‘Youdidn’t go to live with your grandfather.’
Cesare’s observation dragged her back to the present. ‘You know about that?’
He sipped his coffee then lifted his shoulders in a shrug that was intrinsically Italian yet innately his. ‘I hired investigators to find you. They researched where you’d lived before, hoping for leads, and discovered you’d spent years in Scotland, rather than with Calogero in London.’
It was a statement, yet she heard the question.
‘And you want to know why.’
Ida’s voice flattened. It was one thing to share memories of a happy childhood and a fragile sense of connection. Now she suspected his curiosity was because he wanted to learn more about his enemy, her grandfather, rather than from interest in her personally.
Had she expected a night in Cesare’s bed would change things?
Ida swallowed the metallic taste of disappointment.
‘Only if you want to tell me, Ida.’ Cesare’s voice dropped to a low note she’d heard in bed when he’d reined himself in to ensure her pleasure. ‘I’m curious about you.’
Ida snapped her gaze up and saw a warmth that contradicted her assumption. Maybe his interestwaspersonal.
Something shifted in her chest. Her heart thudded and once more she experienced that phantom sensation from last night. The feeling that together they were on the cusp of something bigger than either of them. Bigger than revenge or family feuds.
Deliberately she looked away, telling herself not to read too much into Cesare’s words. They weren’t enemies now, but she’d be foolish to think they’d ever share a meaningful relationship as she’d once dreamed.
Her crush on him had dwindled to mere physical attraction.
And if you tell yourself that often enough, you might actually believe it.The man’s haunted you for years, even after that dreadful scene in Rome.
‘Forget I mentioned it, Ida. Are you ready for another coffee?’
‘No, thanks.’
Instead, she took another bite of buttery pastry and almost sighed her pleasure.
She’d learned to appreciate simple delights when they came her way. It was self-defeating to fret over Cesare’s feelings for her. Or lack of them. He’d rescued her from Bruno and her grandfather. He’d given her sanctuary and a night to remember. She should be thanking him.
Besides, sitting in the dappled shade, relaxed over this lovely breakfast, Ida felt an ease and wellbeing she hadn’t felt in years.
No, she decided. Last night hadn’t been a mistake. It had been a gift.
‘I didn’t live with my grandfather because he didn’t want me,’ Ida said finally. ‘He doesn’t care for anyone but himself. My parents had cut off contact with him. I didn’t even know he was alive. When they died my mother’s cousin Kate took me in and I moved to her in Scotland.’
Cesare saw her wistful expression and hesitated to probe. But his curiosity was too great. Not so much now about Ida’s relationship with her grandfather but about Ida herself. The more he discovered the more intrigued he grew.
Though the way she spoke about Calogero, in that cool, tight voice, made him wonder if she’d truly been the old man’s willing protege.
The idea made everything inside him still.
‘You were happy with her?’
Ida lifted one shoulder. ‘Eventually. It took some adjustment, for all of us.’
Surely that was an understatement. She would have been distressed and grieving, torn from the world she’d known.
By contrast it had been a relief for Cesare when he’d come to live here. He’d thrived in a world of structure and stability, knowing hisnonnocared for him, even if he wasn’t demonstrative.
In a funny way Ida’s attempt to downplay how hard that time must have been reminded him of hisnonno, with his reticence and profound integrity.
Cesare watched Ida’s gaze turn to the garden and wondered if she saw another landscape entirely. She looked so self-contained. Yet as a child, it must have been a terrifying experience. He couldn’t remember his mother and hadn’t been heartbroken by his father’s death, yet he remembered the pain when his grandfather died.