‘You own this?’ she asked with the same wide-eyed look she’d had when she’d first walked into his club carrying a bunch of flowers for him.
He jerked a nod and took his seat, indicating she should sit opposite him. ‘Before I give the order for us to depart, I need to check your bag.’
‘Why? It’s already been through a scanner.’
‘My plane. My rules.’ He met her gaze, willing her to fight back, to leave, to get off the aircraft and walk away before the dangers of his life tainted her.
He thought he saw a spark of anger. A tiny spark, but a spark all the same.
She shrugged and handed it over to him.
He opened the bag. His hand clenched around her underwear. He should pull it out, let her see him handle her most intimate items. The plane hadn’t taken off. There was still time to change her mind.
But then he met her gaze again. She studied him with unabashed curiosity.
No. He would not humiliate her.
His fingers relaxed their grip, the cotton folding back into place. He pulled out a threadbare black purse.
Resolve filled him. He opened it to find a few notes, a heap of receipts, credit and debit cards, and a photo, which he tugged out.
Hannah fidgeted before him but he paid her no heed.
She wanted him to prove in actions how bad he was for her? This was only the beginning.
He peered closely at a picture of two identical young girls with long flaxen hair, hazel eyes, and the widest, gappiest grins he had ever seen.
‘You are a twin?’ he asked in surprise.
Her answer came after a beat too long. ‘Yes.’
He looked at her. Hannah’s lips were drawn in. Her lightly tanned skin had lost a little of its colour.
‘Why was she not out last night with you, celebrating your other sister’s hen night?’
Her hands fisted into balls before she flexed them and raised her chin. ‘Beth died a long time ago.’
His hand stilled.
‘Please be careful with that. It’s the last picture taken of us together.’ There was a definite hint of anxiety in her voice.
This was another clear-cut opportunity to convince her of his true self. All he had to do was rip the photo into little pieces and he guaranteed she would leave without a backward glance.
But no matter how much he commanded his hands to do the deed, they refused.
Hannah’s voice broke through his conflicted thoughts. ‘Can I have my stuff back now?’ she asked, now speaking in her more familiar droll manner.
Without saying a word, he carefully slotted the photo back in its place, blinking to rid himself of the image of the happy young girls.
The last picture of them together?
His stomach did a full roll and settled with a heavy weight rammed onto it.
Getting abruptly to his feet, he dropped the bag by Hannah’s seat. ‘I need to speak with the crew. Put your seat belt on.’
Hannah expelled all the air from her lungs in one long movement, watching as Francesco disappeared through a door.
There had been a moment when she’d been convinced he was going to crush the photo in his giant hands.
If there was one thing she’d be unable to forgive, it was that.
But he hadn’t. He’d wanted to, but the basic decency within him had won out. And he hadn’t fired a load of questions about Beth at her, either.
It was very rare that she spoke about her twin. Even after fifteen years, it still felt too raw, as if vocalising it turned it back into the real event that had ripped her apart. People treated her differently. As soon as someone learned about it, she just knew that was how they would start referring to her. That’s the girl whose twin sister died. She’d heard those very whispers at school, felt the curious glances and the eyes just waiting for the telltale sign of her suffering. She knew what her schoolmates had been waiting for—they’d been waiting for her to cry.
She’d cried plenty, but always in the privacy of her bedroom—the room she’d shared with Beth.
She’d learned to repel the curiosity with a bright smile, and ignore the whispers by burying herself in her schoolwork. It had been the same with her parents. And Melanie. She’d effectively shut them all out, hiding her despair behind a smile and then locking herself away.
When Francesco reappeared a few minutes later, she fixed that same bright smile on him.
‘We’ll be taking off in five minutes,’ he said. ‘This is your last chance to change your mind.’
‘I’m not changing my mind.’
‘Sicily is my turf. If you come, you will be bound under my directive.’