‘Did he hit you?’
‘No, no. He wasn’t like that.’ A tremulous smile tilted her lips for a brief moment before dropping away into a grimace. ‘But I would still describe him, if I absolutely had to discuss him at all, as abusive. Financially abusive—he gave my mother an allowance while he lived, enough to maintain her to the physical standard he expected,’ she said with withering disapproval, ‘but not enough for anything more. She couldn’t do anything without his permission—buy anything, travel anywhere. She was his virtual prisoner.’
The original hatred he’d felt for the unknown Thomas Thornton-Rose grew. ‘And when he died, she was still kept under his thumb, by the restrictive conditions of his will.’
‘Yes.’ Olivia’s lips twisted. ‘I don’t think my mother knew how to react to that. We’ve all carried on just as we did when he was alive, the same dysfunctional household, the same attitudes, the same restrictions.’
‘On you?’
Her eyes met his, and he could see the battle being waged behind her eyes. ‘On Sienna and me, yes.’
‘Such as?’
She pleated the napkin more furiously now, her fingers working overtime even as her face held a determinedly placid expression—an expression she fought hard to keep in place, he suspected. ‘Our father was—’
She broke off when the waiter appeared, brandishing a glass of Prosecco and a glass of red wine for Luca. When they were alone again, he nodded once, urging her to continue.
She hesitated, and he stayed very still, aware that she was sharing something she didn’t relish speaking about, but also impatient to understand what her life was like.
‘He was strict. I think he was worried we’d turn out like her, so he did everything he could to discourage that. Where he saw similarities, he belittled them.’
‘And are either of you like your mother?’
‘I’m her spitting image,’ Olivia murmured softly, not meeting his eyes. ‘If you were to see a photograph of her in her early twenties, you’d think it was me.’
‘And so your father didn’t approve.’
‘He downplayed looks, generally, while at the same time expecting my mother to dress and look like a beauty queen at all times. It’s so hard to explain. Someone like my father is very manipulative—a contradiction in many ways, and a total narcissist. That was his strength. We never knew where we stood with him, nor what would please him.’
She sipped her Prosecco then replaced the glass, running her finger over the condensation.
‘For my twelfth birthday, I had a small party—just a few friends over to watch music videos, nothing particularly lavish. But I got dressed up. I did my hair and put on some of Mum’s make-up. I’ll never forget his reaction.’
She shivered, turning back towards the water, their vantage point affording an excellent view of the exquisite Basilica di Santa Maria della Salute. It shimmered gold, casting its reflection onto the Grand Canal.
‘He was angry?’
‘Coldly disapproving,’ she corrected, ‘but with an undertone of such venom, I’ve never forgotten it.’ She pushed a smile to her lips, as if to change the subject. ‘He didn’t speak to me for days.’
‘What about your sister?’ He swerved the conversation sideways, instead, not ready to move on from the matter of her parents, but understanding Olivia needed a break from discussing herself and the ways in which she was parented.
‘Sienna?’
‘What were they like to her?’
‘Sienna is—’ Now her smile was genuine. ‘She’s the most darling person you’ll ever meet. She’s funny and kind, clumsy as anything, loyal to a fault. Have you ever met a person whose eyes literally sparkled? Sienna’s like that. It’s as though a thousand stars have been crushed into dust that’s been poured into her eyes. She glows with kindness. I love her to bits, Luca.’ The intensity in her eyes reached out and took hold of him. ‘She’s why I had to do this. Oh, I want my mother to finally be free of my father’s oppression, and I want her to have the security of a home, but it’s Sienna who just deserves so much better. For all my parents made my life a living hell, it was ten times worse for her.’
‘In what way?’
Olivia sipped her drink once more, searching for the right words. ‘Sienna and I are total opposites. I’m very like my mother, in looks and emotions, I think. Where my mother and I understood what my father was like, and how to keep our heads low and avoid conflict, Sienna was like...a puppy dog, always bouncing around, looking for affection. It drove him crazy. He came down on her like a tonne of bricks, trying to mould her, to change her.’ She winced, hating how it had felt to see that, hating that Sienna could never learn to just stay out of their father’s way. ‘And so my mother, trying to keep the peace, would be very hard on Sienna, unnecessarily so, criticising her for everything, even things beyond her control, like the colour of her hair or when she gained a little puppy fat. And I—’ She swallowed, and now tears did moisten her eyes, so a strange lurching sensation took hold of Luca. ‘I’m embarrassed to say it, but I used to be glad sometimes that it was Sienna who was in trouble, because when it was her, it couldn’t be me.’ She screwed up her face. ‘I can’t believe I told you that. I’ve never confided that to another soul. You must think I’m a terrible person.’
‘You? No, cara.I think you’re a by-product of your home life, and that you developed the skills that were necessary to get by.’ He hesitated a moment, but the moment warranted honesty. ‘I think you’re very brave.’
She blinked rapidly, to clear her tears, but one escaped regardless, making its way down her cheek. Luca reached over, catching it before it could drop to the table, smudging it over her soft, pale skin, then kept his hand where it was a moment, holding her face, and her gaze.
‘No one deserves to live like that.’
Her expression softened for a moment, and then it was as if Olivia visibly pulled a shawl around herself, a cloak of cool distance. ‘Lots of people have it much worse. He was never physically aggressive, and we grew up living a very privileged life, as you’ve pointed out. Hughenwood House, for all it’s somewhat run-down these days, is still a stunning country home, with an impressive history.’