That was how she was made.
And, maledizione, he had hurt her for loving him.
Refusing to waste another moment, Raphael choppered himself to Gio’s estate instead of being stuck in traffic.
“She’s not here,” Giovanni mumbled from the sitting lounge even before Raphael could ask the question.
Gio looked tired. Raphael took a seat next to him, his throat closing up. “I ruined it all, didn’t I?” He buried his face in his hands. “I… I should have never interfered. I shouldn’t have forced—”
“I never intended to hurt her, Gio. I have been a fool, ten times everything you told me I was becoming. But I didn’t listen.”
“You see, you and I both misjudged Pia. We thought just because she’s soft-spoken and generous to a fault, she needed us to look after her, to treat her as if she were a child. But she is tougher than even my Lucia, I think. Only a strong woman could forgive the hurt we caused her.”
Raphael jerked his head up. Hope burned a hole through him. “What do you mean? Is she talking to you again? Has she come back from her…friend’s house?” He almost choked on that word.
That she had moved to her carpenter friend Antonio’s house had been a physical blow.
Even split up as they had been—permanently, in her mind—he knew Pia still loved him. That Pia would never just fall out of love with him.
Still, every time he had thought of her sharing a small studio with him—and it had been every waking minute—a possessive urge to throw her over his shoulder and bring her back to his apartment had overpowered him.
“Si, she has returned. She said she was too worried about me but it didn’t mean she has forgiven me. I am worried about her.”
“Why?”
Gio didn’t quite meet his eyes. “I promised her I would stay out of this mess between you and her.” He sighed. “So I didn’t send for you even though… I cannot say more, Raphael. Are you here to fix your mistakes?”
“Si. And to beg her to forgive me, if need be.”
“But she’s very hurt. If you do not love her, you will do it again.”
“Giovanni, trust me this time to get it right. Per favore.” Yet Gio stared at him doubtfully. When had his reassurance not worked for Gio? What the hell was he not saying?
Had he lost Pia?
He shot up from his seat, his nerves shot to hell for the first time in his life. “Where is she?”
“In her bedroom. I’m sure her nap is done.”
And since when the hell had Pia needed to nap in the afternoon? The woman was either studying or carving or walking or making friends or learning Italian.
He was already at the foot of the steps when Gio’s words stopped him. “Remember what you did and how much she has to forgive. Do not get angry. Do not let your ego get in the way.”
Gio’s warning ringing in his ears, Raphael took three stairs at a time, pushed open the door to Pia’s bedroom and strode in.
She was standing leaning against the wall, looking out into the balcony and turned immediately when he closed the door behind him with a soft thud.
And paled when her sleep-mussed gaze found him.
Something was different about her, he would have known even without Gio’s cryptic warnings.
She seemed to have shrunk three sizes in just a few weeks. Not that she had much weight to lose to begin with. Her hair was piled in that knot tightly over the top of her head and it pulled her skin tighter over her features.
Dio mio, she looked as if a hard breeze could blow her over.
Had he done this to her?
“Christo, Pia, what the hell have you done to yourself?”
He rushed to her, desperate for action, desperate to set things to rights.
But she moved back from him, her chin stubbornly tilted. Her mouth narrowed. Only her eyes, her gorgeous brown eyes reflected her emotions. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk to me as if I were an imbecile. Or better, please leave, if that’s all you have to say.”
He couldn’t bear to have her look at him like that.
Couldn’t bear the idea of something being wrong with her. Nausea filled his throat. “Are you ill?” The thought of some unnamed disease doing this to her threatened to take him out at the knees.