Huskily he was saying, ‘This is your grandpapa, piccolino.’
Umberto Falcone held out a hand to his grandson. ‘I am pleased to meet you.’
Milo grinned and took his hand, shaking it forcefully, making Umberto wince comically. Milo giggled and looked at Rafaele. ‘Can we play now?’
Rafaele stood up, still holding onto Milo’s hand, and something tense seemed to pass from him to his father. He said to Milo, ‘Why don’t we settle in first, hmm? We can play later.’
‘Okey-dokey.’ Milo took his hand from Rafaele’s and came back to Sam, who picked him up again.
Rafaele was now drawing her and Bridie forward to introduce them to Umberto, but gone was the joking man of moments ago. He seemed to have retreated again.
Bridie was saying politely, ‘You have a beautiful home here, Mr Falcone.’
The old man glanced at his son and said stiffly, ‘It’s not mine...it’s Rafaele’s. He bought it back after—’
‘Papa,’ Rafaele said warningly, and the man’s mouth shut.
He looked at Bridie then and said, ‘Come, let us take some refreshments and leave these young ones to settle in.’
Bridie looked at Sam, and Sam noticed that she was a bit pink in the cheeks. Sam pushed her gently in the direction where Umberto was setting off, surprisingly agile despite his cane and stooped figure. ‘Go on—sit down and have a rest. We’ll be fine.’
The housekeeper was despatching a younger woman in the direction of Umberto and Bridie with rapid Italian before leading them up the stairs herself. Sam was clinging onto Milo, afraid of the onslaught of memories lurking around each corner. She and Rafaele had made love all over this palazzo. He’d used to bring her here after work, apart from a couple of times when he’d taken her to her apartment, too impatient to wait, but she’d never spent a weekend here with him until that last weekend...
They were walking down a familiar corridor now, and Sam’s heart thumped hard when she recognised Rafaele’s bedroom door to the left. Thankfully they stopped at another door, just opposite.
‘This is your room. Milo is in an adjoining one.’
Sam walked into the room indicated by Rafaele. The housekeeper disappeared. Milo wriggled to be free and she put him down so he could explore. The room was sumptuous without being over the top. Understated luxury. Lots of discreet flower designs and soft greys. Sam heard a squeal of excitement from Milo and followed him into his room.
It was a small boy’s paradise. His bed was made in the shape of a car. The walls were bright. Books and toys covered almost every available surface. Sam looked at Rafaele helplessly as Milo found a toy train set.
He grabbed it up and went to Sam, ‘Is this mine, Mummy?’
Sam shot Rafaele a censorious look. She bent down. ‘Yes, it is, sweetie. But this is Rafaele’s house. You’ll have to leave it behind when we go home.’
Milo looked perturbed and turned to Rafaele. ‘Will you mind it for me when we go home?’
Rafaele sounded gruff. ‘Of course, piccolino.’
Milo’s lip quivered. Sam could see that it was all too much.
‘But...but what if another little boy comes and wants to play with it?’
Rafaele bent down and looked Milo in the eye. ‘That won’t happen. You are the only little boy who is allowed to play here, I promise.’
Instantly reassured, Milo spun away to start playing again.
Sam hissed at Rafaele. ‘This is too much for him. You can’t buy his affection, Rafaele.’
Rafaele stood up and took Sam’s arm, leading her out of earshot. ‘Damn you, Sam, I’m not trying to buy him... I want to spoil him—is that so bad?’
Sam looked into Rafaele’s eyes and felt herself drowning. She knew instinctively that Rafaele had done this out of the generous good of his heart, not out of any manipulative desire. He might do that with her, but all along he’d been ultra-careful to take her lead on how to deal with Milo.
She crossed her arms and felt like a heel. She looked down. ‘I’m sorry...that wasn’t entirely fair.’
Rafaele tipped her chin up. ‘No, it wasn’t.’
All Rafaele could see were those swirling grey depths, sucking him down and down to a place he didn’t want to investigate. Like Milo feeling overwhelmed, he suddenly felt the same. Letting go of Sam’s chin, he stepped back. He needed space. Now.
‘I’ll have Luisa bring you up some refreshments. You and Milo should settle in and rest. We’ll eat at seven.’
When he reached his study on the ground floor he closed the door and took a deep breath. He headed straight for his drinks cabinet and poured himself a shot of whisky, downing it in one. To his chagrin it wasn’t even Milo and the fact that he had his son in this house that seemed to be featuring prominently in his head. It was Sam. Having Sam back here. Reminding him of the heated insanity he’d felt around her before. Of how badly he’d needed her, how insatiably.
How sweet she’d been—so innocent. So bright. So unlike any other woman he’d known, seducing him effortlessly into a tangled web of need from which he’d only extricated himself with great effort. And he had been relieved to do so, no matter what the dull ache he’d felt for four years might have told him.
The ache had disappeared as soon as he’d decided that he’d contact her in England. He’d told himself that it would be different, that he wouldn’t still desire her. That he would be able to demonstrate how he’d moved on... But even at the first sound of her voice on the end of the phone his body had convulsed with need...
And then...Milo.
Rafaele felt pain lance his hand and looked down stupidly to see that he’d crushed the delicate glass. Cursing himself, he got a tissue and told himself he was being ridiculous. Seeing Sam here again, with his father too, in this palazzo...it was something he’d never expected to have to deal with. That was all.
* * *
The following morning when Sam woke up she was disorientated for a few long seconds, until the opulent surroundings and softer-than-soft bed registered. She sat up in a panic.
Milo.
Quickly she got out of bed and went to the open adjoining door. Milo’s bed was tossed, his pyjamas were on the ground and he was nowhere to be seen.
Bridie must have taken him for breakfast. The previous evening had seen them all seated for dinner—Milo sitting on big books on a chair to elevate him, insisting on feeding himself like a big boy, wanting to impress his new grandpapa, who had looked on approvingly.
To Sam’s relief, after dinner Rafaele, far too disturbing in jeans and a black top, had made his excuses and disappeared to his study. And then Bridie had insisted on taking Milo up to bed, as he’d been barely able to keep awake long enough to feed himself his new favourite dessert: gelato.
Sam had felt awkward, sitting with Umberto on her own, but the man had stood up and indicated for her to follow him and have some coffee, so she had. He’d led her to a small room off the dining room—comfortable, cosy.
Luisa had come and poured them coffee and Sam had felt she needed to break the ice. ‘I’m sorry...that you didn’t know about Milo before now.’
The old man had waved her words aside and admitted gruffly, ‘I gave up any right to pry into Rafaele’s life a long time ago.’
Not knowing how to respond, Sam had just taken a sip of coffee. She’d always