Johnny let go of her, yanking open the door, haring out. With a start, she hurried after him—he was her charge and she must look after him. But at the top of the stairs she froze.
Vito was in the hall below, talking to Giuseppe. She heard Italian, saw Giuseppe shake Vito’s hand. Saw Vito turn his head as Johnny tugged urgently on her hand to go downstairs. Saw the expression on Vito’s face.
‘Eloise!’
He had taken off his dark glasses and he was just staring at her. Staring at her and drinking her in with his eyes as if she were water in a parched, parched land.
‘Eloise...’ He said her name again. A faint, exhalation of breath, like the sighing of the wind.
She met his gaze. Felt herself reel with the force of it.
Then, from the door at the back of the hall, the rotund figure of Maria erupted, rushing up to Vito, breaking into voluble Italian. Vito was smiling at her, and Eloise could hear him replying, his voice warm. Thanking her.
Numb still, Eloise let Johnny tug her downstairs. He broke free of her at the bottom and rushed to Vito, pulling at his trouser leg.
‘I need to see your car!’ he exclaimed.
Vito looked down at him, hunkered down beside him. Smiled at the little boy. Against her will, Eloise felt her heart skip a beat.
He used to smile at me like that.
No—she mustn’t think of that...mustn’t remember.
‘Do you, now?’ Vito was saying, obviously amused by his eagerness.
‘Yes!’ confirmed Johnny, oblivious, as only a four-year-old could be, to the tension, the atmosphere blazing all around him. ‘Come on, come on!’
He seized Vito’s hand with all the confidence of a well-loved child and made to drag him to the front door.
Vito straightened, gently disengaging his hand from Johnny’s. ‘In a while, OK?’
He ruffled Johnny’s hair, in a friendly, easy fashion, and again Eloise felt emotion scissor through her. But not memory this time.
No! Don’t think of that either—just don’t! Don’t!
She’d never seen Vito with children before—never seen this easy, unforced attitude. His obvious amusement. Enjoyment. As if it came supremely naturally to him.
The scissoring emotion came again.
Then Giuseppe was stepping forward. ‘Why don’t I show you?’ he said to Johnny, glancing at Vito for agreement.
Vito nodded, a grateful look on his face. Giuseppe swept Johnny away, and Maria bustled forward busily to open the door to the library, beckoning to Vito...and then to Eloise.
But Eloise could not move. Vito’s eyes went to her, rooting her to the spot. The easy smile that had been there for Johnny had gone. Now his expression was as grave and as stark as the tension visible in every line of his body as he walked towards her at the foot of the stairs.
‘Eloise—I have to talk to you.’
His voice was low and vibrant. With the same urgency in it that she had heard the day he’d told her that he was indeed marrying the woman who had stormed into their suite, stormed into her life, destroying everything in her path. Trampling over what they had...what they might have had.
Hideously aware of Maria, still holding the library door open, Eloise stumbled past her into the spacious room. Vito strode after her. Only when Maria had shut the door, giving them privacy, could she speak.
‘How did you find me? It’s impossible that you have!’ Her voice came out high-pitched, half strangulated.
‘Yes,’ Vito said, his voice stark, like stone scraped bare, ‘you made it impossible. And I know why, Eloise—I understand why you did.’
Her eyes flashed. However Vito had found her—and for whatever reason!—it was impossible for her to have anything more to do with him. She felt emotion sear in her. But it didn’t matter how her eyes were drinking him in, how faintness was drumming inside her just at the very sight of him, because everything was still impossible—totally impossible!
He was speaking again, and she made herself hear as he reached inside his jacket pocket, took out a much-folded piece of paper, colourful and glossy. He opened it out, and it looked to Eloise as if it had been torn from a magazine.