The flowers she had picked from the colourful gardens and arranged in a vintage mason jar had seemed to mock her, despite the fact it was a thoughtful gesture she included in each and every one of the six little cottages.
She heard the car long before she saw it. A quirk of the driveway, the dip in its middle, sent echoes reaching towards the house. She heard the engine, and her pulse began to fire.
Her fingers shook as she reached behind her back and unhooked the apron. On autopilot, she hung it over a nearby chair; and then, with a gnawing sense of inevitability, she looked.
Beyond the hedge of frangipani trees, down the sloping gravel drive, and over the cresting hill, she saw it.
Him.
For even though the windows were tinted, she knew. There was something in the driver’s air of casual arrogance that immediately communicated his presence to her.
Three years after leaving, Cristiano was back.
Fear, anticipation, and something far darker and more terrifying, flooded her system.
The most important conversation of her life was looming, and she could no longer put if off.
Her mouth was dry; she was powerless to turn away.
The car was black, and as it drew nearer to the house, she could see that it was a Range Rover – undoubtedly a luxury model. The windows were so dark they concealed all detail.
And yet she knew.
She kept her hands by her side, and her gut rolled as though she’d crested through the loop of a rollercoaster.
He ignored the car spaces to the side of the house and pulled up directly in front of the stairs. Did it look the same to him now as it did then? She tried to remember the first time he’d come to Casa Celli. But those memories were vague. Despite the fact she had loved him completely, there was no sharp, clear first memory. Just an impression of having been hit by a bus from the instant she’d known him. Her whole life had tipped on its axis, rendering her powerless to resist the force of what was happening to them.
The car stopped gently in front of the house, but nothing else happened.
The waiting was excruciating.
She leaned unconsciously forward, peering closer to the window, as though willpower and curiosity could combine to hasten his appearance.
Get a grip, she muttered inwardly, though her hands tightened together in front of her slender waist.
The clock ticked on, and it sounded clunky and loud in the emptiness of the old farm kitchen.
Her eyes moved to it compulsively and her stomach dipped again.
Tick, tock.
Ava couldn’t lean any closer or her nose would be pressed against the glass.
The driver’s door opened suddenly and with the palpable confidence that was Cristiano’s stock in trade.
She startled backwards instantly, as though he’d whipped her.
Her heart was pounding; her limbs were shaking.
He was on the wrong side of the car for Ava to easily see him. The first view she had was of his head. Dark hair, thick and glowing with sunlight.
She held her breath, and pressed her lips together. Her heart was hammering so fast she thought it might leap out of her body.
The car door shut with a resounding thud, and then she saw him.
Her gasp was reasonable. He had been her first and only lover, and he had haunted her dreams every night since he’d left.
And now, here he was, the embodiment of so much of her life.