He’d felt shame course through him, an emotion he wasn’t accustomed to, since he’d spent his life trying to be as honourable and honest as his father.
The woman he’d married had never looked at him with fear. She’d understood that, no matter how she provoked him, he was protective of women. He’d never resort to violence.
These past days had convinced Angelo that her amnesia was real. Either that or she’d become the best actress he’d ever met.
As a result, his suspicions had taken a back seat. It was pointless reminding himself she’d used and betrayed him. That woman was a far cry from the one before him.
He liked this new Ally who asked so many questions about his homeland and its customs. Who seemed intrigued by everything and eager to discover more.
The Alexa he’d known had been more interested in his income than local traditions. Was it time that had changed her or simply memory loss?
And why that panic in her voice now? What was so wonderful about traipsing after Enzo? In the past she’d never seemed to notice anyone else when Angelo was around, especially staff.
‘You can help Enzo later. It’s time for his lunch break.’
‘Oh, of course,’ she said immediately, taking off her hat and gloves and putting them on the laden wheelbarrow. ‘I hadn’t realised the time. I didn’t mean to keep him from his break.’
She approached Enzo, thanking him in halting Italian and winning an approving grin.
Angelo watched, intrigued. Enzo was Rosetta’s husband and knew the circumstances of Angelo’s failed marriage. Yet the older man’s response was warm.
She always was good at wrapping people around her little finger.
Angelo stifled the doubting voice as they walked towards the house. Ally wasn’t bluffing about the amnesia. She’d been an accomplished liar in the past but over this she was telling the truth. Whatever her reason for returning, and knowing her she had a reason, he pitied her predicament. Shame stabbed him, as he remembered the harsh way he’d treated her. He’d tried to make that up to her, offering the care an injured guest deserved, and she seemed to be improving, physically at least.
Yet he was intrigued about the bond between her and his gardener.
Everything about her fascinated him. She seemed at the same time so familiar and yet so changed.
‘You and Enzo get on well, considering he doesn’t speak English.’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose we have gardens in common. There’s nothing quite like being out amongst growing things, is there?’
Angelo met a sideways glance from guileless eyes and felt as if he’d walked into a wall.
It was the sort of comment he expected from his mother, who loved tending her roses and herbs. Not his ex.
Had she undergone a personality transplant?
His wife had been lively, sociable and good at getting on with people. But always, he’d learned, for a purpose. Never had she expressed an interest in anything as domesticated as gardening. As for sewing or altering clothes, Angelo wouldn’t have believed it except he’d heard it with his own ears.
This new Ally was a puzzle.
One he intended to solve.
More and more she disconcerted him. Even something as simple as walking beside her felt different. He was aware of the feminine contours of her body. Lusher and more pronounced than in the past. Maybe she wasn’t dieting so strictly these days? Had she given up modelling?
Nor did she seem as tall. That had unnerved him till he realised it had to be because she wore flat shoes or went barefoot, whereas in the past she’d worn heels, even lazing around the poolside.
Small things but unsettling.
For the first time in years, five years to be precise, Angelo felt he wasn’t in complete control of the situation. It wasn’t a sensation he liked.
‘So, you enjoy gardening,’ he said as they took their seats on the terrace looking over the sea.
A wide awning gave shade and, like yesterday, Ally took her time admiring the view and the urns perched on the balustrade that overflowed with bright flowers.
‘Apparently. I found it relaxing this morning. Besides, how could you not enjoy it with surroundings like these?’