foundation. He told me that someone had already taken care of it. That someone had already covered what they had lost in the foundation and more.’
She hesitated and looked up him with tears in her eyes. ‘That was you, Raoul. You funded the programme, so no child’s treatment would be interrupted. So those children’s lives might be saved.’
He saw the setting sun in her eyes, saw the golden light dance in her tears. ‘I felt responsible.’
Moisture tracked down her cheeks. ‘And for two months I have been trying to find a reason to hate you, to believe you had no heart—but everywhere I look, everything I remember, makes the pieces fall another way. And then, with learning of one generous act of kindness, I knew I was wrong. How could I hate a man who did such a thing?’
He smiled, her words a balm to his soul. ‘I am glad you don’t hate me, Bella. I have lived in hell these past months thinking that.’
She sniffed. ‘And so I was wondering …’
He lifted her chin with one hand and rubbed the tears from her cheeks with the thumb of the other; his touch made her catch her breath. ‘Tell me,’ he said, his voice a husky, deep whisper that carried an urgency that rippled through her bones.
‘You once said that you loved me. I threw it back in your face. I thought you were lying. But did you mean it? Was it true, Raoul?’
‘That I love you?’ He exhaled in a rush. ‘Oh, Bella, I know I have betrayed your trust. I know I hurt you so much. And God knows I didn’t want to fall in love with you. I didn’t think it was possible. But every time we made love, every time I looked at you, I couldn’t help but fall in love with you that bit more.
‘And it scared me, Bella. I knew you would leave me one day, and I knew it would kill me—so I tried to push you away, but it didn’t work.
‘Because I do love you, Bella, and I always will. And, if there is ever a way to make up for the way I have treated you, so help me I will track it down, I will pin it to the ground and I will spend my entire life making it up to you.’
‘Oh, Raoul.’ She put a hand to his cheek, felt the familiar brush of his blue-black beard against her palm, never wanting to have to remember what that felt like again. ‘I love you so much, Raoul.’
His mouth found hers and they kissed as the gondola slipped silently beneath the Bridge of Sighs.
‘About those papers …’ she whispered when finally they had come up for air.
‘What about them?’
‘Do you think it would hurt if we didn’t fill them in? If we gave our marriage another go? With just you and me this time. Nobody else. And no ghosts from the past.’
He smiled at her and her heart flipped over. ‘Definitely no ghosts from the past. Just you and me, starting again.’ He picked up her hand and kissed it. ‘You have made me the happiest man in the world, Bella. You have given me something I thought I would never have, something I thought I had forfeited any right to for ever: you have given me your love. And I will treat it like the treasure it is.’
He dipped his head and kissed her again, so sweet and rich with feeling this time that her head spun and the blood fizzed her veins until she was dizzy on bubbles and the hot taste of him in her mouth.
And that night, in the big bed in the lover’s alcove, they solemnly repeated their marriage vows, with the sirens, satyrs, gods and goddesses as their witnesses, smiling this time. Knowing this time it was for real.
* * * * *
ALISON ROBERTS lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, and has written over sixty Mills & Boon Medical Romances. As a qualified paramedic she has personal experience of the drama and emotion to be found in the world of medical professionals, and loves to weave stories with this rich background—especially when they can have a happy ending. When Alison is not writing, you’ll find her indulging her passion for dancing or spending time with her friends (including Molly the dog) and her daughter Becky, who has grown up to become a brilliant artist. She also loves to travel, hates housework, and considers it a triumph when the flowers outnumber the weeds in her garden.
To Fi, with lots of love.
Here’s to friendship. And memories xxx
THE SOUND OF more than one person shouting got steadily louder as Nico Moretti turned into the narrow Venetian alleyway that would get him to his destination a little faster.
He tried to ignore the sound. He was in a hurry and it wasn’t as if the sound of shouting was anything unusual for a large Italian city but he could feel his frown deepening. It was a disturbing echo of what was already occupying too much of his head.
The noise was loud enough to have people stopping in the street now. Turning their heads and asking each other what they thought it might be about. The slowing pace and knots of people forming made it harder to move forward and Nico heard a growl of frustration escape his own throat.
He could tell them what it was about if he had either the time or the inclination. It was about people who wanted different things. People who were passionate about what they believed in. People who weren’t prepared to even try and understand each other and left broken lives in their wakes. But he didn’t have the inclination. Not when he felt so out of place in this city of his birth and with the sound of his childhood language surrounding him and reinforcing that exclusion. And he certainly didn’t have the time. Not when the real reason for his return to Venice was due to start in less than thirty minutes.
At least he had the advantage of his height. And plenty of practice in cutting through obstructions to get to the heart of an emergency. All he needed to do was take on the mantle of an expert consultant en route to an urgent call in an emergency department or at an accident scene.
‘Scusi.’ The word was a command, not a request, and, as always, it had the desired effect. A path appeared through the gathering crowd. Those closest to him actually stopped talking to stare at him but that only made the sound of whatever was happening ahead clearer.
Whatever it was about, it wasn’t simply a misunderstanding or disagreement. There was a language barrier as well. He could hear English being spoken by a forceful, female voice.
‘Stand back. Don’t move him yet. Call an ambulance. Ambulanza.’
More shouting. In Italian. Had someone called an ambulance? Where was it? Why wasn’t it here yet? They were right beside the Grand Canal, for heaven’s sake. Practically a highway in Venice. Where were the police? Where was a doctor when you needed one?’
‘Sì.’ The English woman had understood something in the furore. ‘Dottoressa. I’m a doctor. Let me get close. I have to find out if he’s breathing.’
‘He’s not,’ someone close to Nico muttered.
