“Good.” His eyes pinned her to the bed. “You are my prisoner.”
His words ignited the flames that were embers in her belly. The flames she’d believed would never flare again, in the face of his disapproval and sense of betrayal.
He left the room, but only for a few moments. When he returned, it was with a tray of sandwiches and some fruit mince pies. A steaming cup of tea was perched precariously on the edge of the tray and she reached for it before it could slide off and scald him.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, grasping it in both hands.
“This is hardly gourmet fare, but I hope it will tide you over until breakfast.”
“It’s perfect,” she assured him. “I’m really not very hungry anyway.”
He nestled the tray onto the mattress and then surprised her by taking up the vacant side of the bed. He crossed his ankles and stared straight ahead. Non-threatening body language, yet she still felt like she was about to burst.
“I’ve learned to cook in the last three years.”
The statement appeared to come out of nowhere. She turned to face him, curious despite herself. “You have?”
“Yes. I spent four months in the south of France at a small but very old vineyard. The owner was an old woman. She did all the meals. I enjoyed talking to her about the history of the grapes. All manner of things.” He smiled as he thought of Martine and her dimly lit kitchen. “She talked, she cooked, and I watched. Eventually she trusted me enough to chop some things. Eventually to stir.”
“She trusted you enough to … stir?” She teased, biting into the sandwich.
“Martine was very proprietorial. But she took pity on me.”
“Why? Why should an old woman pity you?”
“She’d known heartbreak. She recognised it.”
Heartbreak! Ava’s own heart tore in her chest. What could she say?
He eyed her carefully, trying to see what effect – if any – his words had on her. “I went there a week after you’d come to Rio. I’d been putting it off. The vineyard was too small for my interest, really. But after you came to see me, and I had turned you away, I feared I was going mad. That if I didn’t find something to do immediately I would … I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought I would do.” He shook his head. “So I went to France and I met Martine.”
Ava’s throat was clogged with tears but she refused to give into them. “You should have come here,” she intoned flatly.
“To see you happily married?” He chided softly. He handed a sandwich to her and she shook her head.
“Mince pie, please.”
He smothered his smile as he made the substitution.
“What did Martine teach you?”
“Many things,” he said with a nostalgic expression on his handsome face.
Ava bit into the mince pie and felt happiness burst in her chest. “Amazing,” she said once she’d swallowed the first mouth full.
Cristiano studied her, his eyes drinking in every single detail of her face, before reaching over and stroking her upper lip. “Crumbs,” he said by way of explanation. But he didn’t remove his hand. He ran it gently over her lip and then sighed, pulling away from her with obvious effort.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” The question burst from Ava fully formed; she hadn’t even realised she was going to ask it.
His response was measured. “As opposed to?”
She drew in a shallow breath. “As opposed to what you said in the car. That day you found out about Milly.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. “What did I say to you, Ava?”
“You hated me.”
“Did I say that?” He wondered, staring at her face in profile.