nfirmed for him that women were not to be trusted.
Lara was quiet. Unnervingly so. Ciro remembered the way she’d used to chatter when they’d first met. She’d ask him so many questions that he’d resort to kissing her to stop them. And yet there’d been those moments when no conversation had been required and she hadn’t filled the silence with nonsense. She’d been just as happy not to talk. Something he’d found refreshing.
This time around he was under no illusions.
He thought of the moment just a few hours before, when he’d emerged from the cathedral with Lara on his arm. When the paparazzi’s cameras had exploded into life he’d felt her flinch ever so slightly on his arm, and the sense of triumph which had been so elusive had finally oozed through his veins.
He’d envisaged that moment—the beauty marrying the beast. And yet when he’d looked down at her she hadn’t had a look of revulsion on her face at being photographed with Ciro and his livid scar—she’d looked haunted by something else entirely and he hadn’t liked that...
In fact, since they’d met again he’d never got a sense from her that she considered him some sort of monster—which was how he felt sometimes, when people looked at him with horror or fascination. In her eyes there was something else...something almost like...sympathy. Or guilt. Which made no sense at all.
Ciro looked over Lara’s form broodingly. Her head was turned away, as if the shape of the clouds outside the window was utterly fascinating. The silk of her dress clung to her slim curves in a way that made his hands itch to uncover her inch by inch and see the bounty he had denied himself before...
He’d been such a fool. Lust had clouded his judgement the first time around. Of course a woman as beautiful as Lara couldn’t have been a virgin. Or if she had been she wasn’t one now.
No matter. Tonight she would be his in every way—wife and lover. Tonight he would slake the hunger he’d felt since the moment he’d laid eyes on her. Tonight he might finally feel some measure of peace again.
* * *
The late summer dusk was tipping into night as they made the journey up a long and winding driveway to Ciro’s Sicilian palazzo. All Lara could see was the wide open lavender sky full of bright stars and acres and acres of land rolling down to the sea. It was quiet.
They climbed an incline, and when they reached the top she sucked in a breath.
The palazzo seemed to rise out of nowhere and cling to a cliff-edge in the distance; a soaring cluster of buildings with a tower that looked like something from a movie. As they got closer she could see just how massive it was. Lights shone from high windows, and they drove into a huge courtyard with a fountain in the middle. Wide steps led up to a huge open door where light spilled out. It looked incongruously welcoming in spite of the intimidating grandeur of the building.
‘You said once that you spent a lot of time here growing up?’ Lara said as Ciro drew the SUV to a stop at the bottom of the steps.
He cut the car’s engine and put both hands on the steering wheel. Lara was conscious of the missing little finger on his right hand. It made her chest ache. She looked away.
‘Yes. We were mainly in Rome, after my parents moved there, but I spent most holidays here with my grandparents. My nonna died when I was small, but my grandfather was alive until not long ago.’
‘Were your mother’s parents alive?’
His mouth compressed. ‘They lived in Rome and they didn’t approve of her choice of husband. They had nothing to do with me or my father—even though my father moved to Rome to keep my mother happy.’
‘That was harsh.’
She’d never really realised how lonely Ciro must have been as an only child. Or how it must have looked to a young boy to see his father giving up his own heritage to keep his selfish mother happy.
Just then a young woman in jeans and a white shirt appeared at the top of the steps. Ciro saw her and uncurled his large frame from the SUV, calling out a greeting in Italian.
The young woman flew down the steps and hurled herself at Ciro, who chuckled, wrapping her in his arms. Lara’s breath stopped as something very sharp pierced her heart. She hadn’t seen Ciro so relaxed and easy since they’d met again. He’d been like that with her, once...
She got out of the car slowly, and as she came around to where Ciro was extricating himself from the woman’s embrace Lara could see that she was a girl of about eighteen, extraordinarily pretty with long dark hair and dark eyes. She was looking up at Ciro as if he was God.
Then she saw Lara and stepped back, clapping a hand to her mouth. Her eyes were sparkling and she took her hand down, smiling so widely and infectiously that Lara couldn’t help but respond.
Lara held her hand out, but the girl ignored it and embraced her warmly too. When she pulled back she said, ‘Scusi...’ and then she rattled off some words in Italian that Lara had no hope of understanding.
Ciro said something and the girl stopped talking, looking embarrassed.
‘Lara, I’d like you to meet Isabella. She grew up here on the estate with her family, who have cared for the palazzo for generations.’
Lara smiled. ‘It’s nice to meet you.’
Isabella smiled again. ‘And you, Signora Sant’Angelo. Please excuse me. I do speak English but I forget when I am excited.’
The obvious warmth flowing between Ciro and this young woman was as unexpected as it was heartening. Lara had never seen him look so relaxed.