chair, her small features set in lines of exasperation. “Papa’s not my real father.”
Sam nearly lost her balance. She put out a hand, braced herself on the door frame. “You know?”
Gabby smiled but the smile didn’t reach her eyes and for a moment she looked very small, and very young, every bit the vulnerable five-year-old. “I used to have a baby book. My mommy made it for me. But Papa Johann took it away.” Gabby hesitated and rare tears shone in her eyes. “The book said my real papa’s name is Enzo Bartolo. He’s a race car driver like Cristiano. But I never met him.”
If it were any other child, Sam would say this was a fit of imagination. Children as young as Gabriela couldn’t possibly keep facts straight, but Gabby had a mind and memory that was unlike any child’s she’d ever known.
But even suspending disbelief, Sam didn’t know what to say, or how to comfort Gabriela. The conversation had taken dramatic turns, sharp right, steep left, and now there was only silence and the sound of Gabriela breathing heavily.
Then Cristiano cleared his throat. “I met him, Gabby,” he said quietly. “I knew him.”
Gabby looked up at him, eyes bright with tears, touchingly hopeful. “You did?”
He nodded, picked up Gabby’s hand and kissed it. “I think you would have liked him a lot, Gabby. He was my father, too.”
The secrets, Sam thought later as they traveled to Manchester, the secrets and shadows each person kept buried inside…
It boggled her mind, the facts, the truth, the way things were.
Cristiano wasn’t Gabby’s father. He was her half-brother. Mercedes wasn’t Cristiano’s lover, but his father’s, Enzo’s, girlfriend. Enzo had never come forward to claim his daughter because he died, just months before Gabriela was born.
Sam closed her eyes, drew her arm even more closely around Gabriela who slept curled in her lap during the flight from Manchester back to Nice on Cristiano’s private jet.
Life was a series of events, cause and effect. One thing led to another, to another, and another. And as unbearable as it sounded, it also made sense.
Pregnant, alone and grieving, Mercedes ended up with Johann.
Did Enzo know he was going to be a father again before he died? Did Johann always know who Gabby’s real father was? Did Gabby remember her mother at all?
Sam opened her eyes at the sound of footsteps on the dense mushroom colored carpet. The jet had been furnished in shades of taupe and gray and Cristiano took a seat in one of the soft gray leather chairs opposite the leather sofa where Sam sat with Gabriela.
“We’re almost there,” he said, with a glance toward the window. “My driver’s waiting. We just need to decide where we want to go. My penthouse in Monte Carlo, or the villa in Cap Ferrat. It’s your decision.”
“I don’t know either.”
“One is a city apartment, and the other is my home on the peninsula.”
“Where do you think Gabby would like best?” Sam asked.
“The villa. It’s near the beach.”
They lapsed into silence as the flight attendant on board the jet approached to let them know that they’d soon begin their descent.
“Cristiano,” Sam said, as the flight attendant walked away. “What happened…and again yesterday…” She took a quick breath, needing to say what she needed to say before they landed and Gabriela woke. “That wasn’t anything, was it?”
“What?”
“The, um, kiss.”
Cristiano’s upper lip curled. His expression hardened, turned mocking. “You’re bothered by it?”
“I—” She took a quick breath. “I just wasn’t sure what you meant by it, or if you meant nothing. I’m sure you meant nothing. It was just a kiss.”
She’d been trying to reassure herself, trying to let him know it was okay but somehow she was saying the wrong words. She could tell from his expression that every word that came from her mouth just made him angrier, more irritated. She’d somehow struck a nerve, and hadn’t even meant to.
“What I meant was that I’m sorry I…” Her voice faded away and she bit her lip, tried again. “Sorry I…”
“Kissed me back?”
She blushed, miserable. “I know it shouldn’t have happened. I wasn’t thinking. I suppose I was scared, overwhelmed. Maybe I needed comfort.” She exhaled, wondered where she’d gone wrong, how a simple apology had gotten so convoluted. “So I’m sorry.”
“For what? Needing comfort? Or enjoying the kiss?”
My God this was hard, almost impossible. She was an adult, a woman, and she couldn’t even calmly discuss a kiss. “I don’t have your experience and I’m certain you kiss women all the time, and it’s nothing, I know kissing means nothing to you—”
“I only kiss women I like. Women I’m attracted to.” His lips curved, his expression sardonic. “Women I’d like to sleep with. So don’t apologize. I wanted you, wanted to bed you. It just wasn’t convenient.”
Then he stood, went to the table where he’d been working during most of the flight and sat down again to finish the paperwork he’d started earlier.
Stomach churning, Sam watched him resume reading even as the plane started its steep final descent. Ever since she met him, life hadn’t been the same.
On the ground in Nice, Cristiano’s chauffeur was waiting for them. The driver greeted them at the executive terminal, loaded their luggage into the car and then they were off, heading to Cristiano’s villa on the Cap Ferrat peninsula.
Of course Sam knew that the peninsula was considered a playground for the rich. You couldn’t drive along the coast without being confronted by the lavish villas, fabulous gardens and extravagant yachts moored in the St-Jean marina, but she’d never been included in the parties, or inside any of the villas. She might have married Baron van Bergen three and a half years earlier, and he might have attended events, but she’d never been on the guest list.
Sam felt a wiggle at her side and glancing down saw that Gabriela was trying to sit higher in her seat to get a better look out the window. “I can’t see the houses!” Gabby complained. “There are too many fences and bushes in the way.”
Gates and hedges, not fences and bushes, Sam silently corrected as she ruffled Gabby’s hair. “You’re so excited,” she teased. “You’d think you’d never been anywhere.”
“I haven’t been here.”
Here being Cristiano’s home, and they’d arrived, the car slowing, stopping as the gates slowly opened, revealing little by little an exquisite villa tucked discreetly behind the tall dark green hedges that Gabby deplored.
And yet once they’d passed through the ornate wrought-iron gates, they glimpsed the startling
