Chapter 21
He didn't come back.
Not that long, silent night, and not the next day either. Lara alternated between staring out the window, cursing herself, and debating whether she should call anyone in his family to find out where he was. She decided against it. Why would she want a worried Daniella or Mamma or any one of the numerous Casartellis pacing the floor with her?
She deserved to suffer by herself.
Why hadn't she taken the chance and told him she loved him? Why hadn't she swallowed her pride and been the first to say those fateful words? She'd hidden behind kisses and laughter, hoping he would be the one who would break the silent tug of wills. Because the battle had still been there between them, she acknowledged it to herself now.
When it might be too late.
The momentary pause whenever he saw her. The shadow of something awful that crossed his eyes. The silence he fell into after making love. She'd ignored it, hoped it would go away. Instead of grabbing the bull by the horns, she'd hidden from the confrontation. Just as she had with Gerry.
Hadn't she learned anything?
The day passed. Slowly and grudgingly. She called him a dozen times on his mobile phone yet it always went straight to voice mail. He was avoiding her. She fell asleep on the terrace bench overlooking Florence. The twinkling night lights tormented her. Where was he? Somewhere down in the city? Holed up in a hotel? A friend's place? Did he have another apartment she didn't know about?
The next day, she called in sick to the school for the first time. She couldn't possibly concentrate on the children, the paperwork, the fundraising. More importantly, it was Monday and Monday meant her husband was at work.
She would confront the king on his own turf. If it meant they had to battle it out in front of his employees, so be it. She wasn't willing to wait for him anymore.
Changing into a conservative dress and shoes, she managed to slap some makeup on, comb her hair into a knot on the top of her head, and call for the limo. He didn't have any foreign trips scheduled. Plus, he never missed work. The king would be waiting.
This time, though, it wouldn't be a seduction.
This time they needed to talk.
The drive to his office was silent. She'd tried to pry information from the security team yesterday with no success. But she couldn't bear to tell them she was desperate, that she didn't know where her husband was, that he'd left her without telling her where he'd be. The conversation would be too embarrassing.
She wasn't that desperate. Yet.
The shimmering glass of his modern business building came into view and she took in a deep breath. She wouldn't hold anything back this time. She would tell him the truth about her love; how she'd let go the grudges she'd held against him, how she hadn't been taking those wretched pills for weeks, how it was her hope she was already pregnant with his child. After that, she'd ask if he loved her.
God, she hoped he loved her.
Even if he wouldn't say it, she knew in her heart. She knew. How could a man make love to her with such passion and tenderness and not love her? How could a man stare into her eyes as he came into her, his gaze alive with wonder and possession and not be in love with her? How could a man care for her needs, both physical and emotional, and not love her?
She didn't need the words.
She just needed him with her again.
"Signora." The driver opened the door with a flourish, his face solemn.
Straightening her shoulders, Lara walked with shaky confidence into his building. The place was a hive of activity, people rushing past her to catch one of a dozen lifts. The lobby was stunning in glass and crystal, all silver and light. The receptionist recognized her from her previous visit and with a smile, waved her onto the farthest lift that was reserved for the top floor executives.
The lift raced upward, making her feel slightly dizzy. Or maybe the coming confrontation was making her dizzy. Stepping into the foyer, she immediately caught the attention of Dante's PA. The woman sat in solitary splendor, guarding her employer's double doors.
"Signora?" The woman's dark brow rose.
"I'd like to see my husband." She pasted on a smile.
The brow rose further. "I'm sorry, Signora Casartelli. He is not here."
Heart sinking into her stomach, she managed to maintain her smile. "A meeting?"
"No." The PA frowned in confusion. "He called me this morning to tell me he would not be in this week. Were you not aware of his plans?"
Her spine stiffened in embarrassment. "Obviously not."
"I will be glad to pass on any message?" The PA instantly appeared as embarrassed as Lara felt.
"That won't be necessary." She had to get away from here. A flush rose up her neck. Turning on her heel, she started toward the lift's sanctuary.
Dante? Not at work? She rushed across the lobby and into the waiting limo. Settling into the leather seat, she tried to put the pieces together. He was going to be gone all week? Her husband rarely missed work and never for an entire week. He was harder on himself than on any employee.
He must be far more upset than she realized.
Panic shut her throat. She had to find him soon. The panic pumped her blood into a shaky froth of anxiety. Soon, or he might freeze up as he had once before. Freeze so hard she'd never be able to punch through the ice.
Walking through the front lobby of their flat, she frantically tried to think of the next step. Should she break down and call his family? Admit that he was gone, that they'd had a fight?
"Signora Casartelli."
The cold voice broke into her concentration. Turning, she confronted a middle-aged man dressed in a conservative business suit. His eyes were grey and cool, his mouth set in a firm line.
A sudden shaft of pure ice went up her spine. "Yes?"
"This is for you, Signora." He pulled out a thick file from his briefcase and held it towards her. "You will need to sign for it."
She knew, with a deep-seated instinct, she did not want what was in that file. "I-"
"It is a mere formality." A silver pen was placed in her hand with firm guidance. A single piece of paper was laid on the file. Signing seemed to be the only option open to her.
"Grazie." The stiff bow matched his entire demeanor. He left with a silent tread.
Lara stared at the manila folder he'd placed in her hands. The thing was bulky. Not a gift, surely. No one would have a present delivered by that kind of man. Taking hold of her diminishing composure, she stepped into the lift and focused with numb bemusement on the silver-paneled door as it rose to the top floor. She discarded her jacket and then sat down on the sofa with the packet in hand.
Slipping the leather sleeve off, she pulled the pile of documents out. For a long moment, the language swirled in front of her eyes, not making any sense. But one word leapt into her gaze, with complete clarity.
Divorce.
A sharp cry of horror escaped her lips. "No!"
Still, there it was, in stark words. Dante wanted a divorce.
How could he have moved so fast? Not even forty-eight hours had passed since she'd seen him last. Closing her eyes tight, she remembered the laughter, the teasing. She wanted that back. She wanted him back.
She didn't want a divorce!
Sucking a deep breath in, she managed to open her eyes and scan the documents, looking for some clue to what was driving him, some clue to where he was. Could she get to him through these lawyers? She had to see him. She had to talk to him. She had to tell him …
I love you. Don't do this.
The settlement page stopped her cold. Her father's mortgage was paid off completely and there were no ties or conditions to the payoff. Her brother's job was guaranteed. The foundation for her schools would continue, with annual payments from his business, also guaranteed.
A sharp stab of pain and guilt ran through her. Even if he had forced her to marry him, look at the generosity he displayed when he was trying to get rid of her.
"No, no, Dante." Her hands tightened around the papers. "I won't let you force me to divorce you. I won't let you force me to let you go. Not without a fight."
* * *
In the middle of the night, the idea came to her.
The villa.
Why hadn't she thought of it before? They hadn't spent much time there since returning from their honeymoon, but it was his home-his family home. He would go there, to think, to retreat.
By six a.m. she was on the road. Not wanting to wait for the limo, she used the grey Fiat that had been parked in the underground lot since she'd arrived in Florence. Her husband had argued about it; if she had to have a car, he would buy her a Mercedes or a BMW. She'd never been interested in cars, though. Why purchase an expensive car when she rarely needed one?