The Italian's Deal for I Do(57)
His fingers bit into his thighs, his knuckles gleaming white. His feelings didn’t matter in this. Duty over his freedom. It was the way it had always been. He could only hope that his fiancée carried out hers. Because this wedding was a machine that couldn’t be stopped. It was a multimillion-dollar affair with implications way beyond the two of them. It would determine his future. The future of Mondelli.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
OLIVIA SPENT THE DAYS leading up to Paris Fashion Week at the apartment in Milan, avoiding her fiancé, who reluctantly agreed to give her space. She kept herself busy working with Mario on her designs while mentally preparing herself for one last walk down a runway. After that she truly didn’t know what she was going to do. There was also that walk down an aisle with a man who didn’t love her looming—and her head to get in order.
The Fashion Report segment aired the night before Paris. She watched the in-depth exposé on the pressures models faced in a world that valued perfection above all else in her hotel room alone, having insisted Rocco stay home. In some ways, the airing of her most private fears, the knowledge that she wasn’t alone, helped a great deal. On another level, the fact that the whole world was now intimate with her private terror made Paris fifty times more intimidating.
She made it through the show with sheer willpower and the knowledge that if she chose to end things now she’d never have to walk a runway again. And yes, because she loved her fiancée and she didn’t want to let him down. Then she did as she’d promised and took the time she needed. Instead of following Rocco’s summons to board the Mondelli jet at Charles de Gaulle the morning after the show, she caught a flight bound for New York.
It was the last place she wanted to be. But if slaying her demons was her goal, it had to be done.
Her mother, busy packing for her wedding and a two-week vacation, took one look at her and opened a bottle of wine. “Please tell me you’re not having second thoughts,” she murmured, settling herself in the sofa across from Olivia in the Chelsea apartment she’d bought with her daughter’s money.
Olivia took a sip of her wine. “Why? Because you can’t bear for the gravy train to end?”
Her mother, whose poise was usually ironclad, flushed a deep red. “I deserve that, I know it. I let things get out of hand.” She gave her an imploring look. “I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know how dire things were or I never would have...”
“It doesn’t matter.” Olivia cut her off with a wave of her hand. And it really didn’t anymore. “I forgive you for the money. What I can’t forgive you for is never being there for me. For pushing me when you knew I was on the edge.”
Her mother’s gaze fell away from hers, making an elaborate study of the ruby-red liquid in her glass. “It was wrong. But I thought you were like me, Livvie. I thought you thrived on the excitement.”
“I was having panic attacks at fifteen.” Olivia threw the words at her in disbelief. “How did that make you think I was coping well?”
Her mother was silent at her outburst. Then she nodded. “You’re right. I’ve been self-involved my entire life. It was the only way I knew how to be.”
“Including Giovanni,” Olivia challenged.
Her mother’s surgically enhanced mouth tightened. “Including Giovanni.”
Olivia tucked her legs underneath her and took a sip of her wine. “Tell me about what happened with him.”
Her mother shrugged a slim shoulder. “I was in love with him.”
“Mother.” Olivia pressed her hands to her temples and massaged her throbbing head. “I did not fly thousands of miles for you to feed me the same lines you always do. You tore my life apart over him. I don’t have a father because of him. Give me something.”
Her mother’s lips pressed into a straight line. “He was everything I ever wanted and everything I couldn’t have. I knew it, I told myself not to do it, and when he left I wanted to curl up in a ball and die.”
It was the most emotion she’d witnessed in her mother in a decade, and it knocked her back against the sofa for a moment. “What about his wife? Did you ever think of her? How she must have felt?”
Her mother’s long lashes settled down over her blue eyes, identical to hers. “It wasn’t that kind of love, Olivia. It was the once-in-a-lifetime kind. Giovanni and I were both starstruck. There wasn’t any rationality to it.”
Like her and Rocco.
She chewed on her lip. “I still don’t understand what you were thinking. He was a married man.” Unobtainable. “Why put yourself through that?”