‘Let me guess. You wanted to save people?’
‘Possibly. But I think it was the lure of driving a big red truck with a loud siren and climbing ladders.’
She laughed and he felt it like ripples under his skin.
‘But you didn’t have access to a professional dance teacher on your island.’
The sparkle in her eyes dimmed. ‘Actually Beatrice, who taught me, had been a prima ballerina. I dreamed of dancing professionally, but I injured my ankle badly.’ Abruptly she turned away to repack the books. ‘Besides, my grandfather had other plans.’
‘I’m sorry.’
She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. I probably wouldn’t have been good enough.’
Perhaps not but Cesare didn’t like that she hadn’t had a chance to try. ‘And now? Interior design?’
Her head lifted sharply then she reached for the folders of what he’d realised were projects.
‘Have you worked as a designer?’
She shook her head, her bright hair swishing around her shoulders as she held the folders close. ‘As if. I’ve done a basic online course. That’s all. It’s hard to get qualifications when you’re working all hours to support yourself.’
Ida plonked the folders back into the box, then added the books. Last was the worn photo album. Did it contain pictures of her with her parents?
Compassion filled him for all she’d lost. The opportunities she’d never had. Yet she wasn’t after sympathy.
She had to be one of the strongest people he knew.
‘How about you, Cesare? If you didn’t have your family company, what would you want to be now?’
He leaned his hip against the desk, folding his arms, telling himself not to push her further.
‘I have no idea. Since I was a boy I knew I’d work in the family firm. It never occurred to me to do anything else.’
Her eyebrows lifted. ‘Really? You had no other driving ambition?’
Perhaps it was that hint of disbelief. Or the feeling he’d short-changed her by not giving an answer when she’d already shared so much. He hated that through most of their dealings she’d had so little agency. Except when they shared their bodies.Thenthere was no power imbalance.
Cesare found himself saying gruffly. ‘My one real ambition wasnotto be like my father.’
It was something he’d never admitted, though he was sure hisnonnohad guessed.
Surprisingly he felt no qualms revealing it. The past was the past. Even if his feelings for hispapáwere something he didn’t discuss.
Her steady green gaze held his. He saw neither surprise nor judgement there. ‘He wasn’t a good man?’
Cesare opened his mouth then shut it, forced by her direct question to consider objectively.
‘He wasn’t a bad man.’
In his younger days Cesare had thought him so. Because he’d been wounded by hispapá’sneglect and lack of interest. Later hurt had morphed into annoyance at how his father’s actions had played into their enemy’s hands.
‘He was weak and selfish. He didn’t care about anyone but himself.’
Warmth brushed Cesare’s hand and he looked down, surprised to see Ida’s fingers sliding across his. Instinctively he captured them.
Her hand fitted his. He noted her chapped skin looked a little better now she’d used the salve Dorotea had provided.
Cesare swallowed. Ida’s touch and her silent sympathy felt like a salve on those old wounds that, he now realised, had never healed.