had learned long ago to firmly shut the door between her professional and personal lives, but today it was impossible.
Today had started badly. She thought she’d made the best of a bad situation and survived but now it felt as if the world had tilted far too sharply on its axis. What did her brilliant career matter if she was about to lose the person she loved most? The only person she truly loved, come to that.
The conference attendees were invited to a cocktail session before a break to get ready for the dinner but Charlotte quietly slipped away from the group. She had to pull herself together. Had to find the strength to deal with what was undoubtedly coming. Did she really want to deprive her grandmother of the long-awaited pleasure of the train trip tomorrow and whisk her back to London and into hospital? Did she have that right?
The balcony leading off the now deserted dining room offered a private space with the bonus of an idyllic canal view where more than one ornate gondola could be seen floating past.
One of the gondolas held a pair of young lovers who were locked in a passionate embrace, oblivious to their surroundings for the moment. Maybe they were practising. Wasn’t there a bridge here in Venice and if you kissed while going beneath it, it meant that your love would last for ever?
If her grandmother was here on this balcony with her, she’d be poking Charlotte with a bony finger right about now. Clicking her tongue.
That should be you in that gondola, Charlotte Jane, she’d be saying. Kissing some gorgeous young man whose baby you can’t wait to have. You don’t know what you’re missing, child, and it’s the most important thing in life.
But Charlotte knew all too well what she’d be missing far too soon and hearing her grandmother’s voice so clearly in her mind was the final straw.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. Hot, burning tears that felt like acid. No surprise there. They were pretty concentrated given that she hadn’t shed a tear for six years now. They were such a sign of weakness. Feminine weakness.
She knew there was no point in trying to stop them.
Thank God nobody could see her.
The room Nico had been given at the hotel Bonvecchiata was luxurious. He eyed the huge bed, pulled at his tie to loosen it, and looked forward to putting his feet up for a while before heading off to the symposium dinner.
What a day!
Shedding his jacket, Nico walked to the tall windows of his room and looked through the ornate iron grille to find he had the bonus of a canal view. A gondola floated past with a young couple locked in each other’s arms.
Nico smiled. Nice. His gaze drifted lazily and then it caught.
His smile faded.
There was a balcony on the floor beneath his. Charlotte Highton was standing there, her shoulders bowed as if she carried the weight of the entire world on them.
And she was crying?
Dio, but this woman was so full of contradictions. For a moment Nico stared in fascination. He would never have believed that she was capable of showing such a depth of emotion. But why was she so upset?
Did it have anything to do with being unable to present what she’d intended to present this morning?
Because of the trouble he’d unwittingly caused for her?
For another, long moment Nico kept staring, unsure of how to unravel the conflicting emotions being stirred in his own gut. Why did he feel such a strong urge to try and help this prickly, complicated woman? It was more than having contributed to a bad start to her day. More, even, than being curious about how someone’s personality could have changed so much in just a few short years.
Being aware that there was some indefinable extra motivation should be enough of a warning to stop him getting involved any further, but did he want to listen to that warning?
He turned away. Stared at the huge, inviting bed for a moment. And then, with a soft growl, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.
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