Allegra enjoyed the simple pleasure of inspecting fat, red tomatoes and juicy melons while Rafael followed behind her, a wicker basket looped over one arm.
The ancient, cobbled streets were charming, and the view of the twisted olive trees and dusty valleys below truly magnificent.
Rafael suggested they have a picnic, and so they bought salami and bread, cheese and olives and grapes, and took it all to a stretch of grass overlooking the valley.
‘This is wonderful,’ Allegra said as she stretched out on the grass and Rafael fed her bread and cheese.
‘As long as you don’t get sunburned.’
‘Don’t fuss,’ she chided gently, because she knew Rafael was trying, and it tugged at his heart. At moments like this, with everything relaxed between them and the sun shining benevolently above, she felt a marriage between them could work. Maybe it could even be wonderful.
Was she falling in love with him?
The question reverberated through her. When Rafael was kind and gentle and tender, she felt it would be easy to fall in love with him. Easy and amazing. But what if he changed? He had before, and she didn’t know whether she could trust him yet. More and more she realised there were reasons Rafael acted the way he did—reasons he hadn’t shared with her yet. Although they’d talked about many innocuous things, he hadn’t spoken again of his family, and she hadn’t asked.
Now, lying on the grass, feeling sleepy and secure, she decided to broach the topic. ‘Rafael...what happened between your father and mine?’
Rafael tensed, his gaze turning guarded. ‘Why are you asking that now?’
‘Because it seems important. And because the more time we spend with each other, the more I want to have no secrets, no hidden things.’
Rafael was silent for a long moment. ‘And if you don’t like the answer?’ he finally said, his voice toneless, his gaze shuttered.
Allegra felt the first stirrings of unease. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Because your father treated mine unfairly. Very unfairly.’
Already she was prickling. ‘How do you know—?’
‘I know.’ His gaze was opaque as he turned to look at her. ‘But even that much is hard for you to hear.’
‘Yes...but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear it.’ Allegra took a deep breath. ‘I know he wasn’t perfect. Of course I know that. Look how he treated me.’
‘Yet you’re still protective of him.’
‘I never wanted to hate him.’ She looked away. ‘Maybe because I always hoped he’d come back. But he won’t now, and I want you to tell me. Please, Rafael.’ She held her breath, waiting, and finally Rafael spoke.
‘Twenty years ago our fathers were in business together.’
‘The mobile technology you mentioned.’
‘Yes. Your father provided the science, my father provided the parts. They were partners, friends.’ He paused, his expression still shuttered, although Allegra heard the emotion in his voice. Felt the tension in his body next to hers.
‘And what happened?’
‘Someone embezzled a great deal of money from the company account. Your father blamed mine.’
She searched his face, looking for clues. ‘But you don’t think it was him?’
‘I know it wasn’t,’ Rafael returned swiftly. ‘I know. But your father insisted he had it on good authority, and he let it be known my father was a cheat, even though he couldn’t prove it. No one would do business with him any longer. Within months he was ruined, and we were destitute.’
Shock sliced through her, and for a moment she struggled with what to say. How to respond. ‘That’s why you bought out the company.’
Rafael’s mouth firmed. ‘Justice was served.’
She sat up, hugging her knees, her mind still spinning. ‘Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?’
‘I didn’t know if you would believe me. And,’ Rafael admitted, ‘I didn’t want to hurt you. I knew you loved your father, even if that love was misplaced. Things didn’t feel strong enough between us...’ He paused, searching her face. ‘Do you believe me?’
‘Yes,’ Allegra said after a moment. ‘I do.’ And she ached for all Rafael and his family had endured. ‘But I also believe that my father must have genuinely thought your father was in the wrong. I don’t think he would have acted in such a manner without good cause.’
Rafael made a sound of disgust. ‘And do you still think he abandoned you with good cause, Allegra? Why can’t you see the man for what he is? Was?’
She recoiled, shocked by the vitriol in his voice. ‘What does it matter to you if I choose to believe he was a good man?’ she demanded stiffly. She felt hurt, and she wasn’t even sure why. ‘Why can’t you let me love him still?’
‘Because in my mind he is a demon,’ Rafael returned flatly. ‘And I will never forgive him.’
They didn’t talk all the way back to the villa. The last few days had been so lovely, so promising, and now it all felt flat and strained. Over the last few days she’d actually been starting to care about Rafael. She still cared, which was why their argument hurt so much. And, Allegra acknowledged that evening as she lay in bed unable to sleep, it hurt because she know there was truth in Rafael’s words. Why did she have to believe her father loved her, when everything pointed to the opposite? Why did she cling to that frail, pointless hope?
Sighing now, Allegra shifted restlessly in bed. The baby kicked, and she placed one hand on her bump, taking comfort from those fluttery movements. Tomorrow they were going to Palermo for a scan, and she was looking forward to the reassurance of an ultrasound, that lovely whoosh of their son’s heartbeat filling the air.
But tonight she wasn’t thinking about their baby. She was thinking about them.
The sudden, soft strains of music floating from downstairs made Allegra still in her restless movements. It almost sounded like...
Holding her breath, she rose from her bed and slipped on the silky wrap that passed for a dressing gown in this hot weather. Even at two in the morning the air inside the villa held a remnant of the day’s heat, although the tiles were cool under Allegra’s bare feet as she made her way downstairs, following the haunting strains of the cello she heard.
Downstairs all was dark save for a single lamp burning in the lounge. Allegra hesitated on the threshold of the room; she saw Rafael sprawled in a chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his button-down shirt several more buttons open than usual. His hair was rumpled and a tumbler of whisky dangled from his fingertips.
‘It’s Shostakovich,’ Allegra said softly, and he glanced up, his eyes bloodshot and bleary. He was, she realised, a little drunk.
‘The third movement of the cello sonata,’ he agreed. ‘It reminds me of you.’
It
