the opportunity to push it further because Delilah descended upon them with an effusive “Darlings” to talk about the pop-up retail she envisioned for the Elevate launch.
Gia had designed one of the retail spaces he’d admired earlier on his tour of the hotel, done in partnership with a French high-fashion brand. Delilah thought Gia and his own designers would be the perfect working combination, a suggestion Santo couldn’t refute because he’d loved the poolside boutique space Gia had created, an oasis that drew the hotel’s clientele in the highest heat of the day. She clearly knew how to meld two distinct brands into a show-stopping, utterly unforgettable space.
Unfortunately, his brain wasn’t functioning on all cylinders at the moment as he attempted to follow the conversation, because none of what Gia had told him made sense. Why did she look so terrified if she had the perfect new life? Why would she leave her family to live on her own in the Bahamas when the blood ties that had always bound her had been sacrosanct?
Why had she not come to him?
Four years of not knowing, of wondering why she’d left that morning, piled up in his head until he couldn’t think of anything else.
He needed closure—once and for all.
But first, he needed answers.
GIA PLEADED A headache and escaped the party shortly after her conversation with Santo and Delilah ended. She’d barely managed to keep it together during that encounter with Santo, terrified she’d say something she shouldn’t, reveal something she couldn’t. But the need to ensure he didn’t blow her cover had been paramount.
She’d thought she was safe. That she was finally free after all of this time spent creating a new identity for herself, avoiding any kind of a social life where she might have been recognized. Delilah would have comprehensively vetted the guest list. But Delilah couldn’t have known about Santo. No one knew. Apart from her mother and Franco.
She said good-night to Desaray, her babysitter, then went to check on Leo. Her son was fast asleep, his thick, long lashes shading his cheeks, his thumb stuck in his mouth, his sturdy little body curled in the fetal position in his cozy, white-framed bed. She smoothed a hand over his glossy blond hair and pressed a kiss to his soft, scented cheek.
He was so peaceful, her love for him so all-encompassing, he calmed her nerves. But she still couldn’t settle enough to sleep, so she changed and got ready for bed, then headed to the kitchen for some warm milk.
She had the feeling Santo hadn’t bought her story for a minute. That he’d thought it was as full of holes as she’d known it was. But she was also sure he would never betray her trust—that he would keep her secret. The bigger problem was the business he was conducting with Delilah. If he was considering putting his Supersonic boutiques in her hotels, he would have ongoing interests in the Bahamas. Which would never work.
Dismay clogged her throat. Surely, he would send one of his minions to oversee the project? Chances were, he’d never be here.
But what if he was?
A rap at the door brought her back to reality. Thinking Desaray must have forgotten something, as she was apt to do, she turned off the burner under the milk, padded to the front door and swung it open. “What did you—” She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Santo, lounging against the door frame.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Acutely aware of the expanse of bare skin her silk nightie revealed, she wrapped her arms around herself as the humid, floral-scented air pressed in on her lungs. “Santo,” she croaked, “what are you doing here?”
“Getting some answers.” He brushed past her into the house before she’d even registered he’d moved. Scared her heart might jump right through her chest, she turned to face him.
“How did you know where I live?”
“Your joke to Delilah about sliding down the hill to get home.”
Dammit. She bit the inside of her mouth. Really, she hadn’t been in her right head. She’d simply been desperate to get out of there.
She had to get rid of him. But how?
She looked up at him, then wished she hadn’t, the connection between them crackling like an electrical storm. It reverberated all the way through her, right down to the tips of her toes. Sucking in a deep breath, she corralled her racing thoughts, reaching desperately for the aura of outward calm she had perfected as a Castiglione. “About what?” she enquired evenly, pressing a palm against the frame of the door.
“About why you are really here. What’s really going on with you.”
“We’ve been through that already. It is also,” she said pointedly, “far too late for this type of a discussion.”
“I wholeheartedly agree. I would have preferred to have had it four years ago, but better late than never.”
Her stomach dropped. He wasn’t going to give up. She knew Santo. He was like a dog with a bone when he wanted something. “My head is pounding,” she prevaricated. “If you insist on doing this, can we do it in the morning?”
“I’m flying out tomorrow, so no.” He gestured toward the living room. “Should we talk in there?”
Panic surged through her veins. “No,” she said as calmly as she could manage. “We can do it on the porch. It’s cooler out there.”
He waved a hand at her. “Lead the way.”
She closed the door. Directed him out onto the veranda that ran the length of the villa and overlooked the sparkling midnight waters of the bay. A gentle breeze lifted the leaves of the palm trees, the sweet smell of bougainvillea and frangipani filling the air. But she was too frozen to take in any of it as Santo lounged back against the railing and regarded her with a silent look.
Feeling far too exposed, she wrapped her arms around herself and lifted her chin. “What would you like to know?”
“Why the hell you are hiding in the Bahamas when your mother must be worried sick about you. What were you thinking, Gia?”
She hadn’t been thinking. She’d been doing what she’d needed to do to protect Leo. And she’d do it a million times over.
“I left them a note. They know I’m safe.”
A flicker of dark emotion moved through his gaze. “Why didn’t you come to me?” he growled, the undertone of frustration raking a path across her skin. “You know I would have helped you.”
Her lashes lowered. “We were over, Santo. We had both moved on. What was the point?”
“That’s a lie,” he countered softly. “Why did you leave that morning without saying goodbye, Gia? Why run?”
“Santo,” she breathed. “Don’t.”
His mouth twisted. “Don’t ask why you walked into my arms that night and gave me your innocence? How we could have shared what we shared only for you to walk away and marry another
