He turned his head. ‘If you mean the fact you were able to waltz out of the estate without an escort, then rest assured, I never blamed him for that.’
‘I didn’t waltz. I walked.’ She had walked through acres and acres of vineyards and miles of arable land until she had found the field she was looking for. It was the same field she had inadvertently trespassed onto with Cara the day she first met Luca. The broken section of fence they had originally slipped through had long been mended. It took little effort to climb over it. It had felt prophetic, like coming full circle.
‘I saw the footage. You looked as if you were going on an early-evening stroll. There was nothing in your demeanour to suggest you had no intention of returning. I give you credit, bella. You are a wonderful actress.’
Her coolness had been external only. As soon as she was off Mastrangelo land and no longer subject to scrutiny from the multitude of spying cameras, she had dumped the tracker-installed phone Luca had given her into a hedge and run, all the way to the nearest town. From Lebbrossi, she had taken a taxi to Palermo and caught the first flight off the island. That the first flight had been to Germany had been neither here nor there. If anything, it had done her a favour. It had made Luca’s job of tracking her down difficult from the outset.
The drive veered to the right. As the four-by-four turned with it onto the straight she caught her first glimpse of the pink sandstone converted monastery. The late-afternoon sun beamed down, bathing it in a pool of warm light, setting off the brilliance of the simple architecture.
They drove through an arched entrance and into the courtyard, which the monastery wrapped around in a square.
No sooner had they stopped when the heavy oak front door flew open and a petite, raven-haired woman appeared.
Donatella. Luca’s mother.
Throughout the journey back to Sicily, Grace had thought with varying degrees of emotion about her mother-in-law.
Donatella had never conformed to the stereotype of the traditional fire-breathing monster-in-law. If a little distant, she had treated Grace with nothing but courtesy and respect. All the same, Grace had never been that comfortable in her company, had always felt if Donatella had been able to choose a wife for her son, she would have chosen someone with traditional Sicilian values. The kind of woman Luca had sworn he never wanted her to be because he loved her exactly as she was. The type of woman he now wanted her to become.
She had no idea what kind of welcome she could expect from her.
Impeccably dressed as always in a smart skirt, blouse and elegant scarf, Donatella stepped into the courtyard.
Luca undid his seat belt before turning to face Grace. ‘Remember my warning, bella. Now would be a good time to start channelling your inner Sicilian wife.’
Grace clenched her teeth together and glared at him.
With a flare of his nostrils he turned back and exited the car.
Her husband did not make empty promises. If she didn’t live up to his expectations she would be torn from Lily’s life without preamble or ceremony, and without any hope of appeal.
The situation was hopeless.
She hadn’t called the police for assistance in England because they would have arrested her for possession of an illegal firearm, grievous bodily harm and God knew what other charges.
She could forget about assistance here in Sicily. This was Luca’s territory and all the important people were in his pocket.
Grace tried to open her door but the child lock had been activated.
She crossed her arms and pursed her lips together.
As Luca and his mother conversed, both kept darting glances at the car. No guesses what they were talking about.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she gazed down at Lily, who was fast asleep in the baby seat next to her. The poor thing was worn out, having spent the entire flight screaming, her ears no doubt affected by the air pressure. Grace had wanted to wail along with her. At that moment she would love nothing more than a chance to open her lungs and scream every ounce of frustration out of her.
Luca had defeated her. Despite all her efforts, he had won and now, unless she thought of an escape route, she was consigned to live in this medieval prison for the next eighteen years.
‘I’ll think of a way to get us out of here,’ she promised quietly, rubbing a finger over Lily’s tiny hand. ‘And this time we’ll go somewhere he’ll never find us.’ Outer Mongolia sounded nice.
His conversation over, Luca walked back to the car, opened her door, then strolled round and opened the door on Lily’s side.
‘I’ll get her out,’ she said, unclipping the seat belt.
His eyes were cool. ‘I will.’
‘You’ve only got one arm.’