‘I have explained why doing the play is important to me,’ she said huskily. ‘But if you won’t even wait for me for a couple of months then it makes me wonder if I am really as special to you as you said, or whether that’s a line you spin to all your mistresses.’
Salvatore stiffened. So she still intended to leave? He shouldn’t be surprised, he told himself. She had obviously never cared about him. It was lucky he hadn’t told her that he—Dio! What a fool he had been to think that she might have loved him.
He shrugged. ‘It seems that neither of us have been completely honest, doesn’t it, cara?’
He made the endearment sound like an insult. It was impossible to believe that his eyes had ever gleamed with sensual passion, let alone tenderness, Darcey thought dully.
She felt numb inside as she watched him stride over to the door. ‘Where are you going?’
‘I need some air.’ He glanced back at her and his hard features did not alter when he saw her lower lip tremble. ‘You need to make a choice, Darcey. Stay with me—or walk away for ever.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HE WALKED WITHOUT knowing where he was going, without caring. The crowds on the streets were thinning in the evening; the restaurants and bars were busy. By the Trevi Fountain he saw two lovers entwined in each other’s arms, oblivious to the world. Enjoy it while it lasts, he thought cynically. And the ache inside him grew heavier.
When he reached the river the sun was sinking below the horizon and the lamps that lined the riverbank cast their golden light on the dark water. There was peace here—solitude for a man who was always alone. Maybe it was his destiny, but it felt like a curse.
His steps slowed as he recalled the past weeks, when he hadn’t been lonely. Darcey had lit up the castle and his life with her beautiful smile and her sheer joy in living. He had never laughed so much as he had since she had come to Torre d’Aquila. He had not laughed much at all before he had met her, Salvatore acknowledged. He had not known what it truly meant to make love until he had looked into her eyes as their two bodies became one and felt complete for the first time in his life.
He carried on walking, but without the same urgency, without the anger. Why was he so angry because she wanted to go back to England for a few weeks? he asked himself. She had said that performing in her father’s play was important to her, and rather than assuring her that he understood he had tried to manipulate her and control her instead of listening to her.
The truth was that he was afraid that if she left she would not come back—as his mother hadn’t. He was afraid of being hurt. And so to disguise his fear he had said awful things to her and told her she had to choose between what she wanted and what he wanted. Instead of opening his heart to her he had issued her with a goddamned ultimatum.
Madonna—what had he done? He turned on his heel and began to walk back the way he had come, back to the hotel.
‘If you can’t trust me...’
Her words echoed inside his head and the black shadows from his past lifted. Of course he trusted her. She had proved over and over that she kept her word. She had worked diligently to help his daughter learn to speak, and her patience and loving care had already transformed Rosa into a happy and confident child. His heart clenched. Darcey would not abandon Rosa, and she would not abandon him, but he feared that he might have driven her away.
He began to run, ignoring the pain in his injured leg. He ran all the way back to the hotel. When he entered their suite and saw that the wardrobe where she had hung her clothes was empty the pain of his heart breaking was the worst agony he’d ever experienced, and the lingering scent of jasmine and old-fashioned roses brought a lump to his throat.
* * *
Darcey’s father had once told her that sitting alone in a dressing room in the final minutes before a performance were the longest and loneliest moments of an actor’s life. Now she knew how true his words were, she brooded as she watched the hands on the clock move excruciatingly slowly.
Her nerves were jangling and she just wanted to get the first night over with. She must have been mad to agree to do this. She must have been crazy to walk away from Salvatore. She loved him, so why hadn’t she stayed?
Because he doesn’t love you, said the voice in her head. He had proved that when he had told her to choose. ‘Stay with me—or walk away for ever.’
The weeks since she had returned to London had flown past. She was glad that rehearsals had taken up so much of her time, because concentrating on her role had prevented her from thinking about Salvatore. But it was a different matter when she went home every evening. She had spent the first few days after she’d arrived home clinging to the hope that he would phone. That hope had long since died, and her anger at his intransigence had also faded. Now she simply felt guilty that she had not told him sooner about her intention to perform in the play, and her heart felt like a lead weight in her chest.