He was jumping up and down, endearingly still too shy to throw himself at the man who had only so recently come into his life. But when Rafaele bent down and opened his arms Milo ran straight into them and Sam’s heart squeezed so tight it hurt. She heard Bridie behind her exclaim and usher Rafaele in.
Sam could see that he was holding something in his hand, and when he put Milo down he handed it to him. It was a mechanical car.
Milo seized it with inelegant haste. ‘Wow!’
Sam chided him automatically through a fog of shock. ‘Milo, what do you say?’
‘Thank you!’
Sam was so tense she could crack. She avoided looking at Rafaele, dreading seeing that ice-cold green again.
Bridie was taking Milo by the hand and saying, ‘Come on, you promised you’d help me to find my spectacles in my flat earlier—’
Milo started protesting, and Sam felt like doing the same, but Bridie had lifted Milo up and was quelling his protests by promising him a DVD. And then they were gone before Sam could get a word out, and she was alone in the hall with Rafaele.
She still hadn’t really looked him in the eye as he reached out and pushed the front door closed. Finally she looked at him and her eyes widened. He looked terrible. Well, as terrible as a gorgeous Italian alpha male could look—which was not terrible at all. But Rafaele looked tired, drawn, pale. Older. Somehow diminished.
Immediately Sam was concerned and said, ‘What is it? Your father?’
Rafaele shook his head. ‘No, it’s not my father. He is fine. Asking after you all.’
‘Well...what is it, then? You look...’ As bad as I feel.
Rafaele smiled, but it was tight, and then it faded again and he’d never looked more serious.
Sam crossed her arms and started babbling out of nervousness. ‘Are you here ahead of your team of lawyers? Because if you are you could have saved yourself the bother, Rafaele...’
He shook his head and looked pained. For an awful moment Sam thought there might be something wrong with him and she felt weak.
‘No. I should never have said that to you. I’m sorry. Of course there won’t be a team of lawyers...’
Sam wanted to sit down. Relief swept through her like a cleansing balm. ‘But why did you say it then?’
Rafaele gave out a curt laugh. ‘Because you threaten me on so many levels and I thought I could control it...control you.’
His words sank in. You threaten me. And then, as if feeling constricted, Rafaele took off his battered leather jacket and draped it over the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing a light sweater and worn jeans and Sam could feel her blood heating. Already.
Suddenly Rafaele asked, ‘Do you mind if I have a drink?’
Sam shook her head and stood back. He walked into the front room and, bemused, she uncrossed her arms and followed him. Rafaele was at the sideboard, pouring himself a shot of her father’s whisky. He looked around and held up a glass in a question but she shook her head. She stood tensely inside the door. Half ready to flee.
Her voice felt rusty, unused. ‘Rafaele, why are you here?’
He turned around to face her. ‘Because we need to talk. Properly talk.’
Sam tensed even more, and as if sensing she was about to say something Rafaele put up a hand to quell her.
‘I told you that I was about Milo’s age when my mother left my father and took me with her?’ he began.
Sam nodded carefully.
Rafaele’s mouth became a thin line. ‘Unfortunately that day I was subjected to a vision of my father prostrating himself at my mother’s feet...begging her not to go. Crying, snivelling. I saw a broken man that day...and I believed for a long time—erroneously—that it had been my mother’s fault, that she had done it to him. When, of course, it was much more complicated than that... It didn’t help that he blamed her for most of his life, refusing to acknowledge his own part in his downfall.’
Sam took a breath. ‘Your father told me a bit...’
Even now her heart ached, because she thought of Milo’s pain and distress if he were to witness something like that. How would a scene like that affect a vulnerable, impressionable three-year-old?
But Rafaele didn’t seem to hear her. He was looking at the liquid in the glass, swirling it gently. ‘And then my stepfather... He was another piece of work. I’d gone from the example of a broken man who had lost everything to living with a man who had everything. What they had in common was my mother. They were both obsessed with her, wanted her above all. And she...?’ Rafaele smiled grimly. ‘She was aloof with them both, but she chose my stepfather over my father because he could provide her with the status and security she’d come to enjoy...’
Rafaele looked at her and his smile became bleak.
‘For a long time I never wanted to think about why she did those things...but since I’ve discovered my older brother and learned she abandoned him I have to realise that perhaps for her, security had become the thing she needed most—above warmth and emotion. Above anything. God knows what happened with her first husband to make her do such a drastic thing as to leave her son, leave his father...’
His mouth twisted.
‘From an early age I believed instinctively that women could ruin you even if you had money and success. I believed that to succeed I had to hold women at the same distance my mother had always done with the men around her. I wouldn’t ever be weak like my father or stepfather, and never lose control.’
Rafaele smiled again but it was impossibly bleak.
‘And then you came along and slid so deeply under my skin that I didn’t realise I’d lost all that precious control until it was too late.’
Sam’s heart was beating like a drum now. She felt light-headed. ‘I don’t... What are you saying, Rafaele?’
He looked at her and his gaze seemed to bore into her. ‘I still want us to get married, Sam...’
Something cold settled into her belly. He wasn’t going to let this go. He’d basically just told her how he viewed the women in his life and that only the fact that she’d proved herself to be completely different had merited her this place in his life. She backed away to the door and saw him put down his glass and frown...
‘Sam?’
Sam walked out through the door and went to the front door and opened it. Rafaele appeared in the hallway, still frowning.
She shook her head. ‘Rafaele, I’m really sorry that you had to see so much at a young age, and that it skewed your views of women... And I can see how Milo is at an age where he must have pushed your buttons... But I can’t marry you.’
She forced herself to keep looking at him even though she felt as if a knife was lacerating her insides. ‘I want more, Rafaele... Despite what I told you about my views on marriage I’ve always secretly hoped I’d meet someone and fall in love. I thought I could protect myself too, but I can’t...none of us can.’
* * *
Rafaele saw Sam backlit in her porch and even in such a domestic banal setting she’d never looked more beautiful. His heart splintered apart into pieces and he knew that he had no choice now but to step out and into the chasm of nothing—and possibly everything.
He walked into the middle of the hall and looked at Sam. And then very deliberately he got down on his knees in front of her. For a terrifying moment Rafaele felt the surge of the past threatening to rise up and strangle him, heard voices about to hound him, tell him he was no better than his father... But it didn’t happen. What he did feel was a heady feeling of peace for the first time in a long time.