he had put her on a pedestal and believed he was unworthy of being loved. That belief was still deeply ingrained on his psyche. Maybe it was why he found it so hard to show his emotions.
He wished things were different. He wished he could be an openly loving papa to Rosa, like his brother, Sergio, was to his son, Nico. But always in the back of his mind was the guilt that it was his fault Rosa was growing up without her mother, the fear that one day she would learn the truth and perhaps would hate him.
He jerked his gaze from the accusatory expression in Darcey Rivers’s bright green eyes. ‘I will be in my study. Press nine on the phone if you need anything and a member of staff will attend to you.’
Salvatore barely glanced at Rosa as he exited the nursery, Darcey noticed. She could not understand his remoteness from his daughter. It seemed as though he preferred to hand over the little girl to a nanny, but now Sharon had left and Rosa had no one to take care of her.
She glanced at the child and her heart ached when she saw the wistful expression on her face. Smiling, she walked over to Rosa and crouched down beside her. I like your dolls’ house, she signed. Can I play too?
Dark eyes studied her gravely for a few moments. Rosa had inherited her father’s eyes, Darcey noticed. She tried to block out the image of Salvatore’s ruggedly handsome face from her mind, annoyed by her inexplicable attraction to the cold and enigmatic man. She was here in her professional capacity, and she was determined to concentrate solely on the little girl who was smiling tentatively at her.
* * *
Over the next hour it quickly became clear that Rosa was a highly intelligent child, but although she was proficient in sign language she was unable or unwilling to attempt to speak. The little girl would need plenty of encouragement to develop self-confidence as well as to master language skills.
The nursery door opened and Darcey glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see that Salvatore had returned. But a butler stood in the doorway and informed her that it was Rosa’s dinner time.
‘Mr Castellano is unavoidably detained and has asked if you would accompany his daughter to the dining room.’
She could not refuse when Rosa slipped a small hand into hers and gave her a trusting smile, and she was glad she had stayed with the little girl when they walked into the huge dining room. A single place was set at one end of a long dining table.
Doesn’t your father eat dinner with you? she signed to Rosa.
The child shook he head. Papa eats later. He is always busy in his office.
Darcey felt another pang of sympathy for Salvatore’s little daughter, who was growing up in such isolated splendour. Clearly she did not lack for material things, but Darcey sensed that Rosa yearned for companionship and love.
Will you stay and play with me? Rosa signed when she had finished her meal.
Realising that there was no one else to take care of her, Darcey decided she would have to stay with the little girl and wait for Salvatore. Back in the nursery, she played a few more games with Rosa before helping her to get ready for bed. Rosa removed the battery pack she had worn during the day and the device behind her ear that was the cochlear implant processor.
I don’t like the dark, she signed when Darcey pulled the curtains and was about to turn off the bedside lamp. Will you leave the light on?
Recalling how Mina had hated the dark, because she had felt cut off when she could neither see nor hear, Darcey nodded. Rosa reminded her so much of her sister when they had been children. Perhaps that was why she felt an immediate bond with the little girl. But while Mina had grown up with the support of loving parents and family, Rosa had no one but her stern-faced father.
Darcey was appalled by Salvatore’s seemingly uncaring attitude towards his daughter. He might be the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on but beneath his devastating good looks he was as selfish as her ex-husband. It was about time someone told Salvatore Castellano a few home truths, she thought grimly.
* * *
Salvatore stared moodily out of his study window and noticed that the trees in Hyde Park opposite resembled black silhouettes in the gathering dusk. After he had spoken to his brother and learned that there had been a fire at the winery in Sicily he had been busy on the phone, dealing with the crisis, and had not realised how late it was. He felt guilty that he had left Rosa for so long, but the maid had reported that Darcey Rivers had stayed to help his daughter with her bedtime routine.
He grimaced. No doubt his absence had confirmed her belief that he was an uninterested father. The truth was far more complicated. He loved Rosa, but love was not something he’d had much experience of and he did not know how to get close to his child.
He closed his eyes, trying to control the searing pain in his head. The migraines that had plagued him since the accident four years ago had become more frequent in recent months, and were so debilitating that he was forced to resort to taking painkillers. It was no coincidence that this headache had started soon after he had spoken to Sergio and heard the shocking news his old friend Pietro was dead. The elderly vintner had suffered a fatal heart attack while trying to fight the blaze at the winery.
It was particularly poignant that Pietro had given his life for the wine that he was so proud of, he thought. Winemaking had been in Pietro Marelli’s blood. A third generation vintner, with no son to pass his knowledge on to, he had instead shared his expertise with Salvatore. But, more than that, Pietro had been a substitute father who had welcomed a lonely boy into his home and his heart. Every school holiday Salvatore had returned to the Castellano estate and rushed to see Pietro first, knowing that Tito, his father, would be working in his office and would not welcome being disturbed.
It was strange that he could remember his childhood but had no memory of the accident, Salvatore brooded. He had a clear vision of himself as a ten-year-old boy, walking through the vineyards with Pietro to inspect the grapes, but no recollection of the events that had happened after he had got behind the wheel of his car and driven Adriana away from that party. All he remembered was waking to find he was in hospital and being told that his wife had been killed when their car had spun out of control on a mountain road and plunged over the edge.
The doctor had told Salvatore he had been lucky to escape with his life, albeit with a seriously mangled right leg and a head injury. It had caused no permanent brain damage. His amnesia, so the specialist suspected, was psychogenic. In layman’s terms, his inability to remember the accident, or much of his marriage, was his brain’s defence mechanism in order to blot out the grim fact that he was responsible for his wife’s death.
Salvatore felt a familiar surge of frustration as he tried to cast his mind back in time and hit a wall of blackness. It seemed inconceivable that he could have married a woman, who had given birth to his child, and yet he had no recollection of their relationship. His mother-in-law had put photographs of Adriana everywhere in the castle, but when he looked at the pictures of his wife he felt no connection to her.
The specialist had told him it was likely his memory would eventually return, but until it did Salvatore felt he was trapped in a dark place, with no past and no future, unable to forgive himself for robbing his daughter of her mother.
He kneaded his throbbing temples with his fingers and thought about the rest of his conversation with his brother. Sergio had reported better news about the estate workers who had been burned in the fire. Their injuries were serious, but thankfully not life-threatening.
Hearing a tap on the study
