Leo…was inside that building, inside Francesca’s apartment, in her bedroom, in her bed.
No use pretending he wasn’t. If his presence there was perfectly innocent, why lie about what he was doing today?
He’d probably been lying all week, Brooke accepted, nausea swirling again. He’d probably never been in the office at all. Or only minimally. That was why he’d left his mobile phone number with her, and not the office number.
Perversely, now that she had proof of his lies, her courage failed her. Suddenly she was afraid of what would happen if she did go inside and confront them both.
Because there would be no going back then: no pretending it was just a passing problem—or a passing passion; no turning that blind eye Giuseppe had perhaps wisely said was the only solution.
If she confronted them, her marriage would be over. Even if Leo didn’t want that—and Brooke believed that Leo would not want to hurt or lose his children—then pride would come into it.
Her pride.
It was one thing to go on living with a man you knew didn’t love you. Quite another to go on living with a man who knew you knew he didn’t love you. That would be beyond the pale. Totally unendurable.
But she could drive away now, go back to the villa and pretend she knew nothing. Then, if Leo took them back to Australia this Friday—confirming he’d made the decision to give up Francesca for the sake of his family—they might be able to go on as before. Because that would mean he did love her, in a way.
Who knew? Maybe his being with Francesca today was just a sex thing, a hangover from the past, an old, unrequited passion which he hadn’t been able to let go. Maybe he was doing exactly what his father said, getting the woman out of his system.
Much as it killed Brooke to think of Leo in the arms of another woman, it was better he take the creature to bed a few times then ask for a divorce.
The truth was she simply could not bear it if Leo divorced her. Brooke knew she would never love another man as she loved him. On top of that he was the father of her children. They adored him. Heavens, even her mother had grown to like him.
Better she swallow her pride and turn that blind eye. Better she ignore the pain, hide the overwhelming feelings of humiliation and pretend nothing had changed.
But oh, dear Lord, it was going to be hard…
Brooke swallowed, reached forward, and turned on the engine. Slowly, wretchedly, she turned the car and made her way back to Lake Como.
‘My dear, you look terrible!’ was Sophia’s first remark on her return. ‘And what’s that on your dress?’
‘I…I was sick,’ Brooke mumbled, feeling wretched and utterly exhausted. ‘Must be a migraine, not PMT.’
‘You poor thing. I know how terrible they are. I’ve suffered from migraines for years. You simply must go back to bed. And draw the curtains. I’ll bring you up some very good tablets the doctor prescribed for me. They’ll make you sleep, but that’s for the best. Now, don’t you worry about the children. Giuseppe has taken them out for a boat ride on the lake. Nina’s gone with them, so they’ll be quite safe.’
Brooke was having a battle not to cry. ‘You’re very kind,’ she choked out.
‘Not at all. Leonardo rang again. I didn’t tell him you were out driving. I said you had a headache and were having a sleep. I hope I did the right thing.’
Brooke met the woman’s worried eyes and wondered why they were both protecting Leo.
For the sake of the children, she supposed.
‘Yes, Sophia, you did the right thing,’ she said in a flat, dead voice.
‘Good. Now, upstairs with you and into a nice refreshing shower. I’ll put the tablets by your bed, along with a drink and something light for you to eat. It’s not good to take these tablets on an empty stomach. And don’t worry about anything. If you’re still asleep when Leo comes home, I’ll tell him not to disturb you.’
Now the tears came, and Sophia looked alarmed. ‘Are you sure it’s just a headache, Brooke? There’s nothing else wrong, is there?’
Brooke refused to add to the woman’s worry. She’d had enough on her plate lately. This was her problem and she would deal with it.
‘I think I’m a bit homesick,’ she said, not untruthfully.
Sophia nodded. ‘It’s time Leo took you home.’
Brooke just smiled sadly and turned to go upstairs. Her legs felt like lead, each step a mammoth effort. By the time she came out of the shower, two rather big white pills were sitting on the near bedside table, along with a glass of water. A small and very elegantly set out tray rested on the other table, with two tempting-looking sandwiches and a tall glass of iced milk.
Her mother-in-law’s sweet thoughtfulness brought another rush of tears. Brooke knew Sophia would be devastated if she and Leo broke up. So would Giuseppe. Brooke could not do it to them, or to her children, or to herself. She loved Leo. She would always love him, no matter what. Life without him was unimaginable!
Brooke fell asleep with tears still wet on her cheeks. But they had long dried when she woke many hours later to the sounds of someone in the en suite bathroom, in the shower.
Her errant husband, it seemed, had finally deigned to come home.
CHAPTER THREE
ODDLY, Brooke’s first reaction was fury, not distress.
The room was dark, she noted angrily. Leo must have turned the bedside lamp off when he came in.
She rolled over to check the luminous numbers on the bedside clock and saw it was twenty minutes past eleven. Not too late, so a wife wouldn’t be suspicious. Certainly not one as stupidly doting and one-eyed as herself!
With a bitter resentment in her heart, she rolled back onto her side, facing the far wall, curling her body up in a foetal position, glad she was wearing one of her more modest nighties.
Leo had a thing for short, slinky black satin night-wear which barely covered her bottom. This particular nightie was much longer, reaching her knees. It was particularly low-cut up top, however, and had only the thinnest shoulder straps keeping it in place. Still, with her back to him, its length was the most important factor.
I’ll pretend to be asleep, she vowed savagely as she lay there. That way I won’t say anything I might regret in the morning.
Maybe if Leo hadn’t stayed in the shower so darned long Brooke might have been able to keep to that vow. But fifteen minutes went by and the water was still running, evoking all sorts of darkly jealous thoughts.
He was trying to wash the smell of her off his body. He probably reeked of her, and that heavy, musky perfume she always wore.
By the time the taps were turned off, five minutes later, Brooke had rolled back over and was glaring in the direction of the bathroom, watching and waiting for him to come out.
She was still
