Innocent's Secret Baby(20)

Restare.

He wanted a chance for them.

* * *

Lydia lay, half listening to the sounds of Venice on a Sunday morning, and thought of their lovemaking.

It was still too close to be called a memory.

Yet it would be soon.

Unless she changed her flight times.

What if she told him she couldn’t get a flight out of Venice until tomorrow?

Lydia got out of bed and pulled on a robe and found her phone. Even as she plugged it in to charge it Lydia knew she was breaking the deal they had made—simply to walk away.

Only it wasn’t that simple.

This felt like love.

It was infatuation, Lydia scolded herself.

He was the first person who had shown an interest...

Only that wasn’t so.

There had been others, but she had chosen to let no one in.

‘Signorina...’

There was a knock at the door and Lydia opened it and smiled at the friendly face of a maid, who said her name was Loretta.

‘You have a delivery.’

‘Me?’ Lydia checked. ‘But no one knows that...’ And then her voice trailed off, because the name on the box was indeed hers, and as she took it Lydia felt its weight.

There were stickers saying ‘Fragile’ all over the box and Lydia was trying to reel herself in.

The word was the same in both Italian and English, and she wanted to peel the stickers off and place them on herself.

She was too fragile for this much hope.

Lydia took the box out to the balcony to open it.

It didn’t matter that it had started to rain. She needed air, she truly did, because as she peeled back layers of tape and padding, the hopes she had been trying not to get up soared, for there, nestled in velvet, was the art they had seen made.

It was exquisite.

Dark gold it was shot through with colour, red and crimson, and she ran her fingers along the cool glass and recalled the way Raul had held her last night.

It was more than a gift, and far more than the once-promised morning-after present, surely—it felt like a diary of them.

The kisses and caresses...the oblivion they had found...the melding of two bodies. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, let alone been given.

How could she even hope to hold on to her heart? Lydia thought, and then she looked out on the canal and there he was, steering the boat with ease, the man she loved.

Loved.

Her own admission scared her.

Raul didn’t want her love.

She felt that if he so much as looked up he might read her, so Lydia gathered the box and the statue and went back into the room and attempted to reel herself in.

It was a gift.

An exceptionally generous gift.

It didn’t necessarily mean that he felt the same and she had to remember that.

She was trying to hold on to that thought so hard that when her phone rang, unthinkingly Lydia took the call.

‘You fool.’

That was how Maurice greeted her, and Lydia pulled the phone back from her ear, about to turn it off, because she refused to let him ruin this day.

But, having called her a fool, Maurice then asked her a question.

‘What the hell are you doing with Raul Di Savo?’ Maurice asked.

‘That’s not your concern.’

He’d never told her his surname, though she had seen it on the business card he had given her.

More concerning was how Maurice had known. But, unasked, he told her. ‘There are pictures of the two of you all over the Net.’

‘Us?’

‘Have you any idea of the fire you’re playing with? He’s using you, Lydia.’

That much she knew wasn’t true.

Lydia looked at the statue he had bought her, the most beautiful gift ever given, and she recalled not just Raul’s touch but how even without words he made her feel good about herself.

Even if their time was to be fleeting, for once in her life someone had truly liked her.

That was the real gift.

‘He isn’t using me,’ Lydia sneered, utterly confident in that statement.

She had gone willingly, after all.

And then everything changed.

‘He just wants to get at Bastiano.’

She was so sick of hearing that man’s name. ‘What the hell does Bastiano—’ And she stopped, for in that second Lydia answered her own question.

Even before Maurice told her outright, Lydia already knew.

‘They were friends until Bastiano had an affair with his mother. Raul has sworn to make him pay slowly... Screwing you was mere revenge.’

Hope died silently, Lydia found out as she stood there.

No protest.

No flailing.

For Maurice’s filthy term matched her thoughts.

She had been screwed.

It made sense.

Well, better sense than that she might ever be loved for herself.

She ended the call and looked for the photos Maurice had alluded to. Her heart was thumping...she knew that soon Raul would be back.

There was only one photo she could find—they were in that Rome café, drenched in the morning sun, and he was holding her hand.

She had been innocent then.

And Lydia wasn’t thinking about sex.

She had been innocent of the level of hurt he might cause, for she had sworn she would let no one close ever again.

Oh, she was a fool—for she had.

So, so close.

Lydia wanted to retch as she thought of their lovemaking, and she held in a sob as she had a sudden vision of herself coming undone under his expert ministrations.

Had he been laughing on the inside?

Everything was tainted black.

Her phone rang again, and Lydia saw that it was Arabella.

She must have seen the photos.

Lydia was no doubt popular now.

‘Hey...’ Arabella said. ‘When are we going to catch up? How about tonight?’

‘I can’t make it.’

‘Well, soon?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘When, then?’

‘I’ve got to go.’

Lydia gave no reason.

Raul had taught her that much at least.

She ended the call and ran to the balcony and stood there dragging in air and trying to fathom how to face the man who had destroyed her.

Would he be like Arabella and barely flinch when he found he’d been caught out?

All her confidence was shredded.

She was no butterfly emerging, Lydia knew, but a dragonfly.

Didn’t they spread their wings for just one day?

Her wings were gone now, torn and stripped, and it hurt to be bare.

She stood clutching the stone balcony in the rain and wondered if she had time to pack and get out. But it was too late. She looked down and saw the empty speedboat and knew he must be on his way up.

Leaving without tears, leaving with pride, wasn’t just a wish but an imperative now—Raul must never know the hurt he had caused her, Lydia vowed.

Not one tear would she give him.

She would have been better off with Bastiano!

At least there she had known the score.

A whore, albeit with a ring on her finger.

And then it came to her—Lydia knew how to hurt Raul now.




CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘HEY...’

She turned and saw him. His hair was wet, and had she not found out, Lydia knew they would have been naked soon.

Why did he have to be so beautiful?

How she wished there had been just another day till she’d found out.

‘Why are you standing in the rain?’ Raul asked.

‘I was just taking in the view before I go.’

‘About that...’

‘I called and they can transfer my flight, but I have to leave soon.’

‘You don’t.’ Raul shook his head. He had a jet on call, after all, but more than that he wanted to say it.

Stay.

‘Come and have breakfast and we can talk.’

‘No, thanks,’ Lydia said, and she wondered herself how she did it, because she actually managed to smile.

She had at her father’s funeral as she had thanked the guests for coming.

And she had smiled at Arabella that awful day in Murano as she had purchased the vase.

No one knew her, and now she would make sure no one ever did.

Yes, her innocence was gone.

In every sense.

‘I have a lot to sort out, Raul. I need to get home and face things.’

‘I know that, but it can wait a few days. Come inside—I brought breakfast.’

And Lydia knew she wasn’t that good an actress. She could not lie in bed and eat. And so she shook her head. ‘I need to go, Raul.’

He kissed her to change her mind.

And she let him.

Desperate for the taste of him just one more time.

He nudged with his hips, he cajoled with his tongue, and he nearly won.

‘Come on.’

He led her inside, but instead of going to bed Lydia reached for her case and placed it on the bed and started to pack.

‘I don’t get why you’re leaving,’ Raul said. He did not understand her mood.

‘Wasn’t it you who said I don’t need to give an excuse or a reason?’

Indeed it had been.

And so he watched as she put the red shoes into the case, and the underwear he had peeled off last night, and selected fresh for today.

Her robe was clinging and her nipples were thick, and Lydia, as she went and unplugged her phone, did not understand how she could both hate and want.

‘Can we talk?’ Raul said.

‘And say what?’ Lydia asked, and there was strain to her voice.

‘I don’t want you to leave yet.’

A few moments ago she would have knelt at his feet for those words, now she turned angrily.

‘Oh, sorry—were you hoping for a morning shag because you bought me a statue?’

Oh, it wasn’t her wings growing back—it was nails. Thick steel nails that shot out like armour.

‘Raul, thank you so much for your hospitality. I had a wonderful time.’