Chapter Nine
Renzo strode across the foyer to his borrowed apartment. It was past time he moved back to his own place, but he’d put it off to spend time with Sonia.
Sonia. The thought of her was like effervescent wine, rushing and bubbling in his bloodstream. He shook his head. He’d only been away one night yet he’d missed her.
But he was back now. He grinned as he fitted the key in the door and pushed it open. His weariness after the drive from Tuscany and the evening peak traffic of Rome disintegrated at the thought of the welcome she’d give him. Sonia was nothing if not enthusiastic. The thought of her made his blood quicken and his groin grow weighted.
Renzo strode into the living room and found only emptiness. He dropped his bag and stalked into the kitchen. Nothing.
He was sure she’d be home by now. She hadn’t answered his calls but she often got caught up in work and he could only applaud her focus. When they were together she gave everything of herself. What more could he want?
Shrugging off his jacket, he headed for his bedroom, then, seeing it empty, kept going to hers, half-expecting to find her undressing. His pulse tripped on the thought, then slowed as he found the room empty.
Renzo was turning away when it struck him exactly how empty the room was. Usually there was a scatter of stuff across the bedside table. Hairbrush, a paperback and a spare sketchpad, that sort of thing.
Instead the table was pristine. He turned, surveying the lounge chair where she usually dropped her bag on the way in the door. Nothing.
So, she wasn’t home from work. That’s all. Yet, even as he spun on his foot towards the hall, Renzo couldn’t shake the sense that something wasn’t right.
On impulse he crossed to her bathroom and pushed the door open. No cosmetics. Not even a tissue. Everything gleamed, freshly cleaned and, he realised with a slam of sensation to the gut, there wasn’t a towel in sight.
Renzo froze, ignoring the welling sensation in his belly that felt like dread. She’d just been cleaning and hadn’t yet put fresh towels out.
Even so, he found himself pacing to the wardrobe. For a second he hesitated, arm outstretched. Then he wrenched the door open and saw...nothing.
No clothes or shoes. No suitcase. Absolutely nothing.
Seconds later he was in his own room, ripping open doors, hoping she’d simply moved her gear in with his.
But of course she hadn’t. Nevertheless he scoured the whole apartment, from the rooftop terrace to the spare room, looking for a note, anything from Sonia. He rang her but was sent straight to voice mail.
That’s when the churning in his belly turned to sharp talons scrabbling up into his chest, squeezing his lungs tight.
She’d gone and he had no idea where.
Had she seen those photos in the press? The story that went with them? The possibility stole the oxygen from his lungs. Till he realised how unlikely that was. Sonia didn’t read gossip. She barely had time for the news headlines.
Yet something terrible had happened. Something that had overset her so much she’d neglected to tell him her plans. His thoughts went to an accident, to the hospital. But no, if that were the case her belongings would still be here.
Sonia had moved out. Deliberately. Without telling him.
The buoyant mood he’d relished on the drive back to Rome vanished as realisation set in.
She’d abandoned him. Moved on with no explanation.
He scowled at the empty apartment, willing it to reveal her whereabouts, anger mounting at such callous disregard. But her actions didn’t match the woman he knew. Which was why fear knotted his insides.
He had to find her.
* * *
Sonia hurried down the street, head bent, trying to make up lost time. She’d barely slept last night. Not because the cheap hotel was on a noisy corner and she couldn’t get comfortable, but because her racing brain just wouldn’t switch off.
Unlike her phone, which she’d turned off yesterday when Renzo started calling. She didn’t want to speak with him. Not till she had a better command over herself. Preferably not ever.