There was a buzz behind her and Nicole turned to see Rocco reappear, looking dramatically handsome in his dinner suit, his black hair gleaming beneath the coloured fairy lights which were strung around the deck. He was looking around, as if trying to locate someone, and then he saw her and began to walk towards her. But the instinctive leap of her heart was replaced by a distinct sense of foreboding as she saw the ravaged look which was darkening his features.
‘What’s wrong?’ she said as soon as he’d reached her.
‘I’ve just had a call from Sicily.’ His jaw clenched. ‘My grandfather is sick.’
Nicole sucked in a breath, her shock much greater than it should have been because Turi was very old and so such news could never be described as unexpected. But some people seemed indestructible and the elderly patriarch was one of them. She tried to imagine the Barberi complex without the larger-than-life figure at its helm and couldn’t. She wondered how it would be for Rocco and his siblings if they lost the man who had always been there for them. The lynchpin of their lives. She looked up into Rocco’s empty eyes. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘How...how bad is it?’
He shrugged. ‘They don’t know. My brother is in South America and my sister has been in Los Angeles, so everyone is away. They’re both on their way home, but the flights are long and he needs someone with him now. I’m going to Sicily as soon as air traffic control have approved my flight plans. Michele is sorting that out for me now.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Briefly, Nicole closed her eyes, praying that Rocco would reach his grandfather in time, but she couldn’t prevent the other thought which came rushing through her mind. That this really was the last time she would ever see him. She opened her eyes, unprepared for the cold wash of heartache which followed in the wake of this realisation. This really was goodbye, she thought, and was just working out how best to say it, when Rocco spoke again.
‘He wants to see you, Nicole.’
She blinked, aware that his shadowed eyes had grown flinty and a muscle was working insistently at his temple. ‘Who does?’ she said.
‘Nonno. I spoke with Maria. He’s been asking for you.’
‘For me?’ She didn’t make any attempt to hide her bewilderment because there had been no real closeness between her and the octogenarian patriarch, no matter how hard she had tried. ‘But why?’
‘Who knows?’ he growled, tugging impatiently at his tie as if it were strangling him. ‘Turi is a law unto himself and always has been.’ There was a pause. ‘Will you come, Nic?’
‘Do you want me to come?’ she questioned quietly, trying not to react to a nickname he hadn’t used in a long, long time.
He seemed to steel himself before shaking his head. ‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I think we both know that you and I have reached the end of the line. But my grandfather could die at any moment—and who am I to deny a dying man his wish?’ He looked her straight in the eyes and they might as well have been alone in a room, rather than on a crowded yacht in the middle of a cocktail party.
Nicole met his questioning gaze. Nobody could accuse Rocco of lying—or caring how much his words could hurt. Yet behind his blunt statement she could sense a vulnerability which for once he wasn’t bothering to hide. Maybe he couldn’t hide it. Suddenly it occurred to her that right now Rocco needed her as she’d always wanted to be needed by him, but like everything else it had come too late.
And she was scared. Going back to Sicily had the potential to reopen painful wounds—but what choice did she have? If she had any kind of conscience she couldn’t refuse what he was asking of her. She was doing this for a sick man, yes, but she was also doing it for Rocco—because she could never live with herself if she let him down. And how crazy was that? ‘Of course I’ll come,’ she said quietly.
‘Grazie.’ He nodded, before glancing down at her red dress. ‘We need to go straight from here to the airfield. There won’t be time to return to the house but I can get Michele to pack your clothes and have them sent straight to the plane.’
‘That’s fine,’ she said.
‘Then let’s get going,’ he said roughly.
Silently, they slipped away from the party and Nicole could see people smiling as they passed. Were they assuming that she and the Sicilian were sneaking away to celebrate the impending deal, or maybe the renewal of their own relationship?
And for one brief moment, didn’t some rogue part of her wish it had been a real reconciliation instead of a cold-blooded arrangement to settle some unfinished business? Instead, she risked getting herself in even deeper than before, by agreeing to return to a place full of difficult memories—a place where she had been nothing more than an outsider. Would Rocco remember that and look out for her or would he simply throw her to the lions, the way he’d done before?
A hundred questions were bubbling up inside her and she stole a glance at Rocco as his private jet soared up into the starlit skies over Monaco, wondering if she should just be upfront and ask them. But his profile was hard and uncompromising and, sensing he had little appetite for conversation, or any more of her unwanted questions, Nicole spent the flight in an uneasy silence.
IT WAS DARK when Rocco’s jet landed in Sicily and the air was as deeply scented as Nicole remembered. She breathed it in with remembered clarity, her senses saturated by the fragrance of lemon and jasmine, and earth baked warm by the sun. She thought how peculiar it was that the stars on this island always seemed brighter than they did anywhere else, or maybe it was just that the sky was darker.
Suddenly a whole shoal of memories began to bombard her. Memories which had the power to make her heart twist with regret. The way she’d felt about Rocco when he’d brought her here. The way he’d kissed her and told her that he would try to be the best father he could. The way she’d lain in his arms and imagined a future for them with their baby. She shook her head a little, surprised by the sudden yearning which washed over her. Was it self-protection which had made her forget all the positive stuff about their marriage, hoping that would make it easier to forget him?
She walked down the aircraft steps where a car was waiting, with a driver Nicole recognised sitting behind the wheel. He gave her a brief nod of acknowledgment, and as he and Rocco slipped naturally into dialect Nicole turned to look out of the window as they drove through the darkened Sicilian countryside.
She stared at the olive trees which lined the roads, their leaves metallic as they glinted beneath the moonlight, their fruits tiny and as yet unripened. The countryside looked unfamiliar in the darkness but the sprawling Barberi residence was exactly as she remembered. As the electronic gates swung open Nicole could see the various residences laid out before her, and the lateness of the hour would have normally ensured that the main house was dark and silent. But the lights blazing from the windows indicated that things were far from ‘normal’.
Rocco turned to her as soundlessly the car slid to a halt in the forecourt, his features shadowed. ‘Why don’t you make your way to our house and get settled in?’
She nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘‘I’ll go straight to Turi. If you want anything to eat or drink, Maria will still be up.’
Was that a flash of fear she could read in his eyes as he pushed open the car door? The fear of confronting the mortality of someone you loved? Impulsively, she reached across for his hand and squeezed it and for a moment Rocco stilled before squeezing hers back. And Nicole thought