And no strangers. Never strangers.
Yet, once he’d opened up to his closest family members, he’d begun to see that there were still things he could do with his life, even if he didn’t go out into the world as before. Today, he had a relatively active professional life, thanks to the computer and the Internet. In the old days, he would probably have been locked away from all human commerce, but with the modern conveniences of semi-anonymous communication he was able to do quite a bit without having to come face-to-face with the people he interacted with. Mostly, he still only saw people he’d known all his life.
“That’s because you’re a coward,” his sister maintained wryly during one of their frequent arguments.
He didn’t take offense. She was probably right. Though he told himself he didn’t want to inflict his savaged visage on others, that was only a part of it. He didn’t want to see the reaction in the eyes of strangers. There was a certain vanity there, he had to admit. But he knew what the world wanted from him, and it wasn’t his scarred face.
He’d been through the fickle reactions of the public at large before and he knew very well how cruel they could be. His mother had been a beautiful film star. During her twenties and early thirties, people had flocked to see her films. She’d been in demand everywhere.
But unlucky genetics had been her downfall. She had lost her looks early. Even as a young boy he’d understood how the media had begun to rip apart her image as she had disappointed them. It almost seemed they took it personally that she wasn’t the beauty she once had been. As though she’d wasted their time and now would have to pay the price. He had been ten years old when she had taken her own life.
Yes, he knew what the public was like. And he didn’t see any reason why he should go out of his way to be accepted by them again.
But Isabella Casali was another matter. He couldn’t seem to put her off in a distant box the way he knew he ought to.
He came back to the conversation, knowing he needed to create a plausible alternative to her accusation of him hating her. “I hate talking on the phone,” he supplied quickly. “It’s not just you,” he added.
Despite everything, he didn’t want to hurt her. She was quite adorable and didn’t deserve it. This was his problem, not hers. If only he could explain to her…But that was impossible. “I don’t like talking to anyone.”
“Oh.”
She still sounded downhearted and that made him wince. Silently, he told himself to man up. He had to remain firm. It was the only way.
“Well, I won’t keep you much longer,” she promised, sounding wistful. “I just have one thing to talk to you about.”
He knew what that was. There was no point prolonging things. “The answer is no,” he said evenly.
“But you don’t know—”
“Yes, I do. You want permission to come in and scavenge my river valley hillside for your precious basil herb. And I won’t allow it. Case closed.”
He could almost hear her gulp and he grimaced. He hated doing this. He could see the look she probably had in her huge blue eyes and it killed him. But he couldn’t weaken.
“Please hear me out—”
“No, I won’t allow it. It’s too dangerous.”
It was her turn to make that sound of exasperation. “Dangerous? What’s dangerous about it?”
“You fell into the river, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but that was because it was the middle of the night and you scared me.”
He nodded. “Exactly. These things are always…accidents.” He should just hang up and he knew it. He tried. But somehow, it just seemed too cruel.
“Why?” Her voice sharpened, as though she’d suddenly found the hint of a chink in his argument. “Why are you so sure I’ll get hurt? Has anyone actually been hurt in that river?”
His throat choked shut for a moment. This was something he couldn’t talk about. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath to steady his resolve. The consequences were too risky to gamble with.
There was a part of him, in a deep, secret place, that halfway believed there was an evil force lurking by the river, waiting to trap another woman—especially one that he had some affection for—and pull her under the water as well. There was another, more rational part of him that contended the evil force was his own sense of guilt. Which side was right? It wasn’t worth putting it to the test.
“Isabella, I forbid you to go anywhere near that hillside. And the river. Stay away.”
“But—”
“Promise me.” His voice was harsh and stern. He had to make sure she didn’t feel she could come on her own.
She swallowed hard. He could hear the effort she was making but that didn’t matter. He steeled himself. It had to be done.
“All right,” she said at last in a very small voice. “I’ll stay away. At least I’ll stay away until I can find a way to convince you—”
“You’re not going to convince me. I’m changing this number, remember?”
“But, Max…”
He winced. Hearing his name in her voice sent a quiver through him, a sense of something edgy that he didn’t like at all. Given a little time, it would chip away at his resolve, bit by bit.
“Goodbye, Isabella,” he said firmly.
She sighed. “Goodbye.”
Her voice had a plaintive quaver that touched his heart, but he hung up anyway. He had to. Another moment or two and he’d have been giving in to her, and that was something that couldn’t happen.
This entire connection had to end. He couldn’t afford the time and emotional effort involved in maintaining a relationship, even on the phone. He had work to do.
But returning to his research was hopeless at this point. Instead, he rose, grabbed his towel and headed for the fully equipped gym he’d had built into half of the whole ground level of the building. It was obvious he was going to have to fight harder to push Isabella Casali out of his system.
CHAPTER FIVE
ISABELLA fought back tears of frustration as she clicked off her phone connection to the palazzo.
“There go any hopes of a career in negotiations,” she muttered to herself. “Turns out I’m not any better at that than I am at breaking and entering.”
Hardly a surprise, but disappointing anyway. What now? Giving up wasn’t an option. One look at her half-empty restaurant told her that. She was going to have to find another way. But how? She’d promised him she wouldn’t go near the hillside or the river and she was going to keep that promise, much as it hurt.
But there had to be a way to breach those high walls in a more effective manner. Someone in the village had to have dealings with the palazzo. It didn’t make sense that they would import everything from Rome. Slowly, carefully, she began to ask around. At first all she got were blank stares.
And then, finally, she hit pay dirt of a sort. Much to her surprise, the man who delivered seafood to her restaurant every morning also made a stop at the Rossi palazzo once or twice a week.
“Only on Tuesdays and Fridays,” he told her chattily, wiping his hands on his big white apron. “Wednesdays are out. It seems to be the day off for the staff, such as it is.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes. I made the mistake of showing up on a Wednesday once. I couldn’t even get in the gate. I had two pounds of Chilean