‘They’re for my spots…’
She shuddered. She didn’t have to justify herself to him—didn’t have to tell him anything. Her shaking hand placed her glass on the table, spilling champagne. She was trying to leave, only her legs wouldn’t move.
‘You lie to the bank, lie on your résumé. It comes so naturally I’m sure you don’t even know when you’re doing it. Hey, Caitlyn—when you told Roxanne you’d get me, did you really believe it? When you cut out my photo from a magazine…?’
Her cheeks were burning, humiliation seeping into her bone marrow. It was like being stuck in a nightmare, her mouth opening to speak but the words not coming out.
‘When you set your little cap at the big prize, did you honestly think you’d win? Did you honestly think I wouldn’t see through you? Did you really think that by announcing things to the press you could push me into marrying you? Didn’t you realise that I’d only ever marry a woman I love—and that was never, could never, be you.’
‘I’m going.’ Her voice was a mere croak, her legs like jelly, but at least they were moving.
‘Good!’ Lazzaro snarled, and he was already ahead of her, brushing past her as he stormed out. ‘Get your things and then get the hell out. You’ve got five minutes—I don’t want a single thing of yours left behind. You make me sick.’
‘I hate you!’ she screamed out at him. Her voice was back now, and there was agony, truth, in every word. ‘And I wish to God I’d never fallen in love with you!’
She watched his shoulders stiffen, could see his knuckles white on the handle of the door for just a second—and then he slammed it closed behind him.
There would be time for tears later—but right now, after her outburst, she was numb, frozen, mute. She shook as she stood in the office, trembling at the task in hand, then moved, heart pounding, on a strange kind of autopilot—picking up her things, her books, her pens, her overnight bag that was permanently packed in case they jetted off at a second’s notice…There were things to leave too. She pulled out her purse, put down the credit card, wondered what to do with the phone. But it was too much to think about, too hard to stand and delete messages. Somebody else would have to deal with those.
‘You’ve served your purpose, then?’ Malvolio stood in the doorway, and she was too numb to be shocked at the sight of him. ‘The great Ranaldi’s tossing you out?’
‘Your brother-in-law’s a bastard!’ Caitlyn retorted. Her mind was just not there. Her brain was hypothermic, frozen by Lazzaro’s brutal words, all her responses slower, her thought processes functioning at basic survival level.
‘I could have told you that and saved you the trouble.’ Malvolio came over, smiled down at her sympathetically. ‘The Ranaldis are all bastards—or bitches,’ he added. ‘We’re not good enough for any of them…’
Her defences were utterly down. She wasn’t seeing the red flags that were waving, wasn’t hearing the frantic urgent alert as her brain struggled to hit her warning bell. And then she did. Like a fog horn screaming in the darkness, suddenly she heard it, and panic, fear, was gripping her. Only it was just a little bit too late. She could taste the whisky on the mouth that crushed hers, the putridness of his breath, the blood on her lips. There was hate and anger in him as he wedged his body against her—and she knew, knew what was going to happen. Knew that even though she was kicking and screaming, his hate was stronger. And as he slammed her to the ground all she could hope was that it would be quick.
That this hell would soon be over.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WHAT the hell had he done?
Lazzaro paced the lobby, his hand clamped over his mouth, his breath hyperventilating into his hand, as his staff watched on bemused. Glynn the only one with the nerve to approach him.
‘Is everything okay, sir?’
He didn’t answer—didn’t even hear him. His mind was with Caitlyn, hating what he’d done to her. He could see her in his mind’s eye, standing frozen as he’d shamed her, humiliated her—and for what?