It wasn’t the idea of another man touching her that wounded, Stefano realized with profound bitterness, although that certainly stung. It was the fact that Allegra had chosen—had preferred— someone else. She’d walked away from him to seek solace in another’s arms, and nothing—nothing—could change that.
Even worse, perhaps, was the cold, hard knowledge that he’d done the same thing. And failed.
The only solace he’d found was in knowing he’d made a mistake, and doing his best to rectify it. Giving Gabriella her life, her freedom back had been a relief for both of them.
Stefano dragged in a long, laborious breath and set his tumbler down. He walked slowly from the room, up the stairs to Allegra’s bedroom.
He didn’t try the knob; he had a feeling it would be locked and he didn’t want to find out. He placed his palm flat on the door, leaned his forehead against the smooth wood. All was silent, but he spoke anyway.
‘Allegra.’
He thought he heard a tiny sniff, a little gasp. He continued. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said or done what I did downstairs. It was wrong of me. I …’ He paused, his throat closing against the clamour of things he felt but didn’t know how to say. ‘Goodnight,’ he finally managed, and walked slowly down the corridor to his own empty bedroom.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE NEXT MORNING the town house was silent as Allegra made her way downstairs, but after a few seconds she heard the quiet clink of china from the dining room and saw Stefano in the mahogany-panelled room, drinking a cappuccino, his head bent over the newspaper.
She watched him silently for a moment, the hard plane of his cheek and jaw, the soft sweep of his hair, the way he absently ran his long-fingered hand through it before turning a page.
Looking longer she saw lines of strain on either side of his mouth, shadows of fatigue under his eyes.
What had kept him up last night? she wondered. His own behaviour, or hers? The past or the future?
It was wrong of me.
She’d heard him through her door, as she huddled on her bed. She’d heard the regret in his voice, but it barely made a dent in her hardened heart.
He’d treated her like an object. A possession. He’d revealed himself in that one cold, calculated caress—what he thought of her, what he couldn’t forget.
And even though the light touch of his fingers had made her tremble, had made her want, she wouldn’t let it weaken her will.
She was not Stefano’s possession. She would not let him treat her as one. Ever.
And, Allegra resolved as she stood in the doorway of the dining room, she would tell Stefano so. Now, not with whispered words of regret through a closed door, but face to face, eye to eye.
‘Stefano.’
His head jerked up, his eyes wary, hooded before he smiled. ‘Buon giorno.’
‘Buon giorno.’ She sat at the table and picked up a cornetti, taking a knife and buttering it with fingers that only trembled a tiny bit. ‘We need to talk.’
He folded his paper and placed it on the table, a look of polite expectancy on his face. ‘Of course. What is it?’
She shook her head slowly. Was he going to pretend that last night hadn’t happened? That the truth, painful and broken as it was, hadn’t been revealed?
‘When we both agreed to this business arrangement,’ she began, keeping her voice firm and purposeful, ‘you told me that we were different people. That the past didn’t matter.’
‘Yes,’ Stefano confirmed, a touch of coolness in his voice. He took a sip of his coffee and Anna bustled in from the kitchen with a cappuccino for Allegra.
‘Grazie,’ she murmured, her gaze still fastened on Stefano’s. ‘But that wasn’t true, was it, Stefano?’ she asked softly when Anna had left. ‘The past does matter, and perhaps we haven’t changed as much as we think we have. As much as we want to have changed. And I won’t allow the past to affect the present or the future. Not my future, not yours, and certainly not Lucio’s.’
‘I wouldn’t expect it to,’ Stefano drawled. He sounded bored.
‘You may have hired me,’ Allegra continued, her voice still thankfully firm, ‘but I’m not your possession. I won’t be treated like one—’
‘Allegra, I apologised for my behaviour last night,’ Stefano cut her off coldly. ‘I was angry with what had happened, not seven years before, but a few hours ago. You behaved in a childish way at the dinner, and I responded by behaving in a childish manner here. Again, I’m sorry.’ He gave her a tight, perfunctory smile that sent fury coursing through her in a cleansing stream.
‘I’d accept that,’ she said, ‘if you’d called me names or thrown a tantrum. Childish behaviour. But that wasn’t it, was it, Stefano? It was something more.’ She paused, took a breath. Stefano waited, one eyebrow raised in scathing scepticism. ‘The truth is,’ Allegra continued, ‘you can’t forget the past, you can’t pretend it doesn’t affect the present and any future. I believed we could because I wanted to believe it, because it was easier. But in the end ignoring it will only make it more difficult, for you, for me, and for Lucio—’
‘That’s quite an interesting load of psychobabble,’ Stefano cut her off. ‘Did you learn it on your art therapy course?’
‘No, I learned it through dealing with you,’ Allegra snapped. ‘The way you treated me—’ She stopped, pressed her lips together and refused to think about how his fingers had sought her, punished her, thrilled her. And then, worst and most hurtful of all: the blazing look of contempt, cruelty in his eyes. ‘But last night proved to me that you’re the same man you were seven years ago, treating me the same way.’ The words rang with contempt and condemnation, but Stefano didn’t react. He merely stilled, his face blank, his eyes hard. Silence. Yet again the only response to her words, her plea for understanding, was silence.
She heard the ticking of the clock, the clink of china as Stefano carefully, slowly stirred his coffee. ‘Think what you like,’ he finally said. He looked up, smiled in a way that was utterly chilling to Allegra. It was the smile, she thought numbly, of a person who didn’t care at all. And, she realized, even now she wanted him to care.
‘It doesn’t really matter. I apologised for my behaviour, and it won’t happen again. As you said,’ Stefano continued in a voice of determined pleasantness, ‘you’re here to help Lucio. We don’t need to deal with each other at all.’
‘It’s not that simple—’
‘It will be,’ Stefano said, and there was hard finality to his words, his face. ‘It will be.’
Allegra tried once more. ‘Unless we deal with it, with our feelings—’
Stefano laughed. Allegra didn’t like the sound. ‘But I don’t have feelings for you, Allegra, remember? I bought you. I treated you like a possession. I thought of you as a possession … you told me so yourself. Why should I have feelings for an object?’
Allegra opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. ‘But …’
‘So if I didn’t have feelings for you then,’ he continued, cutting across her useless, incoherent denial, his voice horribly soft, ‘why should I now?’
But he wasn’t finished. His eyes glittered as he leaned forward, his voice thrumming with power and knowledge. ‘You want to talk about feelings, Allegra?’ he challenged. ‘What about yours?’
Allegra drew back. ‘What about mine?’