LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      AFTER DANTE HAD gone Willow tried to keep herself busy—because it was in those quiet moments when he wasn’t around that doubts began to crowd into her mind like dark shadows. But she wasn’t going to think about the future, or wonder how his Manhattan meeting with his twin brother was going. She was trying to do something she’d been taught a long time ago. To live in the day. To realise that this day was all any of them knew for sure they had.

      She set off for a long walk around the grounds, watching the light bouncing off the smooth surface of the lake. The leaves were already on the turn and the whispering canopies above her head hinted at the glorious shades of gold and bronze to come. She watched a squirrel bounding along a path ahead of her and she listened to the sound of birdsong, thinking how incredibly peaceful it was here and how unbelievable it was to think that the buzzing metropolis of the city was only a short distance away.

      Later she went to the library and studied row upon row of beautifully bound books, wondering just how many of them had actually been read. She found a copy of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and settled down to read it, soon finding herself engrossed in the famous story and unable to believe that she’d never read it before.

      The hours slid by and she watched the slanting sunlight melt into dusk and shadows fall across the manicured lawns. As evening approached, Alma came to find Willow to tell her that Giovanni was feeling well enough to join her downstairs for dinner.

      It was strangely peaceful with just her and Dante’s grandfather sitting there in the candlelight, eating the delicious meal which had been brought to them. The old man ate very little, though he told Willow that the tagliatelle with truffle sauce was a meal he had enjoyed in his youth, long before he’d set foot on the shores of America.

      They took coffee in one of the smaller reception rooms overlooking the darkened grounds, silhouetted with tall trees and plump bushes. Against the bruised darkness of the sky, the moon was high and it glittered a shining silver path over the surface of the lake. All around her, Willow could feel space and beauty—but she felt there was something unspoken simmering away too. Some deep sadness at Giovanni’s core. She wondered what was it with these Di Sione men who, despite all their wealth and very obvious success, had souls which seemed so troubled.

      Quietly drinking her espresso, Willow perched on a small stool beside his chair, listening to the sweet strains of the music which he’d requested Alma put on for them. The haunting sound of violins shimmered through the air and Willow felt a glorious sense of happiness. As if there was no place in the world she’d rather be, though it would have been made perfect if Dante had returned home in time to join them.

      She thought about the way he’d kissed her goodbye that morning and she could do absolutely nothing about the sudden leap of her heart. Because you could tell yourself over and over that nothing was ever going to come of this strange affair of theirs, but knowing something wasn’t always enough to kill off hope.

      And once again she found herself wondering if she came clean and told Dante the truth about her situation, whether this affair of theirs might last beyond their flight back to Europe.

      Giovanni’s accented voice filtered into her thoughts.

      ‘You are not saying very much this evening, Willow,’ he observed.

      Willow looked up into his lined face, into eyes which were dull with age and lined with the struggle of sickness, but which must once have burned as brightly blue as Dante’s own.

      And I will never know Dante as an old man like this, she thought. I will never see the passage of time leave its mark on his beautiful face.

      Briefly, she felt the painful clench of her heart and it was a few seconds before she could bring herself to speak.

      ‘I thought you might be enjoying the music,’ she said. ‘And that you might prefer me not to chatter over something so beautiful.’

      ‘Indeed. Then I must applaud your consideration as well as your taste in music.’ He smiled as he put down his delicate coffee cup with a little clatter. ‘But time is of the essence, and I suspect that mine is fast running out. I am delighted that my grandson has at last found someone he wishes to marry, but as yet I know little about the woman he has chosen to be his bride.’

      Somehow Willow kept her smile intact, hoping her face didn’t look clown-like as a result. She’d had been so busy having sex with Dante that she’d almost forgotten about the fake engagement which had brought them here in the first place. And while she didn’t want to deceive Giovanni, how could she possibly tell him the truth? She opened her mouth to try to change the subject, but it seemed Giovanni hadn’t finished.

      ‘I am something of an expert in the twists and complexities of a relationship between a man and a woman and I know that things are rarely as they seem,’ he continued, the slight waver in his voice taking on a stronger note of reflection. ‘But I do know one thing...’

      Willow felt the punch of fear to her heart as she looked at him. ‘What?’ she whispered.

      He smiled. ‘Which is to witness the way you are when you look at Dante or speak of him.’ He paused. ‘For I can see for myself that your heart is full of love.’

      For a moment Willow felt so choked that she couldn’t speak. Yes, she’d once told her sister that she liked Dante and that had been true. But love? She thought about his anguish as he’d recounted the story of his childhood and her desire to protect him—weak as she was—from any further pain. She thought about the way he made her laugh. The way he made her feel good about herself, so that she seemed to have a permanently warm glow about her. He made her feel complete—even though, for her, such a feeling could never be more than an illusion.

      So could those feelings be defined as love? Could they?

      Yes.

      The knowledge hit her like a rogue wave which had suddenly raced up out of the sea. Yes, they could.

      And even if Dante never loved her back, surely they could still be a couple until he tired of her.

      Couldn’t they?

      ‘Your grandson is very difficult to resist,’ she said with a smile. ‘But he is a very complex man.’

      Giovanni laughed. ‘But of course he is. All Di Sione men are complex—it is written into our DNA. That complexity has been our attraction and our downfall—although pride has played a big part in our actions. Sometimes we make decisions which are the wrong decisions and that is part of life. We must accept the shadows in order to experience light.’ His voice suddenly hardened. ‘But I know as an old man who has seen much of the world that regret is one of the hardest things to live with. Don’t ever risk regret, Willow.’

      She nodded as she leaned forward to tuck a corner of the blanket around his knees. ‘I’ll try not to.’

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