‘I will see you tomorrow, bella notte,’ he murmured, his voice as husky as my wayward thoughts. ‘Sweet dreams.’
As he walked away, the yearning surged and I knew this relationship was going to be much tougher to negotiate than I had ever thought possible.
I might have grown up in the last five years, but unfortunately I hadn’t grown immune to Alexi Galanti. Not even close.
And now he knew it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Alexi
AS I STOOD on the balcony of my suite of rooms, I imagined Belle in the cottage where I had insisted she be accommodated after the combustible moment we’d shared before her meeting with Etienne and his team.
The guest house on the edge of the property was as far away from me as it was possible to put her. But, as I gazed down onto the pool terrace below my balcony, the site of our torrid liaison all those years ago, the night we’d made our son, I knew geographical distance was not going to control the yearning still pounding through my system.
What an arrogant fool I’d been to think she had no hold on me any more. How could I have kidded myself that my demand to bring her here—a place where I’d rarely stayed since my brother’s death—was all about the boy? A clever tactic to unsettle her which would help me get the upper hand in any negotiations...
Yes, it had unsettled her. But it had also unsettled me.
So much for having control of this damn situation. I felt less in control now than I had when I’d met her again a week ago and discovered I had a son. The night was warm, but not as warm as my skin, or the pulsing ache in my groin which had refused to subside ever since our kiss in my office four hours ago.
Kiss—who was I kidding? That hadn’t been a kiss, it had been an explosion of need, desire and something else. Something I definitely did not want to name, let alone think about. But how could I not, when my balcony gave me an uninterrupted view of the pool—the place where I had lost myself once before?
I wet my dry throat with a sip of the vintage Cognac I usually kept for special occasions. The liquor burned my throat as I swallowed. My skin felt tight and hot, my heart beating an erratic rhythm.
When I’d received the results of the DNA test and discovered that the boy was mine, that Remy was not the father, my feelings had been mixed. First shock, then anger that I had been denied this knowledge for so long, but underneath it all had been a strange sense of joy which I could no more explain than my incendiary reaction to Belle’s touch this afternoon.
I was not parent material, had never even considered becoming a father. But my feelings towards the boy, towards becoming a father so unexpectedly, were nowhere near as volatile as my feelings for his mother.
Especially as I now knew the truth, not just about her virginity, but about Remy.
Had I always known my brother was gay? I think I had. It sickened me to realise all the signs had been there. I had spent the last few hours—ever since Belle’s revelation—recalling the conversations I’d had with Remy about dating in the last few years of his life. The enquiries he’d avoided answering, the jokes he’d laughed at with a strained smile—even our final conversation when Remy had seemed so pleased about my one-night stand with his best friend which I had been determined to believe was a cover for some secret heartbreak.
Remy had been showing me the truth all along and I had failed to see it.
Was that the real reason I had been torn apart by guilt after his death—because I’d tried to blame Belle when the only person who had really betrayed Remy was me? Not by sleeping with his girl, but by refusing to see him as he really was. By avoiding that truth because it had been easier than having to deal with it—having to support him and defend him against our father’s prejudices.
Maybe Belle had been a coward not to tell me about my son. But I had been an even bigger coward, not supporting Remy, not ensuring he knew he could be honest with me.
I stared down at the pool, the lights giving the water a bright-blue glow, and the knots in my stomach released. I could almost hear Remy’s voice—laughing, cheeky, kind and optimistic—telling me to let go of the guilt.
Belle was right. What the hell was the point of feeling guilty now about how I had let my brother down? I couldn’t go back and fix the mistakes I’d made.
We knew.
My stomach tensed again. I slugged back the rest of the Cognac.
I was not going there, or I’d only feel more confused. More angry. More humiliated. I’d kidded myself that I was protecting my brother when all the time he—and Belle, with her silence about his sexuality—had been protecting me.
I reached for the bottle to refill my glass. But then my hand paused.
Not the answer, Alexi.
Alcohol was never the answer. I, of all people, ought to know that.
I slammed down the glass and glanced back at the pool. I’d gone down there that night to cool off because I’d been so mad at my father for turning to drink, first and foremost, and at my mother for abandoning Remy and me all those years ago. But right now a cold swim felt like a better solution than sulking in my room and getting drunk.
The memories were going to haunt me anyway—there was no avoiding them. Heading down to the pool now and diving into that frigid water wasn’t going to make them any worse. And it might finally kill the heat that had been messing with my head ever since I’d turned and spotted Belle standing in my mother’s old parlour this afternoon—her eyes wary, intelligent and guarded.