

      ‘Oh, I’m sure you felt an affection for me,’ Sierra cut in. ‘An amused tolerance, no doubt. But eventually you would have tired of me and I would have resented you. It would have been a disaster, like I said.’

      He opened his mouth to object, to tell her what he’d hoped would have happened. That maybe they would have liked each other, grown closer. No, he hadn’t loved her, hadn’t wanted to love her. Hadn’t wanted that much emotional risk. But he’d hoped for a good marriage. A real family.

      She stared at him with challenge in her eyes and he closed his mouth. Why would he say all that now? Admit so much pathetic need? There was nothing between them now, no hope of any kind of future. Nothing but an intense physical awareness, and one he could use to his own ruthless advantage. Why shouldn’t he? Why shouldn’t he have Sierra Rocci in bed? Surely she wasn’t the innocent she’d once been, and he could tell she desired him. Even if she didn’t want to.

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