‘He was very young.’ The old man’s face had darkened. ‘Too young to witness what he did.’
Sam had frowned. ‘I’m sorry... I don’t know...’
Umberto had looked at her, his gaze shrewd. ‘When my wife left me, Samantha, I was a broken man. I’d already lost everything. My house, the family legacy, the factory. My dignity. I begged her on my knees not to leave me but she did anyway. Rafaele witnessed my lowest moment and I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me for it.’
Sam had tried to take it in. She’d known Rafaele’s mother had left, but not the extent of it. She wondered how traumatic it must have been for a child to see his mother turn her back on his father and it was as if something slid home inside her—she could see now where Rafaele’s intensely commitment-phobic issues might stem from.
‘It was a long time ago...’ Umberto had said. ‘It’s good that you are here with Milo. This will be a challenge for my proud son, and perhaps that’s not a bad thing.’
Sam blinked in the morning light of her bedroom, the memory fading. She remembered now that she’d had disjointed dreams all night of a man on his knees, begging, pleading, with Milo looking on, crying in distress... She pursed her lips. One thing she could guarantee pretty categorically was that Rafaele would never be reduced to begging on his knees to anyone.
Trying not to think of that vulnerable three-year-old Rafaele, when all she could see was Milo in her mind’s eye, Sam washed and dressed and went to search for Milo and Bridie. She found them in the dining room with the sun pouring in.
Sam bent to kiss her son, aware of a cool green gaze on her from the head of the table. Umberto and Bridie broke off from their conversation to greet Sam and Rafaele stood up. Sam had to quell a dart of hurt. She felt as if the minute she entered a room he wanted to leave it.
‘I’ve got to go to the factory this morning for my meeting... I’ve arranged for a driver to come and pick you all up in an hour. He will drop Umberto off at the doctor’s and take you into Milan to sightsee. I’ll join you there this afternoon for a late lunch.’
Umberto muttered something rude about doctors and Sam saw Bridie smile.
Milo was asking Sam, ‘What’s sightsee?’
Rafaele had pinned Sam with that unreadable gaze and instantly she felt breathless. ‘I have to go to a function this evening. I’d like it if you accompanied me.’
Sam opened her mouth. ‘I...’
Bridie chipped in quickly. ‘Of course she will. You could do with a night out, Sam, love. I’ll be here, and Milo can sleep with me so you won’t have to worry about disturbing him.’
Sam glared at Bridie, who looked back at her with an innocence she didn’t trust for a second. Umberto was unhelpfully silent.
Sam looked at Rafaele and was loath to let him see that she might not want to go for very personal reasons.
She shrugged a shoulder. ‘Sure—why not?’
THAT EVENING SAM realised a fundamental flaw in her plan to join Rafaele for his function. She had no dress. She hadn’t even thought about it earlier, while in Milan, too caught up in the whistlestop sightseeing tour Rafaele had arranged for Bridie and Milo, who obviously hadn’t been there before. Then they’d picked Umberto up from the doctor’s and met Rafaele for lunch.
Biting her lip and wondering what to do, Sam went to the wardrobe, fully expecting it to be empty. When she opened the door, though, she gasped and her heart stopped cold in her chest. There was a dress hanging up inside, and it was the dress Rafaele had bought her four years before. She remembered the big white box it had come in, along with the matching underwear, shoes and jewels. She’d left it all behind at the palazzo because she’d felt as if it had never really belonged to her.
About two months after Sam had returned to England the box containing the dress, shoes, underwear and jewellery had arrived via a courier company. As soon as she’d realised what it was and had read the accompanying note—I bought this for you. Rafaele—Sam had sent it back with the note torn in two pieces.
And now it was here.
Sam felt short of breath. She took the dress out of the wardrobe, its material heavy and slinky, and stalked out of her bedroom and across the hall to Rafaele’s, not bothering to knock on the door.
Her eyes widened when she took in a naked Rafaele, strolling out of his bathroom and rubbing his hair with a towel. For a long moment he just stood there, and Sam’s eyes were glued to that broad, magnificent chest. Instant heat bloomed in her belly.
With a strangled sound she lifted her eyes and held the dress out. ‘What is the meaning of this?’
With supreme nonchalance Rafaele secured the towel around his waist and quirked his mouth sexily on one side. ‘It’s amazing how you can still blush, cara.’
Sam gritted out, ‘Don’t call me that. I’m not your cara. Why do you still have this dress?’
Rafaele’s face was inscrutable. He shrugged. ‘It seemed a shame to throw it away just because you didn’t want it.’
Bile rose inside Sam. ‘And how many lucky women have worn it since me?’
A muscle popped in Rafaele’s jaw. ‘None. I thought you’d appreciate blending in with the crowd tonight instead of appearing in your habitual tomboy uniform.’
To Sam’s disgust she felt tears prick her eyes. ‘I’ll try not to disappoint you, Rafaele. After all, I know what an honour it is to be taken out in public with you, because you never deemed it appropriate before.’
She whirled around and left the room, slamming the door behind her.
Rafaele winced and put his hands on his hips. His chest was a tight ball of blackness. He cursed himself. He should have followed his head and thrown that dress out as soon as he’d realised she’d left it behind—instead of sending it to her, almost intrigued as to how she might respond when even then he’d known that he couldn’t have anything more to do with her.
When it had arrived back with the torn note, then he should have thrown it out. But instead he’d instructed his housekeeper to hang it up and had refused to analyse why he’d done such a thing.
It was just a dress.
Thoroughly disgruntled now, and regretting the impulse he’d had earlier to ask Sam to accompany him this evening, Rafaele got dressed.
* * *
Sam was still tight-lipped in the back of one of Rafaele’s chauffeur-driven cars about an hour later. She was as far away from him as she could get without falling out of the door, and she hated the electric awareness that pulsed between them.
As they’d been leaving Milo had been holding Umberto’s hand in the grand hallway of the palazzo and he’d gasped. ‘Mummy, you look like a princess.’
Sam had gone red, and then grown even hotter when Rafaele had appeared, looking stupendously gorgeous in a classic tuxedo. Suddenly she’d been glad of the effort she’d made. She needed all the armour she could muster.
Her hair was up in a topknot, held in place with a jewelled pin loaned to her by Bridie. She’d put on more make-up than she’d normally wear, outlining her eyes and thickening her lashes. And wearing the vertiginous heels that had come with the dress Sam reached to Rafaele’s shoulder.
He hadn’t touched her while they were leaving. He’d merely indicated that she should precede him and, feeling horribly exposed under his cool gaze, Sam had walked out, praying she wouldn’t fall over.
Now they were pulling up outside the glittering façade