felt silly tears prick her eyes and turned away, but she heard Bridie saying quietly from across the small aisle, ‘He’s a good man. He’ll take care of you both.’
Sam fought valiantly for control and looked at Bridie, gave her a watery smile. She couldn’t hide anything from this woman who had seen her devastation when she’d come home from Italy. Her father hadn’t even noticed, and had barely acknowledged her pregnancy in his sheer self-absorption. When Milo had appeared her father had merely raised an eyebrow and proceeded to behave as if he’d always been there.
Sam reached out and took Bridie’s hand, squeezing it. ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
‘So am I, love,’ Bridie said, and then with obvious glee, ‘I’m going to meet the Pope!’
Sam laughed, ‘I know Rafaele can do most things, but I’m not sure his influence extends to that.’
‘Not sure my influence extends to what?’
Sam tensed and looked up to catch Rafaele’s green gaze. She blushed and said, ‘Nothing... Milo should eat now. He’ll be hungry.’
Bridie stood up and took Milo from Rafaele. ‘I’ll have a word with the stewardess and we’ll get him sorted.’
Rafaele sat down in Bridie’s vacant seat when they were gone and extended his long legs into the aisle. He was the epitome of Italian masculine elegance today, in a dark grey suit, white shirt and tie. But all Sam could think of was the raw magnetism lurking under the surface of that urbanity.
‘It’s rude to talk about people behind their backs, you know,’ he observed without rancour.
Sam was immediately suspicious of this more civil Rafaele. He was undoubtedly happy to be returning to his own milieu.
She smiled tightly and avoided his gaze. ‘Don’t worry. Your number two fan only has good things to say about you.’
‘Unlike you...’
In a bid to break the sudden tension Sam asked quickly, ‘Your father...he knows about us coming?’
Rafaele sat back a little further. Milo could be heard chattering happily further up the plane.
The reserve that came over Rafaele’s features at the mention of his father didn’t go unnoticed by Sam.
‘I spoke to him on the phone and explained.’
‘How did he take the news of...of a grandson?’
Rafaele’s mouth thinned. ‘He’s looking forward to meeting the next generation.’
‘You’re not close to him, are you?’
Rafaele looked at her and asked almost accusingly, ‘How do you know?’
She shrugged minutely. ‘You never spoke about him much...and I know you didn’t grow up with him.’
‘No,’ he conceded. His mouth was even thinner, making Sam want to reach out and touch him. She curled her hands into fists in her lap.
With evident reluctance he said, ‘My mother left him when I was three and took me with her. He was in no state to care for me even if she’d wanted to leave me behind.’
In an instant Sam remembered the day they’d told Milo who Rafaele was and Rafaele had made that enigmatic comment about being three years old. He must have been referring to this.
‘Your mother wouldn’t have done that, surely...?’
Rafaele arched a dark brow. ‘No? So why did she abandon my older half-brother? Her firstborn son?’
Sam’s mouth opened and closed. ‘You have another brother?’
As if regretting saying anything, Rafaele said briskly, ‘He turned up out of the blue at my mother’s funeral. Alexio and I had no idea he even existed... Well, I had a memory of meeting him briefly when I was small but I thought it had been a dream.’
Half to herself, Sam said, ‘So Milo has two uncles...’
Rafaele emitted a curt laugh. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not likely we’ll be getting together as one big happy family any time soon. Alexio is busy running his empire and Cesar wants nothing to do with us.’
Just then Milo came running down the aisle and grabbed Rafaele’s hand, pulling him out of the seat. ‘Lunch is ready!’
Rafaele let himself be pulled up and held out a hand to Sam.
She felt unsettled and a little vulnerable after their conversation. It was another snippet Rafaele hadn’t revealed before. She put her hand into his and let him pull her out of the seat. He held it tightly all the way to the other end of the plane but Sam didn’t feel as if the gesture was meant to be romantic. On the contrary—it was meant to remind her that they had unfinished business.
* * *
Rafaele’s palazzo was as she remembered it: imposing, beautiful and impressive. The lush green gardens were stunningly landscaped. Its faintly crumbling grandeur hid opulent luxury inside. Four years ago Rafaele had still been in the process of doing it up and now it was finished.
As they approached up the grand steps Sam didn’t even notice how tense she’d become until Milo said plaintively, ‘Ow Mummy, too tight.’ She immediately relaxed her grip on his hand.
A different housekeeper from the one Sam remembered met them at the door and Rafaele introduced her as Luisa. She was soon busy directing the driver with their bags. Bridie was open-mouthed with shock and awe, and Sam felt a semi-hysterical giggle rise up, but it faded fast when she saw the stooped figure of a man with a cane approach them.
He barked out something in Italian and Sam saw Rafaele tense just a few feet ahead of her. She had that disturbing urge again to touch him, to offer some comfort.
He said curtly, ‘In English, Papa. They don’t speak Italian.’
The old man snorted and came into view. His eyes were deep set and so dark they looked black, staring out from a strong face lined with age and disappointment.
Milo was clutching Sam now and she lifted him up.
‘Well?’ Umberto growled. ‘Where is my grandson?’
Hesitantly Sam moved forward to stand beside Rafaele. She felt him snake an arm around her waist and didn’t like the way something within her immediately welcomed and gravitated towards the support.
‘Papa, this is Samantha Rourke, our son Milo, and Sam’s friend Bridie.’
Our son.
Sam nodded in the man’s direction. His black gaze seemed to be devouring them. He said nothing. Then, to Sam’s complete surprise, Milo squirmed to be set free and she had to put him down.
Holding her breath, Sam watched as Milo started to walk towards his grandfather. She wanted to snatch him back, as if from the jaws of danger, and even moved. But Rafaele’s hand stopped her, gripping her waist, making her
