stared down at the still-silent phone, hating himself for worrying about her, despising himself for just wanting to hear the sound of her voice again. But why hadn’t she rung back? She’d actually sounded nervous. And why had she hung up so abruptly? Had her latest lover come into the room and found her on the phone to another man? Was she in an abusive relationship perhaps? Despite being successful in her career, Bella was a very bad picker of men.
Which was nobody’s fault but her own!
Still...he did not like to think of her being treated badly.
Sergio swore at his tortured train of thoughts. Damn it all, she wasn’t his responsibility any more. Hadn’t been since the divorce. He shouldn’t care about her at all! But somehow, for some perverse reason, he did care. Which was perhaps why, when she’d shown up out of the blue at his father’s funeral last year, looking tired and strained, he’d given her his private phone number and told her that if she ever needed him for anything, then he would be there for her.
Perversely, he hadn’t recognised her at first. She’d been wearing a large black hat, a black wig and dark glasses. Even when she’d revealed her identity to him, he hadn’t reacted the way he would have expected, with a mad rush of rampant desire. When she’d expressed her condolences, then added a sincere apology for the way her mother had treated her father, his only emotion had been sadness. Looking back, Sergio could only imagine that grief over his father’s death had dampened his hormones to a point where not even being in Bella’s provocative presence could rouse him. He recalled actually wanting to talk to her more. But when someone else had come up to speak to him—he couldn’t remember who—she’d said a hurried goodbye and disappeared.
He’d never told Jeremy or Alex that the mysterious brunette was Bella. He hadn’t been into chatting, or confiding, at that particular time, depression taking hold of him for several weeks after the funeral. When he’d finally dragged himself out of the black pit, Sergio had regretted giving Bella his phone number. Not because he’d thought she would ever contact him but because his foolish gesture had brought her back into the forefront of his mind. It had taken a supreme effort of will to push her back to a place where she was no more than a frustrating memory, but every now and then—like tonight—she would break out of the mental dungeon into which he’d locked her and give him hell.
It was pathetic, really. Exasperated with himself, he slipped his phone in his trouser pocket and headed for the door, determined not to waste another moment of headspace on that infernal woman. But within seconds of locking the door another thought crossed his mind.
Maybe she was pregnant!
This time, Sergio’s laugh was both rueful and self-mocking. In the old days a single woman falling pregnant would have been a disaster. But this wasn’t the old days. If Bella had happened to accidentally fall pregnant—a highly unlikely idea, he now appreciated—she wouldn’t need his help. She had enough money to hire nannies and any other help she needed. She certainly wouldn’t ask any man—especially himself—to make an honest woman out of her. That was total fantasy. As much as Sergio had had many fantasies about Bella over the years, none of them had included marriage.
Women like Bella were not made for marriage. They were made to be admired and desired. Made to be bedded, not wedded. As for children...clearly Bella had never felt the urge to reproduce. Yet she could have, if she’d wanted to. A lot of celebrity women had babies outside marriage. No, clearly Bella wasn’t interested in that kind of commitment. Sergio wasn’t surprised, given she’d been raised by a woman whose ambition for her daughter to become rich and famous had been nothing short of obsessive. Sergio believed Dolores had only married his father so that he could pay for her daughter’s tuition in singing and dancing. She’d seduced the Italian widower when he had been lonely and vulnerable, then trapped him into marriage with a supposed pregnancy that had miraculously disappeared as soon as the ring had been on her finger. Sergio could not prove that she’d never been pregnant at all, but he’d always suspected. When she’d asked for a divorce as soon as Bella’s career had taken off, his suspicions had been confirmed. Not that he’d said as much to his father. The poor man had been shattered, having truly loved Dolores. And Bella as well.
Sergio didn’t blame Bella entirely for what she’d become. Stage mothers were notorious for producing damaged children. And Bella was definitely damaged. Why else would she become involved with a succession of men whose reputations preceded them and who would never make her happy? It galled Sergio that Bella lived her life like one long reality show, played out in front of the media, allowing herself to be paraded in front of the paparazzi by men who were more interested in her as a trophy than a person.
And who are you to judge, Sergio? his conscience reminded him quite savagely. She’s no longer a person to you either. She hasn’t been, not since the night of her sixteenth birthday party. That was the night she became your object of desire, a desire so strong that nothing, not time or distance, or having another woman in your bed, can totally obliterate it. You think you care about her? That’s a laugh.
His phone ringing at that precise moment sent his heart leaping into his mouth. Snatching it out of his pocket, Sergio didn’t even bother to look at the caller ID.
‘Yes?’ he said somewhat brusquely.
‘Alex here, mate. Sorry, but we’re stuck in traffic. Going to be a bit late.’
‘Damn it all, Alex,’ Sergio snapped, frustrated that it wasn’t Bella calling him back. ‘The reason I bought a place at Canary Wharf was because it was supposedly close to everything.’ And also because the tower that housed his luxury apartment had a heated pool, a fantastic gym and a top-class restaurant.
‘Yeah, well, Thursday night, you know. And Jeremy was pathetically slow getting dressed. Look, we shouldn’t be more than fifteen minutes. Go sit at the table and have a drink till we get there. You sound like you need one.’
Sergio sighed. ‘You could be right.’
‘Anything wrong?’
‘Not really. Just a bit tired.’ He might have told them about Bella’s call if he’d known what it was about. But he didn’t, damn it all. Maybe he’d never know. Maybe she’d never ring back. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he could stand that.
‘Well, it’s been a big day,’ Alex said. ‘But a great one. You are one incredible negotiator, buddy. Now go relax with a whisky, and we’ll be there soon.’
BELLA DIDN’T STOP shaking for a good five minutes after she’d hung up. Even then her heart was still racing, her mouth dry, her head whirling. Never in her life had she ever had a full-blown panic attack. But she knew all about them, a colleague of hers suffering from severe panic attacks before opening nights. Bella knew all the symptoms. She’d just never experienced them personally.
Admittedly, she’d been a bit nervous before ringing Sergio, but that was only natural. She still felt guilty over the way her mother had treated his father. If she was strictly honest with herself, she didn’t feel she had the right to ask Sergio for help. Not after what her mother had done. If anyone was to blame for that panic attack, it was her mother!
Bella hadn’t found out till the middle of last year just how badly her mother had treated Sergio’s father, Dolores admitting one night whilst supposedly giving her daughter advice about men and marriage that she herself had used a pretend pregnancy to trap her Italian boss into marrying her; that she’d never really loved the man; that she’d been
