The vehemence of Vicenzo’s tone made her look at him. His mouth was a thin line. ‘No. Don’t say you’re sorry. You don’t have to be sorry for this, Cara.’
He stood and moved away, his whole body radiating a tension that reached out and spoke to her. Everything was shifting, changing around them. She could feel it, and bizarrely it made her feel a lot more nervous than she’d ever felt with this man. He turned back abruptly, his hand moving impatiently through his hair.
‘It is I who must apologise. It’s my fault—entirely my fault you ended up in hospital.’
Cara shook her head, ‘No, Vicenzo. The doctor said what happened is very common. It’s no one’s fault.’
At that, a primal feeling moved through Vicenzo. He couldn’t understand why Cara wasn’t ranting and railing. Taking this opportunity to blame him. But she wasn’t. When she’d dissolved in his arms, her heartbreaking sobs had made something crack open in him too, although he couldn’t let it out. Not even now. The feel of her soft and pliant body against his had called up a fierce protectiveness.
Cara had him in a place right now that he’d never let another woman get him close to, and he knew part of his head-in-the-sand routine with her had been about just that—not being able to face the reality, based on her very obvious grief, that she might not have taken the money and walked away from her baby…his baby.
Vicenzo desperately searched for some equilibrium, something familiar to cling on to. He wasn’t duped enough to dismiss the role she’d played with her brother…but even that was shifting, changing. Becoming less clear.
Cara stood up and made to reach for her bag, but Vicenzo was there in an instant, a hand stopping her. At his touch she jerked back.
‘What are you doing?’ Impatience wasn’t far below the surface of his tone, and it made Cara feel better, on safer ground. But why was he being so obtuse?
She looked at him and forced herself not to respond to his looks, which even now threatened to scramble her thought processes. The way he’d held her in his arms was something she was pushing far down, where she wouldn’t have to acknowledge how it had made her feel. ‘I’m leaving. This must be what you want now?’
Vicenzo reared back, and for a moment Cara could have sworn she saw something like pain flash through his eyes.
‘I would not have wished what you went through on anyone, Cara.’ His face was taut with anger—and something else. Something that made Cara flush. She knew instinctively that, no matter what had gone on between them, Vicenzo wasn’t so heartless as to embrace what had happened. And the fact that she knew that made her feel very shaky. After all, the man had shown her nothing but contempt since he’d revealed his true identity, and Cara didn’t like to admit that perhaps it was something she’d seen in him before the mask had dropped. She realised with a jolt that he must be going through his own private turmoil, no matter how ambivalent he’d been about the baby.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that… I just mean that now you’ll be wanting me to go home.’
‘Aren’t you forgetting your debt?’
Cara paled dramatically, and Vicenzo cursed himself, not knowing what it was about this woman that made him blurt out the first thing that came into his head. The first thing that came into his head that would keep her here, under his control. He swore in Italian and raked a hand through his hair again.
‘Look, forget I said that. It’s been a fraught couple of days. You’re not in any shape to go anywhere, Cara. You’re weak and still in shock. My father is concerned about you.’
Hurt had sliced through Cara, along with shock that Vicenzo still had revenge at the forefront of his mind. Why else would he have mentioned the debt she still owed him?
She forced herself to sound stronger than she felt. If she could just get away… ‘Yes but I don’t mind leaving. Perhaps it’s best. Before your father comes to expect anything more from either of us…’
Vicenzo reacted strongly to her words, her concern for his father striking him deeply. ‘No, Cara. I won’t let you leave like this. You need to rest and recuperate. You must admit to that at least.’ His gaze flicked down over her from her head to her toes, and he swore softly again. ‘You’re dead on your feet and you look as pale as a ghost.’
At that moment, as if her body was in league with Vicenzo, a wave of dizziness came over her and she swayed slightly. In an instant Vicenzo was there, making her sit on the bed. ‘That’s it. No arguments, Cara—please, just for now. I’m going to get Lucia to come up here
with some food and to help you get ready for bed, and then you must sleep.’
Cara tried to protest, but in all honesty she was overcome with everything. She was barely aware of Vicenzo leaving, or Lucia returning with some steaming fragrant pasta and juice and bread. The older woman kindly helped her to change into a T-shirt, supervised her eating some food and all but tucked her into bed.
Cara was asleep when Vicenzo came silently back into the room a little later.
He sat in a chair in the corner for a long time, his chin resting on steepled fingers as he watched her sleeping form in the bed. Cara Brosnan was an enigma. She was either the gold-digging, arch manipulator sister of her equally corrupt brother…or else she was something that Vicenzo had no frame of reference for. He remembered her assertion the night she’d had the miscarriage that the reality of her life had been different. One thing was certain. He wasn’t letting her go anywhere any time soon—not till he’d got to the bottom of who she really was.
Cara was a lot weaker after the miscarriage than she had thought she would be, and had to conclude that it must be a combination of losing her brother, the stress of learning she was pregnant, and the fruitless and wearying job searching that had worn her down. It was all hitting her now, and she found that each day by early evening she was exhausted, invariably taking to her bed at the same time as Silvio.
Almost three weeks seemed to pass in a hazy blur of this routine as she recuperated. Vicenzo was unfailingly polite, yet distant. He never mentioned the debt, or her departure. She came to find great solace in Silvio, and would spend time with him every day—reading, or playing chess, or talking easily about anything and everything.
Doppo, Allegra’s dog, had also proved to be an ally, trailing Cara everywhere with an air of devotion that Cara knew had to be in part because he was missing his mistress. Nevertheless, he was a comfort. Vicenzo would sometimes appear suddenly, after a couple of days’ absence in Rome or elsewhere, and Cara could never stop the jolt of sensation that ran through her. It was getting harder to ignore as her strength returned.
One evening after Silvio had gone to bed, Cara went out onto the terrace with a cup of tea. She faltered mid-step when she saw Vicenzo sitting at the wrought-iron table drinking coffee. He was glowering into the cup, but looked up when he heard her.
Cara’s heart started unsteadily. ‘I’m sorry…’ She turned to go.
He stood and said, ‘No, wait.’