He understood that she’d wanted companionship tonight, but she’d sought it from her old friend, not him. And when her friend had been busy, she’d opted to work. Was that because she didn’t regard him as a friend? His discomfort bubbled back. He could be one of those—better than Alex, or Francesca. Better than anyone.
His pulse thrummed. He had no freaking idea how to be a friend. He’d never trusted anyone to get close, not after the nightmare of his half-brother and then boarding school. He’d always been fighting—for respect, for success. He’d long ago given up needing or wanting real acceptance. The irony was now he had all that ‘success’, people craved his company. But other than in hedonistic pursuits, he had no real idea how to relate. The realisation he was incompetent at something curdled his stomach acid. He snagged her arm and led her towards the boat shed instead of the home.
‘We’re not going inside?’ Gracie asked, still holding the damn pizza box.
‘There’s a lot of light left in the day. Let’s just enjoy the sun and eat pizza.’
He needed the fresh air. He probably needed the pizza. He definitely needed to see her smile. He unlocked the boat shed and gestured for her to go in, snagging the pizza box from her as she went past.
‘This is amazing.’ She stared at the interior of the boat shed. ‘There’s stained glass in here, Rafe. Look at the detail in this window.’
Admittedly it was more like a museum than a workshop space.
‘I’ve not been in here much,’ he confessed. ‘But this is the real treasure.’ He pointed to the beautiful wooden boat. ‘She’s vintage, even older than your bike, I believe. I’m sure you’ll appreciate her.’
‘You’re right.’ She laughed lightly and bent down to inspect the mahogany hull. ‘Rosabella. She’s beautiful. Look at the craftsmanship.’
‘Shall we take her out?’ Two bites of that pizza and watching Gracie run her hand over the hull of the boat and Rafe was feeling better about everything.
‘Do you know how to drive her?’ she asked as he handed her some pizza and untied the mooring rope.
‘I’m sure I can figure it out.’
‘Move over,’ she said confidently.
He watched her study the engine instruments with undisguised interest. A second later she was checking the fuel. She knew what she was doing. And he was happy to let her take charge. He’d seen her tinkering with her bike, with the ovens; she knew machinery. And ten minutes later they were cruising across the water.
‘Okay, so when did you learn to drive a boat?’ he asked, happily finishing the last piece of pizza.
‘For a while we lived in the South of France and I lived next to a large family. They had a family fishing business and were always fixing their gear themselves. I watched. Then I helped.’
From the warmth in her voice he knew she’d enjoyed that time. ‘Did you ever go back to see them? Later, when you’d come out of hiding?’
Her expression froze and she busied herself with fiddling with one of the chrome gauges.
‘Gracie?’
‘People move on,’ she said with a determined smile that he just knew hid heartache. ‘I was only there about ten months, and when you go, people get on with their lives without you.’
‘So you went back?’
She sighed and sent him a look. ‘I did. Years later. And sure enough they were busy with their own families, their own friends—people they’d known all their lives. When you’re only around for a short period, you’re easy to forget.’ She shrugged as if it all made perfect sense.
And it had only been short periods that she’d stayed in each place. So she’d felt forgotten? Unwanted? Unloved. Now he began to understand her current resistance to a nomadic existence. And why she worked so hard to fit into Bellezzo and be needed.
His stomach knotted. ‘I can’t imagine anyone forgetting you.’
She chuckled again. ‘That’s just another example of your feeble imagination.’
He laughed, as she’d intended, but he kept thinking as well. She’d been so lonely. That was why she wanted to put down roots, why she warmed to the merest touch of friendliness, why she worked so hard to make herself indispensable. And she knew that he saw that need in her—to be wanted. Her expression tightened.
‘You leapt to my defence so swiftly tonight,’ she said quietly. ‘Is that what you did for your mother?’
He knew she was asking this to deflect his thoughts from her. Doubtless she thought he’d distract her with desire the way he usually did. But not this time. Somehow it seemed important that she understand. He wanted her to know everything about him, the way he wanted to know everything about her.
‘I wish I could have,’ he replied. ‘But I hardly had the chance. She died when I was twelve.’
‘Only a few years after your father?’ She frowned. ‘But she was so much younger—what happened?’
‘You know my father was over seventy when I was born. My half-siblings were not impressed. They successfully stopped him from marrying her. She refused, because she knew they hated her. They tried to have him declared mentally incompetent, and when that failed, they just waited for the inevitable. The moment Roland died the accusations flew openly—was I even his son? Roland had vetoed any DNA testing, saying it was insulting to my mum. For his will, it was essential.’ The public shame and humiliation of the procedure still swept over him when he thought of it.
‘And you were his son.’
‘Yes. Of course. It seems impossible for anyone else to believe, but they did love each other.’
‘So the test silenced the wider family?’
If only. ‘Suddenly I was an heir and a future Butler-Ross. Apparently that meant I needed “protecting”.’
‘From?’
‘My mother.’
‘What?’ She stared at him, her eyes widening in horror. ‘No.’
‘Money brings so much power, Gracie,’ he said grimly. ‘They told her I’d be better off with the education, the connections that the family could offer. That she had nothing to offer me that could compete with all they had.’
‘But—’
‘I know.’ He held up his hand and smiled at her. ‘And she argued exactly that—she was my mother and she loved me. But then they threatened—courts, custody, you know the drill precisely. They pressured her, she believed she couldn’t compete. She didn’t have the money or the support. So she agreed to their terms. They paid her off, but she still thought we’d see each other.’
‘You didn’t?’
‘I was the illegitimate secret sent to a boarding school on the other side of the country to be smartened up. They used the promise of a visit from her as a reward for good behaviour. If I did well, I’d get to see her. And if I was really good, maybe I could even come to the villa they loved to holiday at in Italy. The one our father had always stayed at for a few months each year...’
‘Oh, Rafe. Did they never let you?’ She glanced back across the water to the beautiful villa—it had been that symbol of happiness, so out of reach for so long.
‘No. And in those years my mother was very unhappy, and she became unwell.’
She looked up at him with those emotion-laden eyes.
‘Addiction,’ he said softly.
‘I’m