of the music which he’d requested Alma put on for them. The haunting sound of violins shimmered through the air and Willow felt a glorious sense of happiness. As if there was no place in the world she’d rather be, though it would have been made perfect if Dante had returned home in time to join them.
She thought about the way he’d kissed her goodbye that morning and she could do absolutely nothing about the sudden leap of her heart. Because you could tell yourself over and over that nothing was ever going to come of this strange affair of theirs, but knowing something wasn’t always enough to kill off hope.
And once again she found herself wondering if she came clean and told Dante the truth about her situation, whether this affair of theirs might last beyond their flight back to Europe.
Giovanni’s accented voice filtered into her thoughts.
‘You are not saying very much this evening, Willow,’ he observed.
Willow looked up into his lined face, into eyes which were dull with age and lined with the struggle of sickness, but which must once have burned as brightly blue as Dante’s own.
And I will never know Dante as an old man like this, she thought. I will never see the passage of time leave its mark on his beautiful face.
Briefly, she felt the painful clench of her heart and it was a few seconds before she could bring herself to speak.
‘I thought you might be enjoying the music,’ she said. ‘And that you might prefer me not to chatter over something so beautiful.’
‘Indeed. Then I must applaud your consideration as well as your taste in music.’ He smiled as he put down his delicate coffee cup with a little clatter. ‘But time is of the essence, and I suspect that mine is fast running out. I am delighted that my grandson has at last found someone he wishes to marry, but as yet I know little about the woman he has chosen to be his bride.’
Somehow Willow kept her smile intact, hoping her face didn’t look clown-like as a result. She’d had been so busy having sex with Dante that she’d almost forgotten about the fake engagement which had brought them here in the first place. And while she didn’t want to deceive Giovanni, how could she possibly tell him the truth? She opened her mouth to try to change the subject, but it seemed Giovanni hadn’t finished.
‘I am something of an expert in the twists and complexities of a relationship between a man and a woman and I know that things are rarely as they seem,’ he continued, the slight waver in his voice taking on a stronger note of reflection. ‘But I do know one thing...’
Willow felt the punch of fear to her heart as she looked at him. ‘What?’ she whispered.
He smiled. ‘Which is to witness the way you are when you look at Dante or speak of him.’ He paused. ‘For I can see for myself that your heart is full of love.’
For a moment Willow felt so choked that she couldn’t speak. Yes, she’d once told her sister that she liked Dante and that had been true. But love? She thought about his anguish as he’d recounted the story of his childhood and her desire to protect him—weak as she was—from any further pain. She thought about the way he made her laugh. The way he made her feel good about herself, so that she seemed to have a permanently warm glow about her. He made her feel complete—even though, for her, such a feeling could never be more than an illusion.
So could those feelings be defined as love? Could they?
Yes.
The knowledge hit her like a rogue wave which had suddenly raced up out of the sea. Yes, they could.
And even if Dante never loved her back, surely they could still be a couple until he tired of her.
Couldn’t they?
‘Your grandson is very difficult to resist,’ she said with a smile. ‘But he is a very complex man.’
Giovanni laughed. ‘But of course he is. All Di Sione men are complex—it is written into our DNA. That complexity has been our attraction and our downfall—although pride has played a big part in our actions. Sometimes we make decisions which are the wrong decisions and that is part of life. We must accept the shadows in order to experience light.’ His voice suddenly hardened. ‘But I know as an old man who has seen much of the world that regret is one of the hardest things to live with. Don’t ever risk regret, Willow.’
She nodded as she leaned forward to tuck a corner of the blanket around his knees. ‘I’ll try not to.’
‘And let me tell you something else.’ His voice had softened now, shot through with a trace of something which sounded like wistfulness. ‘That I long to see the bloodline of my offspring continue before I die, and to know there is another generation of Di Siones on the way.’ He smiled. ‘I know deep down that Dante would make a wonderful father, even though he might not yet realise that himself. Don’t wait too long before giving him a baby, my dear.’
It felt like a knife ripping through her heart as Giovanni’s blessing brought all her secret fears bubbling to a head. Willow tried hard not to let her distress show, but she was grateful when the nurse came to help the patriarch to bed. And as she made her way back to the cottage, she couldn’t stop Giovanni’s unwittingly cruel words from echoing round and round in her head.
Don’t wait too long before giving him a baby, my dear.
Stumbling inside, it took a few moments before she could compose herself enough to get ready for bed and to register from the quick glance at her cell phone that there was no missed call or text from Dante. With trembling fingers she put on her silk nightdress, slithering beneath the duvet and staring sightlessly up at the ceiling, as she reminded herself that he hadn’t promised to ring.
She had to stop relying on him emotionally. She had to learn to separate from him.
This wasn’t going anywhere.
It couldn’t go anywhere, she reminded herself fiercely. And sooner or later she had to address that fact, instead of existing in la-la land.
She fell asleep—her sleep peppered with heartbreaking dreams of empty cribs—and when she awoke, the pale light of dawn was filtering through the windows, bringing Dante’s still and silhouetted form into stark relief.
Brushing the hair from her eyes, Willow sat up. ‘How long have you been there?’ she questioned sleepily.
He turned round slowly. So slowly that for a minute she was scared of what she might see in his face. Distress, perhaps—if his reconciliation with Dario had come to nothing.
But she couldn’t tell what he was thinking because his eyes gave nothing away. They were shadowed, yes, but there was no apparent joy or sorrow in their lapis lazuli depths.
‘I got back about an hour ago.’
‘You didn’t come to bed?’
She could have kicked herself for coming out with something so trite. Obviously he hadn’t come to bed, or he wouldn’t be standing at the window fully dressed, would he?
But he didn’t seem irritated as he walked towards her and sat down on the edge of the mattress.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I thought if I came to bed, then I’d have sex with you, and...’
