Olivia focused on the view beyond the window, doing everything she could not to react, not to recoil, when the truth was the idea of another man ever making love to her was like setting herself alight. She couldn’t fathom it, and she knew, in that moment, that he was wrong. Luca Giovanardi would likely be the only man she ever slept with.
The water rippled against Olivia’s breasts, the Lycra of her bathing suit turning an almost copper colour in the pale moonlight. Positano was a patchwork of lights beneath them, the view of the city and, beyond it, the ocean quite mesmerising. Luca came to rest beside her, standing easily against the pool’s tiled bottom.
He cast her a smile and the moonlight met his face, bathing it in silver, so he was breathtakingly beautiful. It was an almost perfect moment. Almost, because Olivia couldn’t blot out their conversation over lunch. She couldn’t ignore the ease with which he faced the prospect of their separation, while she was aware, all the time, of the beating of a drum in the back of her mind, a constant, rhythmic motion, propelling her through time, almost against her will.
In less than a week, she’d leave Italy, and Luca. She had to. It was what they’d agreed. It was what he still wanted. And what do you want?
She wanted, with all her heart, to stay. It terrified Olivia to admit that to herself, but she wasn’t an idiot. She knew what had been happening the last few weeks. Every look, every touch, every moment they shared had been drumming deep into her soul, making him a part of her in a way she’d sworn she’d never allow any man to be.
That was why she had to leave in a week.
Marriage to a man like Luca was too dangerous. He was too much—too easy to love, and she knew what love did. Her parents had shown her again and again. It was the most powerfully destructive force in the universe, capable of wreaking so much havoc and anger. She’d never allow that to happen to them. It would hurt like hell to leave Luca but at least she could leave while things were still great between them, and carry with her cherished memories of their time together. That was so much better than waiting for their love to turn to hate. She couldn’t bear that.
‘I came to live with my grandmother, after my divorce. I used to love this view.’
‘Used to?’
‘Still do,’ he murmured, and her heart lurched in her chest.
‘What was it like, living here?’
‘It was exactly what I needed,’ he said, after a beat, and she understood his hesitation—that he was contemplating pushing her to share what was on her mind. She was relieved he didn’t.
‘In what way?’
‘Here, I was able to immerse myself in nature for a time, to strip everything away and focus on simply existing. I would walk to Positano almost every day, take out an old timber boat, catch fish that Pietra and I would eat for lunch, right here on this terrace. I would free dive for scallops, and swim through the caves at the edge of Positano. I walked until my skin burned from the sun, and until my legs were like jelly. I did everything I could to silence my brain, my thoughts, to blot out the real world.’
‘What about your friends?’
A snarl curled the corner of his mouth. ‘My father’s actions affected almost everyone I knew.’
Anger pulsed in her veins. ‘So they took it out on you?’
A muscle jerked in his jaw. ‘Many lost their fortunes.’
‘But you repaid them.’
He lifted his shoulders.
‘Your grandmother mentioned one friend who stood by you. I can’t remember—’
‘Alejandro.’
‘You’re still friends?’
‘More like brothers,’ Luca agreed. ‘He was the only one. I will always be grateful to him, for standing with me.’ He turned away from her, his eyes roaming the horizon. She followed his gaze, the beauty stinging now. It was the last time she’d see it.
‘Thank you for bringing me here.’ Her voice was hoarse; she cleared her throat. ‘I like your grandmother, a lot. I’m sorry I won’t get to know her better.’
The air between them grew taut. She heard the unspoken implication of that sentence. The inevitable was coming.
‘She would have liked to get to know you, too.’
‘When will you tell her about our divorce?’
His features gave nothing away, but he turned towards her slowly, his eyes probing hers, as if to read something in her question, something she couldn’t see or say.
‘When I have to.’