“You’ve got my respect.”
She focused back on him. “But I didn’t always have it, did I?”
The muscles at the back of his neck tightened. She’d mentioned respect the other day, too, and he’d let the comment pass. Not this time.
“Why do you say that? I’ve always treated you with respect.”
“If you’d respected me years ago you wouldn’t have gone off with that girl after our kiss.”
The comment staggered him. “What are you saying? That our kiss mattered to you back then?”
She held his gaze for a moment, and her delicate chin rose higher. “You gave me my first kiss, Nick. And yes, it mattered.”
He expelled a breath.
“But you didn’t care, Nick.”
She was wrong about that.
“You’ve got no idea how hard it was for me to walk away from you, Sasha. But dammit, you were only eighteen. You had your whole life ahead of you.”
“So did you.”
“I don’t deny that. I was only twenty-five. I didn’t want a serious relationship. It wouldn’t have been fair to you—to either of us—if I’d taken what you’d offered.”
“I felt humiliated,” she said quietly. “More so when you left with another girl.”
He swore low in his throat. “I’m sorry. That hadn’t been my intention.”
He’d gotten the hell out of there with the other girl—he couldn’t even remember her name now—not to humiliate but because Sasha was a siren … a little witch … who’d suddenly developed a body and a face to die for.
Knowing himself, he would have taken what was offered and moved on.
Knowing Sasha, he couldn’t have done that to her.
She gave a shaky sigh. “That was the worst part. You had no idea how devastated I was.”
His heart jolted inside his chest. Had this been more than Sasha testing out her newfound womanly ways?
“Sasha, did you have a crush on me?”
For a moment their eyes locked.
“Yes, Nick. I did. I was a young girl in love with the man of her dreams.”
Oh hell.
Dare he ask.…
“Are you still in love with me, Sasha?”
Her eyelids flickered. “I’m fond of you, Nick, but that’s all.” As if the thought didn’t deserve any further comment, she spun on her stool to face the mirror again and began brushing her hair.
It was odd but his stomach felt like it had just been hollowed out. She hadn’t missed a beat in her answer. Love definitely wasn’t in her agenda.
Not that he would have known what to do if she had said she loved him. He hadn’t figured on that in their plans. He’d be happy with fondness between them.
And desire.
That was enough.
He walked up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders, looking at her through her reflection. “Amazing as it may seem to you, you’re the only woman I want in my life right now.”
And that was the truth.
The brush stilled in her hand. “I … I am?”
Her stutter was charming and made his heart pound against his ribs. She may not be in love with him, but she was so very beautiful.
“Yes,” he murmured, sliding the neckline of her dress aside and kissing her bare shoulder. “Let me show you.”
At breakfast, Sasha was still recovering from Nick’s questions last night.
Are you still in love with me, Sasha?
No, she wasn’t, but the question had made her uncomfortable. Love wasn’t an easy subject to discuss at any time, but talking about it made it seem more real, even possible.
It was a possibility she didn’t want.
Just then, Iris opened the door to the breakfast room and Cesare and Isabel came walking in.
Nick put down his napkin in surprise. “Dad, what are you doing here?”
Cesare’s step seemed to hesitate. “Son, I have something to tell you.”
Sasha saw Nick stiffen.
“What’s happened, Dad?”
Cesare sat down on one of the chairs, his face paler than usual. At the same time, Isabel hugged Nick, then straightened but kept her hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. Sasha swallowed hard. This was definitely bad news.
“It’s your mother, figlio mio.” The older man paused. “She fell asleep at the wheel of her car last night and crashed into a parked truck.”
Sasha gasped.
Nick sat like stone. “And?”
“She’s dead, Nick. She died instantly.”
Pain for Nick squeezed Sasha’s heart as Isabel squeezed his shoulder.
Nick didn’t move. “Had she been drinking?”
“We don’t know. Perhaps.”
Nick’s lips twisted. “More than likely she was coming home from a party.”
Cesare inclined his head. “She lived life on her terms, Nick.”
“You don’t have to tell me that, Dad,” Nick said, jumping to his feet and going over to the patio door. He stood looking out over the sunny courtyard.
“At least she didn’t suffer, honey,” Isabel murmured. “None of us would want that.”
Nick let out a deep sigh but didn’t turn around. “No, I wouldn’t have wanted that.”
Seconds passed without anyone speaking as if in deference to the dead.
“They’re arranging the funeral for Tuesday in Melbourne,” Cesare finally said.
“I won’t be going.”
Cesare’s mouth clamped in a thin line. “She was your mother, son.”
“Really?” Nick turned around to face them, the lines of his face rigid.
“I know how you feel, but the world is made up of different people. We have to accept that.”
“You accept it.” Nick tilted his head. “Actually, you accepted that years ago, didn’t you?”
Cesare stiffened. “Your mother wasn’t the woman I thought she was when I married her, I know. But I did learn to accept that’s how she was.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t be so generous.”
Cesare’s gaze held his son’s. “The best thing that came out of our marriage was you, Nick.”
Sasha’s throat thickened.
A muscle ticked in Nick’s cheek. “Emotional blackmail won’t work this time, Dad. I won’t go to the funeral. I don’t owe her anything.”
Cesare was having none of that. He straightened his shoulders. “Julieann was a Valente, if even for a short while. She should have someone from the Valente family go to the funeral.”
“You go then.”
Cesare glanced at Isabel then back. “I can’t. I would if I could, but—”
“His doctor won’t let him go,” Isabel said. “He’s worried it will be too much for your father.”
Cesare made a dismissive gesture. “The doctor’s just being too cautious. He thinks you’ll sue him if I die.”
Isabel tutted. “Now, you know that’s not true, Cesare.” She looked at Nick. “For what it’s worth I don’t think you should be forced to go either.”
“Thanks for your support, Izzie,” Cesare muttered.
She looked at her husband. “I don’t care what you say. I don’t think anyone should have to go if they don’t want to, Cesare.”
For some reason, Sasha thought of her own father and how she’d feel if he’d walked out on them years ago. Would she have been forgiving of him?
Probably not.
Of course, it may have turned out better if her father had left them. Her mother may have had a chance at a decent life.
“I’m not going, Dad.”
Cesare got to his feet, his mouth firming with purpose. “Then it’s up to me.” He shot Isabel a look. “And no more about it from you, my darling wife. I—” Suddenly he turned pale.
“Dad?” Nick raced over while Isabel gasped, then took some tablets out of Cesare’s jacket pocket.
“Here, darling. Put this under your tongue.”
A short while later Cesare started to get his color back and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. If the older man had been hoping for effect, he couldn’t have chosen a better moment.
Nick stood looking down at his father, his eyes unreadable. “Okay, Dad. You get your wish. I’ll go to the funeral.”
Cesare looked relieved. “Thank you, figlio mio. This means a lot to me.”
“I’ll go with him,” Sasha said, wanting them to know she’d be there for Nick.
Nick spun toward her. “No.”
“But—”
“No.” Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.
Sasha’s heart sank, but she wasn’t about to give up.
“Go with him, honey,” Isabel said. “He needs you.”
Sasha nodded. He needed someone, but she wasn’t sure it was her. “I intend to, Isabel. Don’t worry.”
After that, the older couple left and Sasha saw them off. For all that she understood why Cesare wanted a Valente at the funeral, like Isabel, she did think it unfair to ask Nick to go. Did they really need someone to represent the family? Wasn’t Cesare showing the woman more compassion than she’d shown him and their son?
But it wasn’t her place to say anything.
She knocked on the study door and went in.
“Nick—”
“No, Sasha.”
“But—”
“I’m going alone.”
She stopped in the middle of the room and glared at him across the desk. “Would you let me finish a sentence or are you taking a page from my father’s book now?”