more.
There had to be a way out of this. There had to be a way to get rid of him. She had to keep Arlo safe. That was the only thing that mattered in the past five years and it was the only thing that she could let matter now.
She felt safer once they reached the crowd on the festive mall. Not that she thought Rafael was likely to abduct her or anything that required so much commitment—but if he’d had any thoughts in that direction, it would be a great deal harder surrounded by so many people.
“Are we shopping?” Rafael’s voice was sardonic, managing to slice through the noise, the singing. The barricades she’d been erecting inside her as they’d walked. “This reminds me far more of the lonely little heiress I once knew.”
“I thought I’d get something hot to drink and get out of the cold for a moment,” she said, refusing to react outwardly to what he’d said. Though she had to blink hard to get the red haze to roll back, and it actually hurt to bite her tongue.
She hadn’t been a lonely little heiress. There’d been little enough to inherit, first of all, outside her mother’s house. But the poor little rich kid in this scenario had been bored, sybaritic party boy Rafael, beloved of C-list actresses, reality television pseudostars and a host of lingerie models. Those had been the women he’d paraded around with in public. Those had been the women he’d brought home with him, the women he’d taunted Lily with on all those terrible family vacations at Lake Tahoe, letting them drape their cosmetically enhanced bodies all over him and then making her admit her jealousy before he’d ease her pain a little with his clever fingers, that awful mouth of his and the things he could do with a few stolen moments against a locked door.
He was a terrible man, she reminded herself fiercely as they ducked out of the way of a kid on a skateboard. He’d been hideous to her, and worse, she’d let him. There was nothing here to be conflicted about. Everything between them had been twisted and wrong. She loathed who she’d been around him. The lies she’d told, the secrets she’d kept. She’d hated that life she’d been trapped in.
She refused to go back to it. She refused to accept that her only fate was to become her sad mother, one way or another. She refused to let the poison of that life, those people, infect Arlo. She refused.
Lily didn’t wait to see if Rafael was following her—she knew he was, she could feel that he was right on her heels like an agent of doom—she simply marched down the mall until she reached her favorite café, then she tossed open the door and walked in.
Straight into another male body.
She heard an Italian curse that Rafael had taught her when she was a teenager—as pretty to the ear as it was profoundly filthy—and she jerked back, only to look up into another set of those dark Castelli eyes.
Damn it.
Luca, younger than Rafael by three years. The quieter, more solid stepbrother, to her recollection, but then, she’d never seen much besides Rafael. Luca looked as if she’d sucker punched him. Lily felt as if she’d sustained the same blow. It might have been possible to convince only Rafael that she was someone else—or so she’d been desperate to believe the whole walk here. But both Castelli brothers? There was no way.
She was completely and utterly screwed.
“Ah, yes,” Rafael said from behind her, that sardonic tone of his wrapping around her, far hotter than the heat of the café or the shock in his brother’s gaze. “Luca, you remember our late stepsister, Lily. It turns out she’s been alive and well and right here in Virginia this whole time. Hale and hearty, as you can see.”
“I’m not Lily,” she snapped, though she suspected that was more desperate than strategic, especially with both men scowling at her. But there was only one man’s scowl she could feel inside her, like acid. “I’m getting tired of telling you that.”
Rafael’s gaze was a blast of dark fire as he stepped to the side and then steered her out of the way of oncoming foot traffic, there in the café doorway, with a hand on her arm she couldn’t shake off fast enough. But perhaps that was even less strategic, she thought, when his lush mouth quirked slightly—very much as if he knew exactly what his touch did to her, even all these years later.
As if he could feel the lick of that fire as well as she could.
He directed his attention to his brother. “Though, you will note, she does appear to be suffering from a convenient case of amnesia.”
Which was not a solution, but was the best answer to her current situation, of course.
And it was how Lily decided, right there on the spot in that crowded little café, that amnesia was exactly what she had. In spades.
“THIS IS IMPOSSIBLE,” was all that Luca said, while Lily pretended she wasn’t affected by the shock on his face.
“Behold,” Rafael answered him darkly, though that hot, furious gaze of his was on Lily, making her skin feel much too hot beneath her winter layers. “I bring you tidings of comfort and joy. Our own Christmas miracle.”
“How?” Luca asked. It was the closest to shaken she’d ever heard him.
It made her feel awful. Hollow. But this was no time to indulge that.
The three of them shifted out of the flow of café traffic, over near the row of stools that sat at the window looking over the mall and all its holiday splendor. The Castelli brothers stood there like a six-foot-and-then-some wall of her past, staring at her with entirely too much emotion and intensity. She tried to look unbothered. Or perhaps slightly concerned, if that—the way a stranger would.
“How did she manage to walk away from that crash?” Luca asked. “How did she disappear for five years without a single trace?”
Lily had no intention of telling either one of them how easy that had been. All she’d needed to do was walk away. And then never, ever revisit her past. Never look back. Never revisit any of the people or places she’d known before. All she’d needed was a good enough reason to pretend that she’d had no history whatsoever—and then six weeks into her impetuous, spur-of-the-moment decision, she’d found she had the best reason of all. But how could she explain that to two Italian men who could trace their lineage back centuries?
Even if she’d wanted to explain. Which she didn’t.
You can’t, she reminded herself sharply. That was the trouble with the Castelli family. Any exposure to them at all and she stopped doing what she knew she should do and started doing whatever it was they wanted, instead.
“Oddly,” Rafael replied, in that same dark tone, still studying her though he was clearly speaking to Luca, “she is claiming that she is a different person and that none of that happened to her.”
“She is also standing right here in front of you and can speak for herself,” Lily said tartly then. “I’m not claiming anything. Your confusion over my identity is very much your problem, not mine. You assaulted me on a dark street. I think I’m being remarkably indulgent, given the circumstances.”
“You assaulted her?” Luca’s dark brows edged up his forehead as he
