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.'
'That's it?'
And she did know how to hurt him!
'I think we both know I was never going to be leaving Italy a virgin. It was you or Bastiano. I chose you.'
He stood there silent, Raul did not ask why, yet Lydia answered as if he had.
'Bastiano isn't what I want.'
'And what is?'
'Money.'
'He has that.'
She screwed up her nose. 'I want old money.'
'I see.'
'If I'm to marry for money I'd at least like a title.'
'You're a snob.'
'I have every right to be.'
'And a gold-digger,' Raul said.
'Yes!' Lydia smiled a black smile. 'I'm a snob and a gold-digger, and some Sicilian who just made good doesn't really do it for me.'
'You make no sense, given the way you screamed last night.'
'We're talking about Bastiano,' Lydia said. 'As you pointed out-he wanted marriage and a nice trophy wife. I, on the other hand, wanted sex.' She ran a finger along his jaw and taunted him and it felt so good. 'For a one-night stand, you were the far better option. What I really want is a gentleman.'
'Well.' He gave a black smile and removed her hand from his face. 'I don't qualify, then.'
'No.'
He dropped all contact, and as she turned and walked away suddenly Lydia wasn't so brave.
As she bent to retrieve her red dress and picked it up from the floor, it felt as if she was waving a flag to a very angry bull, though Raul did not move.
His hackles were up. Raul could fight dirty when he chose-and he was starting to choose to now.
He looked at her slender legs and her hair falling forward and knew she could feel his eyes on her body as she pretended to concentrate on folding the dress as she bent over the open case.
She was pink in the cheeks and her ears were red, and as his eyes took in the curve of her bottom he knew she was as turned on as he was.
Tension crackled between them and she could almost picture his hands pulling up her robe.
It was bizarre.
He made filthy thoughts mandatory, gave anger a new outlet, and she recalled his promise that angry sex could wait.
'You know,' he said, 'once you leave, you're gone. I don't play games, and I don't pursue...'
'I'm not asking you to.'
He walked over-she heard him but did not turn around. She must have folded that dress twenty times when his hand came to her hip. Just a small gesture, almost indicating that she should turn to him, but Lydia resisted.
'Hey, Lydia,' he said, and he bent over her and spoke in that low, calm voice, while hard against her bottom. 'When you find your suitably titled Englishman, don't think of me.'
'I shan't.'
'It would not be fair to him.'
'You really-' She stopped, and she dared not turn around, for now one hand moved to her waist and the other to her shoulder, and there was a desire in Lydia for the sound of his zip, but it never came.
'When you're in bed,' Raul said, and she held on to the bed with cheeks flaming, 'and he says, "Is that nice, darling?" or "Do you like it like that?"' He put on an affected tone. 'Try not to remember that I never needed to enquire. And,' he added cruelly, 'when you lie there beside him, unsated, and you do think of me...'
'I told you-I shan't.'
'Liar.'
He pressed into her one more time and then pulled back and let her go and she straightened up.
She was a bit breathless.
Oh, and still angry.
She pulled off her robe and he did not avert his eyes. He watched as she pulled on knickers, and watched as she put on her bra.
And he watched as she pulled on the taupe dress-the one with the buttons.
Bloody things!
As she struggled to dress he walked over-but not to her. This time he picked up the statue and tossed it into her case.
'I don't want your stupid statue.'
'I thought you were a gold-digger,' he pointed out. 'Sell it.' Raul shrugged. 'Or hurl it out of the window of your turret in frustration when your fingers can't deliver.'
'Oh, please,' Lydia sneered. 'You think you're so good.'
'No,' Raul said. 'I know that we were.'
He did.
For he had never experienced it before-that absolute connection and the erotic bliss they had found last night.
She snapped her case closed and, rather annoyingly, set the security code on the lock.
As she bumped it from the bed he kicked off his boots and got on. Raul lay on the rumpled sheets and reached for his cake box and took out his phone.
She could see herself out, Raul decided.
The private jet was closed.
Lydia stood there for a moment. It was hard making a dignified exit when you didn't know the way out.