Cathy Williams - Summer Loving

Although his attitude towards Annabelle had changed...

Recalling his face when he’d laid their daughter down for her nap, a bittersweet emotion filled her.

If Cesare meant to spend time with Annabelle, Ava welcomed that, although she couldn’t stop the tiniest well of jealousy from rising up.

Pushing the doors open, she stepped onto the terrace. The palazzo baked in the late afternoon sun. Perfumed scents of lemon trees and the specially reared roses the team of gardeners took immense pride in mingled in the air. She inhaled deeply, letting the fragrance suffuse her senses. But the clarity she sought never materialised.

The holiday in Bali had been her last-ditch attempt to reconnect with Cesare. She’d failed spectacularly right from the get-go. That first week, he’d shut himself away in the luxury villa’s study and worked until the early hours of each morning.

On the first morning of their second week, desperate for a break from the overwhelming evidence of her failure, she’d left the villa armed with her camera. She’d been taking pictures of the beautiful local wildlife when the earthquake struck.

Her insides clenched anew at the heart-rending three days they’d searched for Annabelle and Rita.

She shuddered and blinked back the rush of tears. Ironically, she’d felt closer to Cesare in those bleak moments they’d spent ripping apart the marketplace where Rita had been strolling with Annabelle than she’d felt in a long time.

Well, Cesare had been right about one thing...she was a fool.

* * *

The staff had unpacked and folded away her clothes in the master suite on the other side of Annabelle’s room by the time she went upstairs. It took moments to confirm Cesare’s I’ve rearranged a few things didn’t mean he’d moved back into the suite they once shared but rather the one on the other side of Annabelle’s room.

Ava refused to acknowledge the knot in the pit of her stomach and undressed. The sheer gold-coloured muslin curtains that framed the queen-sized bed had been caught up with white velvet rope.

Approaching the bed, she picked up her coffee-coloured kimono-style silk gown and went into the bathroom. Bypassing the sunken marble bath, she entered the shower cubicle. After a refreshing shower, she donned an ankle-length green and white flower-patterned skirt and white top and checked on Annabelle. Finding her still comfortably asleep, Ava slipped her feet into a pair of white thongs, grabbed her laptop and went downstairs.

The aim had been to head to the salone that hugged the western side of the villa and overlooked the stunning gardens. She’d always found that room soothing. But in the hallway she slowed, lingered, unable to stem the flood of memories from washing over her.

Her first time to the Villa di Goia had been on her honeymoon. Two weeks of bliss when they’d only come out of the bedroom to swim in the pool or for Cesare to teach her to waterski on the lake.

He’d wanted to take her somewhere exotic, but for a girl brought up in a dysfunctional working class home, who’d never travelled beyond the shores of England, Lake Como at the end of a hot summer had been exotic enough. And after being carried over the threshold and falling as swiftly and deeply in love with the charming elegance of the Villa di Goia as she had with its owner, she’d had no wish to be anywhere else.

Besotted fool that she’d been.

With an irritated shake of her head, she banished her thoughts. Through the window she caught another glimpse of the sparkling swimming pool and smiled at the thought of Annabelle’s delight when her water-loving child was reunited with her favourite pool.

‘If that’s a smile of victory, I’d caution against being too precipitate,’ a deep drawl sounded from behind her.

Cesare lounged against a Louis XVI credenza that had been in his family for four generations. Above him a portrait of another di Goia, long dead but no less imposing, stared down at her with similar unnerving tawny eyes. How long had the living di Goia stood there, silently watching her take the stupid trip down memory lane?

‘Poor Cesare. I can see my being home fills you with all sorts of unhappy feelings. I get it. But I’m not going into hiding just to please you and I’m certainly not going to stop smiling in case it offends you.’

His smile mocked her. ‘I have no problem with you smiling, cara, I just don’t want you deluding yourself that you’ve won an easy victory.’

‘I wouldn’t dare. But remember your rule goes both ways. I can’t stay out of your way if you insist on straying into mine.’

He straightened and sauntered towards her. ‘Is this where we indulge in the childish game of who was here first?’ he asked.

She shrugged. ‘It’s not childish. I was here first. And, if you must know, I was smiling at the thought of Annabelle being safely home and being surrounded by familiar things.’ Ava caught herself, realising she didn’t owe Cesare any explanation. ‘Anyway, I’ll let you reclaim your domain—’

‘You weren’t just thinking about our daughter. You were reminiscing about us.’ He said it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, Ava felt a shiver race up her spine.

‘You’re wrong.’ The need for denial was visceral.

‘Liar. We may have been apart more than together for most of the past year, Ava, but you’re still as easy to read as an open book.’

‘Then it’s a book whose language you don’t quite fully understand. Because, from where I’m standing, you couldn’t have got things more wrong if you’d tried.’

His jaw clenched, the mocking smile wiped clean. Part of Ava wanted to punch the air in triumph. The other just wanted to weep because if she’d been as open as Cesare claimed, then it meant he’d recognised her heart’s one desire—the need for the comfort of the loving family she’d never had—and he’d still denied her.

‘And, just so we’re clear, my memories are my own. They’re not a subject for your amusement or dissection.’

‘Then learn to hide them better.’

‘Why—do they make you uncomfortable? Would you rather I strip myself of every humanising emotion, like you?’ she challenged and immediately bit her tongue when he tensed. The light pouring through the tall shuttered windows carved his face in taut, almost statue-like relief.

‘You think I’m without emotion, cara?’ he queried so softly the hairs on her arms rose in desperate foreboding.

‘Not where I’m concerned. When it comes to me, you’re as emotional as a plank of wood.’

His eyes narrowed. Almost in slow motion, she watched his hands leave his pockets, reach up and curl around her arms. One slid down, relieved her of her laptop and set it carelessly aside.

‘What are you doing?’ Her question squeaked out as he captured her nape.

He didn’t answer, at least not verbally. The slow burn in his eyes and the steady pressure of his fingers on her skin told its own story. With effortless ease, he pulled her close. Ava actually heard her thonged feet screech across the floor in protest as he dragged her into stinging contact with his body. When he had her close enough, he boldly cupped her bottom.

‘Cesare!’

Electric heat, wicked and powerful, snapped through her, zapping awake her senses with a force so potent she gasped. She should’ve wanted to move away from it. Should’ve worked harder to release herself from the powerful, chaotic destruction.

Instead, she found herself straining up to meet the havoc-causing mouth descending towards hers, pressing herself up against the heat of the rock-hard body.

His mouth slanted over hers, barely stopping to explore before his tongue slid through the parted welcome of her lips.

Somewhere in the outer regions of her mind, she knew she should feel shame for letting him kiss her thoroughly with so little resistance. But the pleasure racing unfettered through her was too heady, too blissful, to deny.