negotiated the uneven surface. ‘As you can see, this is a work in progress.’ Grimacing as he picked his route, skilfully protecting the undercarriage of the car, he finally pulled up in a shaded courtyard.
Laurel’s jaw dropped as she saw the magnificent honey-hued building. ‘It’s a castle?’
‘Welcome to Castello di Vicario. The east part was built as a monastery in the twelfth century but the monks were booted out by a Sicilian prince with big ambitions who expanded it to house all his mistresses.’ Cristiano leaned back and stared at the building with satisfaction. A profusion of Mediterranean flowers snaked up the walls and cascaded down from balconies, tumbled in colourful bursts against the sun-baked stone. ‘Because of the views and the seclusion, it was used by artists and writers from all over Europe.’
‘But who owns it now?’
‘We do.’ With that simple response, Cristiano sprang from the car and greeted the two Dobermanns who bounded from nowhere.
Laurel gasped as she saw the dogs, suddenly understanding his remark about already having security. ‘Oh.’ She was out of the car in a flash and down on her knees in the dust, hugging the dogs, laughing and crying as they licked her and greeted her with the same dopey enthusiasm she showed towards them. Within seconds she was covered in dust and paw prints but she didn’t care.
When they were first married she’d hated the level of security he’d insisted on but the one compromise she’d been prepared to make was the dogs. With his customary wry humour he’d called them Rambo and Terminator and she’d taken them everywhere with her whenever she left the security of his offices in the hotel. Losing the dogs had been another reason she’d been broken-hearted to leave the island.
Cristiano watched with amusement as the dogs kicked up dust. ‘Why didn’t you ask me about them?’
‘I didn’t dare. I missed them so much—’ She hugged Rambo tightly, pressing her face into his smooth black coat as he whined his pleasure at seeing her again. ‘I couldn’t bear hearing that you’d sold them or something.’
‘I would never have sold them.’ There was an odd expression on his face as he watched her.
‘No, I don’t suppose you would.’ She played the pouncing game with Terminator as he barked for attention. ‘They’re far too valuable.’
‘That isn’t why.’ His gaze enigmatic, he gestured to the door. ‘Are you interested in seeing your home?’
Home?
‘This is where you live now?’ She rose slowly to her feet, one hand still on Terminator’s head. The significance of it wasn’t lost on her. Taormina was their place. It was the place they’d shared their first kiss. The place where he’d first told her that he loved her.
All the best parts of their relationship had been played out in this exquisite corner of the island. They’d strolled hand in hand along flower-decked streets, they’d enjoyed leisurely meals in one of the many intimate piazzas, but nowhere they’d stayed had been as perfect as this. As private, as exclusive—as romantic. ‘When did you buy it?’
‘I bought it while we were married but it needed a lot of attention. It was supposed to be a surprise.’
The shock of it made her heart skip a beat. ‘While we were married?’
‘It was my gift to you. From the moment I saw how much you loved the place I wanted to find somewhere. It took me eighteen months to persuade the owners to sell. Another six months to make the necessary alterations.’ He breathed deeply. ‘And then you left.’ The raw emotion in his voice brought the lump back to her throat and her eyes met his.
When he held out his hand, she hesitated because voluntarily putting her hand into his felt like a big step and she wasn’t sure she was ready to take it. She experienced a painful moment of indecision and then she slid her hand into his and heard him exhale slowly.
It was a huge leap of faith and he apparently understood that because his fingers closed tightly around hers as he led her round the side of the house to a terrace that overlooked the sea.
‘So, what do you think? Does it meet with your approval?’
Laurel looked up at the castello and felt overawed by the beauty of it. His wealth had always been part of who he was, of course. It was impossible not to be aware of it, but it had never interested her particularly. She’d always thought there was nothing his wealth could buy that could move her.
Until now.
She turned her back and discovered that from the terrace she was looking at a one hundred and eighty degree view that took in the snow-covered peak of Mount Etna and the dazzling emerald sea of the bay of Naxos. And on the terrace itself, just metres from her feet, a series of infinity pools cut into the slope, each cascading into the one beneath, the insistent rush of water soothing in the humid heat of the day.
‘I think you have delusions of grandeur,’ she croaked and he laughed and pulled her into his arms in a possessive gesture, not giving her the chance to reject that spontaneous intimacy.
‘The pools are inspired, don’t you think? You always loved to swim so I told our architect to make use of the gradient to create something special. I always thought it was a good idea but I must admit it surpassed my vision.’
‘You saw us living here?’
‘Yes, for some of the time, at least. It was good enough for DH Lawrence and Truman Capote so it must have something special.’
Yes, it was special. Special in every way. But the most special thing about it was that he’d done this for her.
He’d done this for her while she’d been working the same punishing hours that he’d been working. She’d accused him of being a workaholic and now she was discovering that at least part of his working day had been devoted to building somewhere that she was going to love. Not somewhere he’d lived as a rich single guy but somewhere he’d chosen with her in mind.
Somewhere that was their own.
Her impression of him shifted into a different shape. Thoroughly confused and hating that feeling, she pulled away from him and he sighed.
‘Now what’s going through that head of yours? Tell me what you’re thinking.’
She was thinking that this house, the fact he’d built it in the place she loved most on earth, was an enormous gesture. But it was a gesture with meaning. He’d built it for their future. For the family he’d imagined having. It was all part of his master plan. Looking at the olive groves, she imagined two small versions of Cristiano playing in the shade and then splashing in one of the beautiful turquoise pools.
Maybe he had loved her in his own way. Looking at what he’d created here, she was almost ready to believe that.
Which made the sense of loss even more painfully acute.
They ate lunch on a shaded part of the terrace, surrounded by the lavish gardens and fragrant citrus groves.
Laurel ate fish with lemon and herbs picked from the garden, her cheeks pale and her eyes tired as she pecked at her food. The dogs lay by her feet in a state of dopey adoration,
