from the grave? Yet after their visit to the hospice, and engaging with those incredible children again, Fabian knew he would not call a halt to the yearly concerts. Scraping his hand resignedly through his hair, he turned his mind instead towards the future for a moment. With a sudden great yearning he thought about what his own children would be like when he became a father. He did not doubt they would help bring more meaning and purpose to his life … something he had been craving for a very long time. Work, money, admiration—these were empty pursuits in comparison, and the satisfaction in all of them momentary and fleeting.
Caught up in his thoughts, it took him a couple of seconds to register the fact that Dante was at the door gesturing to him with what was definitely a worried expression on his face. In a torrent of concerned Italian, the older man told him what was the problem. His stomach gripped with disquiet, Fabian followed him back into the room he had just vacated.
Laura stood at the tall Palladian window with her back to him. She was dressed in a full-length scarlet backless gown that displayed to perfection the long slim lines of her body, notwithstanding the feminine curves that were the epitome of grace rather than voluptuous. For a moment he was spellbound. With her soft halo of bright hair and pearlescent skin, he knew she would elicit many appreciative admiring gasps in such a gown. Yet as he moved towards her he could tell that she was deeply upset. Thinking of what his friend had told him, he took a steadying breath.
‘Laura?’
‘This is far too revealing,’ she said, in a voice thickened by emotion. ‘I couldn’t possibly wear such a dress in public.’
Laying his hands on her shoulders, Fabian slowly made her turn round to face him. ‘My only wish is that you feel beautiful in whatever gown you ultimately choose. I would not wish for one moment for you to wear anything that makes you remotely ill at ease,’ he reassured her, registering the tears that glistened in her eyes like a punch. Then, because she had her arms held in front of her chest, her hands clenched in front of her breastbone, he dropped his gaze there and said gently, ‘Show me.’
Hesitantly she lowered her arms, and Fabian was confronted by the cruel scarring that violated the soft pearly skin between her breasts. Protest at the wicked desecration was arising passionately inside him, but he could not find the words to express his emotion right then.
‘It was caused by a jagged piece of metal in the crash … the same as here.’ She touched her hand briefly to her forehead. Clearing her throat, she formed her lips into an anxious little smile. ‘I’m sorry, Fabian … I’d hardly make the kind of impression I expect you’d like in these beautiful gowns. I should have told you about this yesterday.’
‘Do not blame yourself. I hardly gave you a chance, did I?’
‘This does not have to be the end of the world, no?’ Suddenly Dante was beside them both, his expressive face enthused with renewed purpose. ‘I am not known as the maestro for nothing! I have accessories that can create magic better than any illusionist! And I have brought other less revealing gowns that will be equally stunning on the beautiful Laura, and will not make her self-conscious about these silly little scars! Life deals us all blows, signorina,’ he said with a glint of moisture in his sable eyes. ‘Some visible, some not so. But we do not have to let them destroy our ability to enjoy the beauty in life … si?’
Briefly meeting Fabian’s concerned glance, Laura wiped at her own tears, then smiled without restraint at the other man who stood there. For a disconcerting instant Fabian sensed his heartbeat quicken at the gesture.
‘You are right, Signor Pasolini. I am sorry I made a fuss,’ he heard her say, and he had to seriously fight not to impel her into his arms there and then and kiss her. ‘Fabian … would you mind leaving us again?’
‘You are sure you want to do this?’ he asked a little gruffly.
‘I don’t want to let you down tonight,’ she replied, her soft gaze like a jewelled misty dawn.
‘I know that will not happen.’
Turning away, Fabian returned to the adjoining salon and, instead of sitting, walked straight to the window and gazed out unseeingly at the busy scenes of activity in front of him. The preparations for tonight’s event were underway with a vengeance, but now he anticipated it with even less enthusiasm than usual. Instead he pondered the devastating effects—both mental and physical—the car accident must have made Laura suffer, and a profound stab of unease and regret pulsed through him.
He should not have coerced her into trying on the dresses—and he would not have if he’d known why she was so reticent. Yet it struck him how dignified and beautiful she’d appeared in the stunning red dress, in spite of her scars. She would make an ideal wife for him. Not showy or avaricious, but composed and serene—he would be able to take her anywhere. Maybe, given time, they might even become good friends? Reluctantly recalling the husband she had lost, he refused to consider that Laura might well refuse his offer of marriage because she was afraid that this marriage too would ultimately end in disaster. She had said that marriage should involve much more than clear-headed logic! Clearly a woman of deeply held passions, could she be satisfied with the kind of loveless arrangement that Fabian was suggesting? Albeit one that had numerous attractive benefits, in his opinion?
Clenching his jaw grimly, he determinedly pushed the disquieting possibility of her refusal away.
A couple of hours before the concert—when the phones had finally stopped ringing and all the lastminute arrangements had been taken care of—
Laura stretched her arms high above her head at her desk and groaned. The muscles at the back of her neck and across her shoulders cramped painfully, testimony to the tension that had been slowly building all day.
It had started with that scene earlier on, when she’d tried on the stunning red dress Dante Pasolini had brought and had known she couldn’t hide her scars any longer. She had never felt more vulnerable or scared than she had in that moment. But the fashion designer had turned out to be the kindest of men, and when Fabian had walked in and seen the scar too the gaze that had swept over her had been anything but repulsed, as Laura had feared it might be. She had definitely seen compassion in his eyes—and how could a man who demonstrated that admirable quality so naturally profess to almost scorn love as he did? What his wife had done had obviously made him deeply cynical about trusting his heart.
Adding to Laura’s discomfort now was not just the fact that she had to present some of the performers during the evening, and act as her boss’s hostess, but that after the concert she had promised Fabian to give him her final answer regarding his marriage proposal. He might want her to treat it like a business proposition, but every time she thought about it her stomach was flooded with butterflies the size of small helicopters.
‘Laura … why are you still at your desk? You should have finished work at least half an hour ago! It is nearly time to get ready.’
He’d entered the room barefooted, as was his custom when he was at home, and—wrapped up in her own pressing concerns—Laura hadn’t heard him.
‘I was only seeing to a few last-minute things,’ she said, turning. ‘A couple of guests lost their invitations, and there were one or two requests from people travelling from further afield for directions to the villa.’
But Fabian hardly seemed to be listening to any of this. Instead he was frowning deeply as he regarded her. ‘You look tired and drawn, and there are dark circles beneath your eyes.’
‘I’ll be fine when I shower and freshen up. You’d be amazed at
