in this world she trusted completely.
‘It was time he knew,’ he said simply. ‘You’ve let it go on too long. You must know that by now, my darling.’
Knowing it and wanting this were two separate issues! ‘You should not have done it,’ she whispered, and felt her eyes start to burn as Marco reached out to touch the painting. A long finger gently grazed across a perfectly formed, blemish-free shoulder. Antonia felt that graze as if he’d reached out and touched her. Response shuddered through her on an electric spasm.
‘I’ll never forgive you,’ she told Stefan, and stepped away from him with the intention of going to this other man who was so very important to her—
Only to freeze yet again, when Marco chose the same moment to turn.
His face looked as if it had been chiselled out of marble. ‘You didn’t paint this.’ He honed his cold eyes directly on Stefan.
It was a clearly defined accusation. ‘There speaks the voice of an expert,’ Stefan smiled. Then, ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘This was—’
‘Mine,’ Antonia put in unequivocally. ‘It belongs to me!’ She looked at Marco for understanding. ‘It isn’t even Stefan’s to give to me! I own it! No one is supposed to—’
Marco’s hard-eyed narrowed look silenced her. ‘Who painted it?’ he demanded.
‘Does it matter?’ she begged. ‘It has never been put on public display and it never will be, Marco! I never—’
‘I didn’t ask if it had been shown,’ he cut in. ‘I asked you who the hell painted it!’
His fury was spectacular. Antonia drew back a step in dismay. ‘I think you’re missing the point, Marco,’ Stefan put in quickly. ‘I didn’t show you this to—’
It happened so quickly that Stefan had no time to react to it. With a smoothness of movement that gave no indication whatsoever of what he was intending to do, Marco took two strides and, with a lightning move of his long lean body, he floored Stefan with a punch to his jaw.
With a grunt, Stefan landed in a sprawl in front of him. Antonia’s cry as she lurched towards them filled his ears. ‘Why did you do that!’ she choked as she bent down beside Stefan.
‘For messing with your life. For messing with my life!’ he ground out violently, then just turned and strode out of the door.
Antonia watched him go with her heart in her eyes. On a groan, Stefan sat up and put a hand to his jaw. He was shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite believe he had allowed that to happen.
‘What have you done to me?’ Antonia sobbed out.
‘Fulfilled one of your dearest wishes and got him to punch my lights out,’ Stefan very drily replied.
Not the least bit in the mood for his kind of dry humour, she came upright then bent to help him get up. ‘Has he hurt you?’ she asked.
‘Don’t sound so sympathetic.’ He mocked her frosty enquiry. ‘Split my lip, that’s all,’ he then answered, only to really infuriate her by suddenly beginning to laugh!
‘Stop it!’ she choked. ‘How dare you laugh at a time like this? What have you done to me, Stefan? Why have you done it?’ The tears began to swim as she stared at the closed office door. ‘He’s never going to forgive me for this. You do know that,’ she told him thickly. ‘He’s even left without me!’
‘Not that man,’ Stefan stated confidently. ‘Give me a minute to put some ice on this, and we’ll go out there and find him. I promise you,’ he assured her pained white expression, ‘he’s going to be there…’
But Marco didn’t want to be found for, having walked out on one ugly scene, he now found himself standing outside Rosetta Romano’s door, flexing his abused fist and staring directly at the looming threat of yet another scene.
His mother had arrived. God alone knew where she had come from—and God alone knew why, when he’d believed her safely ensconced in Tuscany. But there she was, holding court in the middle of the ante-room surrounded by a host of delighted old friends and acquaintances.
In the black mood he was in, he actually contemplated pretending he hadn’t seen her and getting the hell out of there before she saw him!
Only he was not leaving without Antonia, he determined, with a grimness that promised a glimpse at hell for someone. And it took only a thin sliver of common sense to get through his anger, to tell him that he couldn’t avoid speaking to his own mother, for goodness’ sake!
But a meeting between her and Antonia? His blood ran cold at the very idea of it. It was a sensation that forced him to work hard at pulling a smooth mask down on his bubbling anger and then striking out towards his mother with the grim intention of getting the mother-son reunion out of the way before Antonia decided to put in an appearance with her famous ex-lover in tow!
But lady luck was not working in Marco’s favour tonight. The room was pretty crowded with Milan’s best. People who more or less knew each other on first-name terms. Isabella Bellini was known and liked by many. Her son even found an amused smile as he approached and saw just how many people were gathered around her slender form.
She saw him coming, and her lovely face broke into a welcoming smile. His smile became a rakish grin as he took this beautiful, delicate creature he adored into his arms and let her shower kisses all over his face.
Hands replaced kisses, followed by remarks to the crowd on how handsome he was, how cruel he was to his mother for not returning her calls. It was the Italian way. He accepted it and even enjoyed it. His apologies were profuse, his enquiries about his father sincere.
‘He is having a good week,’ his mother informed him—and the smiling circle. ‘So he threw me out and told me not to come back for at least two days. He says I fuss too much, but in truth,’ she confided, ‘he plans to play cards, drink wine and gamble with his friends without me around to disapprove.’
The laughter was warm and appreciative. From the corner of his eye Marco saw the door to Rosetta Romano’s office open; his skin began to prickle.
Isabella looked back at her son. ‘And this one,’ she announced, ‘cannot even find the time in his busy life to answer his mother when she calls to him! I get his housekeeper,’ she informed her audience.
Antonia was approaching him from his right. She looked pale, she looked anxious. She had no idea what she was going to walk into.
‘I get the message service,’ his mother was continuing. ‘I have to ring his friends to discover where he might be this evening!’ Marco smiled the expected rueful smile, and wondered which friend it was who had dropped him in this mess.
Antonia had now come to within a few paces of his right. Beside her was Stefan Kranst, wearing a bruise on his lip and a crooked smile. It was decision time, Marco accepted heavily. He either drew Antonia towards him, introduced her to his mother and risked offending his mother’s outdated ideas on what was acceptable in polite society, or he ignored Antonia standing there and offended her. It was a lousy choice to have to decide.
Someone arrived at his left side, diverting his mother’s attention.
