Maya Blake: Marriage Made of Secrets

‘Turn down the Marinello gig. Return to your commune in Bali. Or take another assignment abroad. Give me the summer with Annabelle. We’ll talk when you return.’

Her eyes flashed rebellious fire at him. ‘No. Annabelle needs me. Besides, too much has happened for me to just up and leave on an assignment. I think deep down you know that.’

He silently conceded the point. The earthquake had changed things between Ava and him just as much as it’d altered his relationship towards his daughter. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, looking at Ava in battle mode he hadn’t witnessed for a long time, he knew in that instant he was screwed.

He gritted his teeth. ‘The foreign minister is a close friend. You didn’t become an Italian citizen when we married. All it would take is a single phone call and I can have you thrown out of the country. Do you realise that?’ He threw out the straw-clutching Hail Mary.

‘Yes,’ she stated simply, not in the least bit cowed. ‘But if I leave I take Annabelle with me.’

Against his will, his eyes strayed to the soft curve of her mouth. It would be as soft and supple as he remembered. Along with the rest of her.

Having her close would drive him crazy.

But the need to have his daughter close—to begin to repair the damage he’d caused outweighed all else. His internal debate lasted milliseconds.

‘Fine. We’ll both stay here for the summer.’

Her mouth dropped open, then her eyes narrowed. ‘That was a little too easy.’

‘Don’t delude yourself, Ava. This isn’t going to be easy for either of us. I know what you want and I can assure you I am unable to give it to you. What I can do is ensure Annabelle isn’t caught in the crossfire of our...situation. You understand?’

She sucked in a ragged breath and Cesare knew he’d got through to her. The late afternoon sun slanting through the windows danced over her fiery hair as she nodded.

Grimly satisfied that his control was under firm guard, he headed for the door, ruthlessly suppressing the old sensations pulling at him, reminding him that his attraction to Ava had always held a fatalistic edge that had excited him.

Doomed him. He’d let it get out of hand the same way he’d let the situation with Roberto and Valentina unravel...

‘So, does that mean you agree to a truce? That you won’t try anything double-crossy somewhere down the line?’

He turned back from the door.

Her eyes reflected a defiance that reluctantly sparked his admiration. None of his family or subordinates would dare press home their advantage this way.

But a line needed to be drawn. ‘That very much depends on you, cara. Your innate inability to not rush in where angels fear to tread could prove your undoing.’

Her lips tightened. ‘Are you calling me a fool?’

‘I’m inviting you to prove me wrong. Stay out of my way for the next six weeks and I’ll have no need to declare war on you.’

* * *

Ava frowned at the closed door, her mind a whirlpool of jumbled thoughts.

She walked over to the French windows and gazed at the sparkling infinity pool. Something was wrong with the picture Cesare was presenting her with.

Even as a newly-wed, she’d realised very quickly that business came first with Cesare. She’d lost count of the times he’d upped and left on a business trip on the strength of a single phone call.

Now, all of a sudden, he’d taken weeks off to spend his summer here.

She wanted to believe that living through a devastating earthquake had changed him...but it was painfully obvious that Cesare was determined to keep her at arm’s length.

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.’