Rico remembered all too clearly how he’d felt when he’d first seen the picture of his brother in the press, the sense of something missing slipping into place. Carla had been right about that, and although it pained him to admit it he was beginning to wonder if she might have been right about other things. Such as the importance and the significance of family. The basic human need for connection. He’d always operated alone and relied solely on himself—he’d even found having to put himself in the hands of medical experts in the aftermath of his accident frustrating and annoying—but perhaps that was what he’d subconsciously been seeking while taking ever-increasing risks and continually pushing himself to do and be more. Maybe that was what he’d always wanted but had been too wary of being exploited and used again to actually reach out and grab. And so perhaps it wasn’t the accident on its own that had affected him, but seeing the photo of Finn in conjunction with it.
Rico had never been bothered by the idea of his own mortality, but it looked as if he was now. He didn’t want to die alone in some mountain range. He didn’t want to die full stop. His nihilistic approach to life no longer appealed. He didn’t want to just fill the days with things that would merely pass the time. Risks now needed to be calculated and recklessness curtailed. He wanted to live.
And if everything now running through his head was quite possibly true, then wouldn’t it be a good idea to establish contact with Finn? Couldn’t he do with allowing someone else into his life and vice versa? How would he know if the gaping void where his soul should be could be filled if he didn’t give it a chance?
At least if Finn had been searching for him for months, the likelihood of being rejected by him was low. His brother’s email, which had been lurking in his inbox, repeatedly snagging his attention until he’d had no option but to open it and which had contained an invitation to visit at any time, had certainly been encouraging.
Actually meeting his brother needn’t open the can of worms he’d feared, he told himself repeatedly. And even if it did, what made him automatically assume he wouldn’t be able to handle it? Wasn’t it a bit cowardly to keep hiding himself away under the pretext of being better off alone? Was anyone better off wholly alone and cut off?
Well, he was about to find out.
Exactly two weeks after he’d first made the trip here, Rico found himself once more at Finn Calvert’s door. Not skulking beneath a tree, but actually on the doorstep, on another Saturday afternoon in June.
For a moment he stood there, stock still, his heart thumping so hard and fast it reverberated in his ears, his every muscle tight with tension, anticipation and trepidation. Despite his efforts to downplay the significance of what was about to happen, it was huge. With every passing second his brother and a life irrevocably changed came that bit closer. If he wanted to, this was his last chance to walk away. But he didn’t. He was done with the life he used to lead. He and Finn had an appointment and this time he was going to keep it.
And it would be fine, Rico assured himself, taking a deep breath and stiffening his spine as he banged the huge brass knocker twice against the door. This brother of his dominated the hospitality industry and one didn’t get to a position like that by being sentimental. There wouldn’t be an overload of emotion. No one needed that. And in the unlikely event a heart-to-heart did appear to be in the offing, if things moved too fast all he had to do was deflect it and slow them down.
The seconds ticked interminably by, and then came the sound of footsteps
, just about audible above the thunder of his pulse. The latch lifted and the door swung open and there, on the other side of the threshold, stood his brother. His identical brother, physically at least, bar a few superficial differences. He’d been right about that. Expecting it, even, given how long he’d spent looking at the photo over the last couple of days.
What he hadn’t been expecting, however, was the sense of recognition that suddenly slammed into him, smashing through his exterior and striking at his marrow, crushing the air from his lungs and leeching the strength from his knees.
Staring into his brother’s eyes was like looking in on himself. The urge to stride over and give him a hug roared up through him, along with the sudden extraordinary concern that Finn might not like him, none of which made any sense, when he hadn’t hugged anyone in over twenty years and it didn’t matter what Finn thought of him.
‘Federico Rossi,’ he said, getting a grip of the emotions running riot inside him and holding out a hand to forestall any attempt at something closer from the man who was staring back at him with a gaze containing just as much shock and curiosity that his own had to have. ‘Rico.’
‘Finn Calvert,’ his brother said, taking it. ‘Come in.’
‘Grazie,’ he replied, glancing down at the familiar fingers gripping his with similar strength for a moment before forcing himself to let go.
‘You have no idea how pleased I am to meet you,’ said Finn, breaking into an enviably easy, genuine smile as he stood back to allow Rico to pass. ‘I’ve been looking for you for months. I thought Carla was mad when she told us she was going to Venice to get you to change your mind, but I can’t deny I’m glad it worked.’
His heart lurched at the mention of her name, but he swiftly contained it and got a grip. ‘How much did she tell you about me?’
‘Not a lot. A few basic facts. She said she hadn’t got very far.’
She’d got very far indeed. Too far. At which point he’d pushed her away. Which had been absolutely the right thing to do. He had no business wondering how she’d been, he reminded himself, biting back the question on the tip of his tongue. No business knowing he didn’t deserve her loyalty but being inexplicably pleased he had it anyway.
‘But she did mention that we were identical.’
‘Not quite,’ Rico replied, snapping himself out of it and forcing himself to focus.
‘No. How did you get the scars?’
‘A misspent youth.’
‘I look forward to hearing all about it,’ Finn said, opening the door to the study that only a fortnight ago had put the fear of God into Rico, and heading on in. ‘I had one of those briefly. Drink?’
‘Sure.’
‘Take a seat.’
‘Thank you.’
Selecting one of the two wing-backed armchairs in front of the fireplace, Rico sat down and glanced around. Strange to think that this room with all its photos had once had him running for the hills, while today he could take it all in with relative equanimity, even if the sight of so much clutter was making him inwardly wince. Even stranger to think that where once he’d had no interest in his brother, now he could barely contain the curiosity ripping through him. The force with which questions were ricocheting around his head, multiplying with every second, was making his pulse race.
‘How do you feel about milk?’ said Finn, bending down at the sideboard and opening a cupboard.