The nickname sounded like an endearment as his voice came out on a husky rasp.
‘Like what?’ I asked.
‘Like you want me,’ he said. ‘Because I’m screwed up enough right now to take you up on the offer and to hell with the consequences.’
Excitement and yearning leapt in my heart and I told him the truth I’d locked inside me for far too long. ‘But I do want you, Alexi. I always have. And I don’t care about the consequences.’
The helicopter touched down on the helipad, jolting me out of my reverie.
Stop it. Stop thinking about that night. About the man you thought you knew.
I rubbed my hands over my face, then gripped my bag tightly enough to score the leather as the big black machine’s blades whirred to a stop.
This trip was going to be hard enough to negotiate without me reliving the painful past. I needed to control the memories and the desire that came with them.
A young man appeared from the back entrance of the house to greet me. I took careful breaths to steady my nerves and the inappropriate heat as he helped me down from the helicopter and took my bag.
‘Mademoiselle Simpson, I am Pierre Dupont, Monsieur Galanti’s assistant. I hope your journey was good?’
‘Yes, very, thanks,’ I replied, even though the memory of the journey was a blur now—the chauffeur-driven car to the airport, the flight on Team Galanti’s private jet, and the subsequent helicopter ride—my mind still anchored in the past.
I shook my head, trying to jog the memories loose.
‘Monsieur Galanti is awaiting your arrival with his legal team,’ Pierre said as he ushered me into the house. The familiar smell hit me—a mix of lemon polish, old wood and fresh flowers reminding me, not just of my childhood, but also my mother and her titanic efforts to make the imposing, ornate property a welcoming, homely place despite the anguish that had lurked inside.
I swallowed past the choking sensation in my throat.
Time to get a grip, Belle.
I’d indulged myself enough already. This wasn’t the home I’d once known. I was entering enemy territory. And Alexi wasn’t my lover any more—if he ever had been—he was my adversary.
Instead of leading me to Gustavo’s old office in the east wing of the house, a place where I knew Alexi had often been ‘disciplined’ by his father as a teenager, Pierre directed me up the stairs to a suite of bright, airy rooms on the first floor. I recognised the door leading to the sunlit terrace immediately, because no one had been allowed to enter this section of the house when I had lived in the villa’s grounds as a child.
Because these rooms had belonged to Gustavo’s wife, Amelie.
As Pierre opened the door to her former salon, sunshine glinted on the office’s modern furniture, but it was the silhouette of the man in the far corner staring through the salon’s terrace doors that got all my attention.
Dressed in an expertly tailored business suit which accentuated his tall, lean frame, Alexi had his back to me. He didn’t move but tension rippled across his shoulder blades as I was introduced to the four other men in suits who sat in front of his desk.
One of them, a distinguished man in his fifties, offered his hand with a friendly smile. ‘Mademoiselle Simpson, I am Etienne Severo, Monsieur Galanti’s lead attorney.’
I took his hand and introduced myself, but my gaze remained glued to Alexi as he finally turned.
The sun cast his face into shadow, making it impossible to gauge his reaction. Was he bitter, angry, as wary as I was about this meeting? My heart thudded in my chest, along with the brutal heat that refused to die.
He nodded his own greeting as he walked around his desk. But, as Etienne Severo suggested we sit down so he could outline Monsieur Galanti’s plans, Alexi interrupted him.
‘So you came?’ His voice was flat, but I didn’t sense anger in the tone so much as contempt. ‘I didn’t think you’d have the guts.’
I blinked, taken aback by his hostility even though I had expected it. ‘I want to try and make this right and help you form a relationship with your son.’
One sceptical eyebrow rose up Alexi’s forehead.
‘Do you really?’ Disdain and mistrust dripped from his lips. ‘And how exactly do you propose to do that when I have missed the formative years of his life through your actions?’
The edge of anger and judgement was rapier-sharp now. So the gloves were already off, if they had ever been on.
I could try to defend my silence or simply ignore the barb—his question after all was a rhetorical one—but this meeting was supposed to be about Cai, not me. And not our previous liaison. So I attempted to answer honestly.