Chapter One
London, Summer.
“Christo, Alessia. What the hell are you doing here?”
Great question. She stared at her ex-husband, anger making her want to push his chest, desire running rampant in her body even now, five years after their divorce.
“Are you busy?”
Massimo issued a tight frown, looking over his shoulder for a second before opening the door wider. “No.” He waved a hand into the apartment and Alessia hesitated for the briefest moment before stepping through the door. She’d only come here once during their marriage – the penthouse in London – but still it evoked memories of a time she would prefer to forget.
“How are you?”
Oh, great. He was using the same damned tone everyone had been using all week. How are you? Walking on eggshells like she was about to crumple into a heap just because she’d been dumped. Again.
This time wasn’t a divorce. It wasn’t like her breakup with Massimo.
It was both better and worse. Worse because Sam had left her two weeks before their wedding. Better because she’d been smarter this time around, selecting her second husband carefully, choosing someone she liked but didn’t care about so deeply that he had the power to truly wound her.
Massimo had taught her a lesson she never intended to forget.
“Fine. You?” The terse question flicked from her lips on autopilot – it was the polite response, but she didn’t really care.
“Fine. Alessia, it’s two o’clock on a Friday morning. Why aren’t you asleep?”
Was it really so late? She’d been walking for hours then. Distractedly, she shrugged out of the lightweight denim jacket she wore, not noticing the way his eyes dropped to her shoulders and then lower to the generous curves of her breasts, highlighted by the soft cotton of her singlet top.
“Why aren’t you?”
“Did you come here to repeat questions back to me?”
He prompted, a cynical smile lifting his lips. Damn it! She hated him. She hated him, Sam, all damned men in that moment. “Do you have any gin?”
“You don’t drink gin.”
“I didn’t drink gin, when we were married. I do now. Is that okay?”
He lifted his hands placatingly. “Si, certo.”
His stride was long as he cut across the elegant entrance foyer, stepping into a thickly carpeted and sumptuous lounge area. The bar was in the corner. He pulled two glasses from the cabinet and half-filled them with ice.
“How do you take it?”
“Soda and lime.”
He dipped his head in silent acceptance of that, his long, lean fingers deftly mixing the drinks. Beyond him, floor to ceiling windows showed a stunning view of London, twinkling with lights despite the lateness of the hour.
“Maddie told me what happened,” he murmured, referring to his recently-acquired sister-in-law, a woman Alessia happened to think of as a good friend.
“As I said, you were bound to hear. If not from Maddie, from my father.”
Massimo’s smile was more of a grimace. “Your father and I don’t discuss you, Alessia. It’s…better for us both.”
A sense of failure and pain made her lose her breath for a second. The day she’d told her dad she was divorcing his golden boy Massimo had been like switching a light off for the older man. Alessia was an only child but if her father could have had a son, it would have been Massimo. It was something he’d never bothered to hide. Their marriage had made him elated, their failure to speedily conceive a grandchild something he brought up every time she saw him during their marriage. Alessia had often fantasised about telling her father that Massimo had no interest in touching his wife, much less sleeping with her.
Unconsciously she pulled herself up to her full height, looking at Massimo with cool derision. “Nor do we discuss you.”
Massimo’s eyes glittered, black like coal. Alessia held his gaze as long as she could and then stepped forward, wrapping her fingers around one of the glasses of gin.
“Why did you break up?”
“We didn’t break up. I was dumped. Again.”
The words were hollow. Pain vibrated through Alessia.
“Did he say why?” Massimo prompted, picking his own glass up but staying right where he was.
Unexpectedly, tears pricked Alessia’s eyes. She kept looking towards the skyline rather than risking a glance at Massimo and showing him how she felt. But of course he saw. He was Massimo Montebello – intelligent, observant, and perceptive to a fault.
Except when it came to her.
“Just that he didn’t love me anymore.”
The only response was a slightly louder breath sound from Massimo. Alessia braced for the words of sympathy – how tired she was of hearing sympathy from well-meaning friends and family.
“Did you love him?”
She shouldn’t have been surprised. Hadn’t she just been reflecting on how perceptive he was? Leave it to Massimo to pinpoint the most salient detail.
“Do you think that’s any of your business?”
She heard ice chink
against the sides of his glass as he took a sip. “You’ve come to my place at two in the morning after God knows how long since I last saw you. Don’t you think I get a bit of latitude with what I ask?”
“No.” She tilted her face to his, anger firming to resolution. She’d come here with one purpose in mind. She wasn’t going to be side-tracked. “I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Fine, we’ll change the subject.”