Bound by the Italian's Contract(80)

                Not to be.

                She swiped at her eyes and took a long, hot shower, then packed everything but what she’d wear tomorrow. Exhausted, she fell into bed, the delivered dinner forgotten. If only she could just do the same with the imposing Italian she’d loved and clearly lost.

                * * *

                The wake-up call at seven gave Caprice the needed time to dress, secure her bags for the trip and leave her suite. One glance in the mirror confirmed that no amount of makeup could conceal the fact she’d had a fitful night’s sleep.

                She wrenched open the door and smothered a gasp. Luciano stood there, looking haggard as well.

                His note flashed before her—It is better this way. So why was he here now?

                She swallowed hard. “Is something wrong?”

                He shook his head. “Not a thing that I’m aware of.”

                “Oh, good,” she said, confused. “I trust everything is ready.”

                “To the minute.” He glanced at his watch. “You are anxious to depart.”

                It was so tempting to refute that remark, but what was the point? She had to leave Italy and Luciano anyway. She had a ticket, lingering another hour or so threw that timetable off.

                Even if she could easily leave at a later time, she still had to leave. Staying would only make it more difficult to walk away. And walk away she must.

                “Allow me,” he said, taking her bag from her.

                “Thanks,” she mumbled, closing the door behind her.

                She trailed Luciano to the elevators and dreaded the ride down, secluded into close quarters with the man she would always love. And it was hell. More than anything she wanted to reach out to him. Touch him. Kiss him. But he stood like a Trojan, paying no attention to her at all.

                After what seemed like forever, the elevator door whooshed open. He nodded for her to step out and she did, doing her best to pretend her nerves weren’t scraped raw, that her insides weren’t twisted into knots.

                And then too quickly they were at the door with a private sedan waiting to whisk her to the airport, away from Italy. From the only man she would ever love.

                This was what she’d wanted from the start. How could she complain if he didn’t wish to accept her odd change of heart? He couldn’t.

                “Thank you,” she said to Luc when they reached the door. “For everything.”

                And she meant it. His affection had given her back the confidence she hadn’t realized she’d lacked. The incredible sex she’d been sure didn’t exist. The faith he’d put in her as a businesswoman. The funds he’d given her to ensure she succeeded in her chosen field—not for a year but for decades, getting her over any foreseeable humps that may occur.

                In short, he’d made sure she wouldn’t need him ever again. Still, she was grateful. Everything he’d done for her was appreciated more than words could convey.

                “It is I who should thank you for giving this opportunity to Julian.” He smiled, though it was bittersweet to her eyes. “He seems excited.”

                “Julian will do fine. Tell him I’m just a phone call away if he needs to talk.” And it took effort to not extend the same to Luc.