Halfway out of the door, Vito came to a sudden halt. ‘Katrina? The vicar’s stepdaughter?’
‘Is she? Blonde? Looks a bit like a model? She called me a killer, thought it was offensive that I should be in the cemetery,’ Ava advanced woodenly.
Vito’s gaze flared hot gold. ‘And you didn’t warn me? Dio mio, is there anything you’re willing to tell me?’
Her troubled eyes veiled and her soft lips firmed. ‘You don’t need to hear that kind of stuff.’
‘I don’t need to be shielded from it either!’ Vito growled, his anger unhidden.
In the simmering silence Ava perused the newspaper again. No, on one score Vito had proved correct: the item contained no lies, simply the facts inviting people to make their own judgement of how appropriate it was for Vito to be entertaining his brother’s killer. In the photo taken yesterday, having taken fright at the sudden appearance of the photographer, she was clinging to Vito, leaving little room for doubt that theirs was an intimate relationship. The article would certainly raise brows and rouse condemnation. Her face burned, guilt and regret assailing her. Vito had been good to her. He did not deserve public embarrassment on her behalf. She should never have come to Bolderwood: returning to the scene of her crime had been asking for trouble. It hurt that she had made the mistake but that Vito was being asked to pay the price.
All she could do was leave: the solution was that simple. Gossiping tongues would fall silent once people realised she was no longer around. She hurried upstairs to her room, dug her rucksack out from between the wardrobe and the wall and proceeded to pack it with her original collection of sparse clothing. She discarded the outfit he had bought her but kept on the underwear. She wondered if someone would give her a lift to the local railway station, checked her purse to see if she had enough for the fare: she didn’t. She would ask Vito for a sub on her salary although she cringed at the prospect of directly approaching him for money and accepting it from him. It would feel downright sleazy.
Without warning the door opened. Vito scanned the small pile of clothing on the bed, the open rucksack, and shot a gleaming, cutting look at her that would have withered a weaker woman. ‘Madre di Dio! What the hell are you doing?’
Ava ducked the direct question. ‘I should never have come here in the first place—it was asking for trouble! I did try to warn you about that.’
Vito shifted a silencing hand. ‘Enough with the lie-down-and-die mentality,’ he derided. ‘You’re tougher than that.’
‘Maybe I thought I was but I’ve just realised that you can’t beat social expectations, you can’t flout the system and then complain when you become a target.’
‘No, you can’t if you’re a coward.’
Blue eyes darkening with fury, Ava pushed her chin up. ‘I’m not a coward.’
‘You’re getting ready to scuttle out of here like a rat leaving a sinking ship,’ Vito contradicted without hesitation. ‘What else is that but cowardice?’
‘I’m not a coward!’ Ava proclaimed, inflamed by the charge. ‘I can take the heat.’
‘Then take it and stay.’
Ava snatched in an uneasy breath. ‘It’s not that simple. You don’t need this … er … trouble right now.’
Vito squared his big broad shoulders. ‘I thrive on trouble.’
Ava tore her strained gaze from the bold challenge in his features, her heartbeat quickening. She wondered how long it would be before she could picture that darkly beautiful face without that happening. Here she was, twenty-two years old, and she was as infatuated as a teenager with a man who could only hurt her. That was not a record to boast about and the best thing she could do for both of them was sever the connection in a quick, clean cut that would cause the least possible damage. Vito was a stubborn guy. The very idea that he should conform to social mores was anathema to him. Vito was always ready to fight to the death to defend his own right to do as he liked. A textbook knee-jerk reaction from an arrogant, aggressive male.
‘Look,’ Ava breathed on a more measured note, ‘all the party arrangements are in place. I’ll leave clear notes and contact details for all the outside help I engaged—’
‘I don’t give a
flying … damn …’ he selected between gritted white teeth ‘… about the party! You know how I feel about Christmas.’
‘Can Harvey still stay?’ Ava prompted anxiously.
The animal concerned voiced a little whine and pushed his muzzle anxiously against Vito’s thigh, his need for reassurance in the tense atmosphere pronounced.
Vito groaned out loud at the question. ‘I think you’d have to kidnap him to take him away.’
Ava nodded woodenly because she knew she was going to miss Harvey’s easy companionship and affection. Of course she would miss Vito too but that would be good for her, character-building, she told herself urgently. She had let herself get too dependent on Vito and that was dangerous. It was better to get out now on her terms at a time of her choosing rather than wait for his inevitable rejection. ‘I have to leave.’
‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Vito decreed harshly.
‘Be reasonable,’ Ava urged. ‘I can’t stay after that story was published in the papers … as if people around here even need reminding of what I did!’
‘It doesn’t bother me,’ Vito fired back without scruple.
‘Well, it bothers me!’ Ava flared back at him out of all patience, her hands planted on her slim hips for emphasis. ‘And what difference does it make anyway? So, we part a few days earlier? This was only ever going to last two weeks.’