She couldn’t live with the suspicion that her violin might not have been given willingly, being stolen instead. Her father’s lack of honesty had taught her the true importance of that moral quality. She’d never be like him. And this castle and Stefano Moretti might hold the truth that her Stradivarius hadn’t been handed over as a generous symbol of thanks but was actually the spoils of war.
It wasn’t hers to keep. It might never have been.
She didn’t know what she’d do if that was the truth, because the most important parts of her professional career had been spent playing it. Losing her violin would be like losing part of herself. She may as well cut off her arm. Was it too much to ask that the person she might have to relinquish it to would be someone who deserved it? Who’d value it as she did?
The door opened and Stefano walked in, carrying a tray. Any dark thoughts were swept away by the glorious smell of something sweet and chocolatey filling the room. Her mouth watered. Stefano placed the tray on the table, and handed her a cup filled with thick, dark hot chocolate. He’d pushed back the sleeves of his sweater, exposing strong, muscular forearms. The pianist in her orchestra had forearms like that, from hours of practice. They’d never really appealed—or so she’d thought. This man’s, though, with the tanned skin and all the dark hair... She could sit and contemplate their wonders for hours.
But illicit musings about her reluctant host weren’t going to get her anywhere. The hot chocolate, however... She clutched the cup in her hands, letting it warm her. Took a hefty sip of its creamy sweetness. Eyed the delicious-looking plate of food—a small selection of meats, cheese, bread.
She sighed with happiness. ‘Thank you.’
‘Prego.’Stefano sat in an armchair beside the glowing fire. ‘But I have some unfortunate news.’
He leaned back, one foot slung casually over his knee, a picture of masculinity. Nothing about him looked as if he was about to impart anything unfortunate. He appeared almost smug, with one eyebrow raised and the barest curve of his lips.
‘I’ve called Bruno, who tells me the snow has set in and it won’t be safe to retrieve your car...or you.’
Her heart raced—or that could just be all the sugar in her steaming drink. ‘For how long?’
He shrugged. ‘A few days. The roads are unpredictable when it snows. You’ll have to stay here until they’re passable. Black ice makes conditions treacherous.’
Stay in the castle. With the Count and no other people.
Tightness banded her chest, making it hard to breathe. She reached up and unzipped her puffer jacket a little, trying to get some air. ‘I knew there were good reasons I hated winter.’
‘I’m sorry. Bruno will have his snow plough out soon enough, but for now we’re at the mercy of the weather.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ she said. Though even in casual clothes the man in front of her looked so commanding that she was surprised he couldn’t control the weather’s whims with a flick of his hand. ‘Back in Australia I thought snow sounded romantic, you know? All pristine, white and soft-looking. I couldn’t wait to see it in real life, rather than in photographs.’
But the reality was all too different from her blissful fantasies of spending time in front of roaring fires, drinking hot chocolate, like she was now, and toasting marshmallows. The pervasive grey of it had sunk under her skin and sapped all happiness. Ever since the day she’d come home to their tiny Salzburg flat and found Viktor stoking the home fires with someone else. Even more humiliating, the woman was a viola player from the orchestra.
And if that wasn’t the last nail in the coffin of her own personalannus horribilis, it was the fact that Viktor now sat in the lead violinist’s chair instead of her. She had to wonder whether their relationship had meant anything to him at all. When she’d been pouring out her secret fears and insecurities to a man she believed she could trust, had he simply been mining them so he could undermineherand steal the concert leader’s position she’d worked so hard for?
‘I take it you weren’t born somewhere cold?’ Stefano said, pulling her back to the present with that smooth, deep voice. As sweet and tempting as the luscious drink in her mug.
‘I’m a child of the subtropics. Snow’s a disappointment. Cold and wet. Highly overrated.’
The corners of his lips tugged upwards the tiniest of fractions, but Lucy wouldn’t call it a smile.
‘What possessed a woman from Australia who hates winter to live somewhere it snows?’
She shrugged. ‘Work.’ It had been the opportunity of a lifetime. One that had now slipped through her cramped and injured hands. ‘I’m a member of an orchestra. Principal violinist.’
Although it wasn’t as if she could really play much right now, needing time to recover from the injury which had been quietly plaguing her. Fodder for the nasty rumours which now saw her here, on enforced leave to ‘consider her future’.
Stefano cocked his head. In the gloomy afternoon light his eyes showed no colour, just intense dark focus, all fixed on her. ‘I’m patron of Lasserno’s Symphony Orchestra. You’re young for such a huge responsibility.’
Something about those words sparked a simmering coal of anger inside her—one she’d been carrying for weeks. Since discovering that her violin might not be hers, since her father had tried to claim it in the divorce, since realising Viktor’s treachery.
Viktor had given her guidance on her playing. She’d appreciated it in the beginning. He was older, brilliant in his own right, and she’d wanted to be perfect, always striving for more. He used to tell her that she hadn’t lived enough, that because of her youth she’d lacked nuance. That if she didn’t practise harder, and more, she’d fail.
Lucy had tried not to let his observations eat at her confidence and self-belief, but she recognised now that this was what he’d been trying to do. She wondered, in retrospect, whether their relationship had any truth to it, or whether he’d always had his eyes fixed on her principal violinist’s role.
‘At twenty-four, I’m not the youngest who’s ever been principal violinist. And my position comes through hard work. Dedication. Determination. You’re reported to have taken on the role of Prince Arcuri’s private secretary when you were around my age. Was that too young for such a huge responsibility?’
His whole body stiffened. A look crossed his face and he almost flinched, as if in pain.
‘All the members of my family commence service with the Crown when our monarch requests it. As for you... My words weren’t meant as a criticism. I’ve no doubt of your determination, since you’ve walked here in this weather with your bags, one of which weighs enough to sink a boat. I assume that’s your violin?’