on driving her home, his excuse being he was an extremely early riser and didn’t want to disturb her. In hindsight, she realised she had been so naïve in accepting his explanation. How gullible of her to have never questioned why he would not spend a single night with her after making love. What sort of lovers didn’t spend the night entwined in each other’s arms? Street workers and the men who paid them, that was who, Bronte thought bitterly. Luca had treated her like a whore and she had been too blind to see it. But this time she would not be making the same mistake. She would meet him and that would be that. It would be a form of closure for her, something she had longed for when their affair had ended so abruptly. Saying goodbye and meaning it would be very satisfying. She would be finally free of the man who had caused her so much heartache and bitterness, and then and only then would she be able to move on with her life.
Bronte caught a cab to the city rather than worry about parking. She wanted to be able to make a quick escape if things got tricky. She reasoned that an anonymous cab was a much safer exit plan than her battered car with its baby seat full of crumbs and juice stains in the back.
She had dressed for the occasion with deliberate care. Although not exactly destitute, she didn’t have the sort of money to throw around that allowed her to fill her wardrobe with designer clothes. But she had a few select items she had bought on sale that made her feel feminine and elegant without being overdressed or too showy.
The hotel was one of the premier ones in the Southbank Complex along the Yarra River. The luxurious marble foyer with a sweeping two-sided staircase with a fountain as its centrepiece gave the hotel more than a touch of Hollywood glamour. Bronte felt like a movie star arriving for a glamorous event as one of the uniformed doormen opened the doors for her with a flourish.
The staircase led to a classy bar area with deep leather sofas placed in intimate formations to give privacy to guests as they socialised over a drink. Bronte saw Luca rise the moment she stepped into the bar. She felt a flutter in her chest as he came towards her and she noted that practically every female head turned to look at him as he moved across the carpeted floor.
He was dressed in a charcoal-grey suit, teamed with a snow-white business shirt and wearing a tie that was red with stripes of silver. He seemed even taller than he had in the studio earlier that day, even though Bronte was now wearing heels.
She felt his gaze move over her, taking in her little black dress, cinched in at the waist with a black patent leather belt which matched her four-inch heels and clutch purse. She was glad she had taken some extra time with her make-up. She had dusted her skin with mineral powder and blush and had made her eyes smoky with eye-shadow and kohl pencil, and her lips ripe and full with a glossy pink lipstick. Her dark brown hair she had smoothed back into a chignon that gave her an added air of sophistication. Let him look and regret what he threw away, she thought with a gleam of satisfaction as his pupils flared with male appraisal.
‘You are looking quite stunning, cara,’ he said as he came to stand in front of her, his eyes running over her asssessingly.
She gave him a tight formal smile. ‘Let’s get this over with, shall we?’
He drew in a breath that pulled at the edges of his mouth. ‘Bronte, there is no need to be so prickly,’ he said. ‘We are just two old friends catching up, sì?’
Bronte’s fingers dug into her clutch purse. ‘You are no friend of mine, Luca,’ she said. ‘I think of you as a stupid mistake I made. Something I would like to forget about. I don’t like reminding myself of failure.’
His forehead furrowed as he looked down at her. ‘It was not you that failed, Bronte. It was my problem. My issues. It was never about you.’
Bronte blinked up at him in surprise. Was that some sort of apology? Or was it part of the softening up process? She was well aware of the Sabbatini charm. It was a lethal potion that could bewitch any unsuspecting woman. And she had not just been unsuspecting but naïve and innocent with it. She had fallen for him so easily. It embarrassed her now to think of how easily. One look, one smile and that bottomless dark chocolate gaze locking on hers had done it. ‘So you are prepared to admit you handled things rather callously, are you?’ she asked in a wary tone.
He gave her a rueful movement of his lips that fell just short of a smile. ‘I have regrets over a lot of things, Bronte. But the past is not something any of us can change. However, I would like to compensate for the hurt I caused you in ending our affair so abruptly and without proper explanation.’
She gave him an embittered look. ‘How are you going to compensate me? By blackmailing me into seeing you? It’s not working, Luca. You can blackmail me all you like but it won’t make me fall in love with you again.’
His dark eyes flickered for a pico-second, a fleeting shadow of something she couldn’t identify or understand. ‘I realise that is rather a lot to ask after all this time,’ he said. ‘I would be happy to take it one day at a time, for now.’
Bronte set her mouth. ‘You have one evening, Luca, and this is it. I am not doing this again. Say what you have to say and let’s leave it at that.’
An arm in arm couple moved past them, the female half turning back to look at Luca. She whispered something to her partner and then he too stopped and stared.
Luca smiled politely but stiffly at the couple and then took Bronte’s elbow in the cup of his palm, saying in an undertone, ‘Let’s get away from the eyes of the public. Before we know it, the press will be tipped off.’
Bronte couldn’t bear the thought of being alone with him in his hotel room, but neither could she bear the thought of having her image splashed with his over tomorrow’s papers. She could almost imagine the headlines: Italian hotel tycoon dates ballet teacher single mother. She would never hear the end of it from the parents of her students, let alone Rachel and her mother.
She followed him to the bank of lifts and silently stepped in beside him as one opened. The doors whooshed closed and she felt as if the air had been cut off along with the background noise of the hotel. It was like being in a capsule with him. The lift was large but it felt like a matchbox with him standing within touching distance. Her stomach gave a nervous quiver. She hadn’t been alone with a man since… well, since him. Her one recent date with Rachel’s newly divorced older brother had been in a crowded public restaurant. David Brougham hadn’t even touched her the whole time they’d worked their way through an eight course degustation menu. Note to self, she thought. Never go to a fine dining restaurant with a morose, newly divorced man. Bronte had listened patiently as he had relayed his angst about his marriage breakup and the custodial arrangements for his children, and silently prayed for the evening to be over.
As the lift soared to the penthouse floor Bronte looked at Luca from beneath her lowered lashes. He had a frown of concentration on his forehead and there were twin lines of tension running either side of his mouth. His arms were hanging by his sides, but she saw him clench and unclench his hands as if he was mentally preparing himself for something.
‘I thought you would be used to the intrusion of the media by now,’ she said into the humming silence.
He turned his head to look at her. ‘Believe me, Bronte, you never get used to it. Do you know what it’s like having every moment of your life documented? The lack of privacy is unbelievable. There are times when I cannot even have a cup of coffee without someone wanting to take a picture. It drives me completely crazy.’
‘I guess it’s the price of success,’ she said. ‘You were born into an extremely wealthy family. The public are fascinated by how the other half lives.’
He
