Not caring if security followed her or not, she made good time getting out of the city and traveling north towards the sea. Rolling down the window, she relished the soft morning wind whipping her hair around her face and drying the tears that seemed to fall on her face whenever she thought about her situation.
For the thousandth time, she castigated herself. Hadn't she learned anything from being with Gerry? Hadn't she learned that sticking her head in the sand, trying to avoid confrontation, only made things worse? She should have been courageous and told Dante she loved him when she'd figured it out. Instead, she'd hidden from him and from herself.
Because she was scared he didn't love her.
Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. How could he have forced her to marry him if he didn't have some strong feeling about her? His smokescreen about it being time to marry and wanting children-it didn't ring true. Not now. Not now that she knew, really knew, Dante. The man she knew was methodical, yes, yet not cold and calculating. He was cool on the outside, all heart on the inside. He showed it in the way he cared for his family, the way he cared for her.
He cared. But did he love?
Whether he did or he didn't, she had enough love for both of them. There was no way she was going to sign those divorce papers.
Driving up to the Casartelli villa, her gaze scanned the grounds, the windows. It was early morning, so it wasn't surprising the house still dozed. Her husband was an early riser, however, maybe he was sleeping in. Maybe she could surprise him in the bedroom and find more than words to convince him of her feelings.
Lara shivered. She missed him. Missed his warmth in the bed, his strong arms encircling her, pulling her into his chest. She missed his soft snore in her ear, and the way his hand smoothed over the skin of her stomach, even when he was asleep. She missed his passion as he slipped inside her, murmuring Italian praise as he kissed her neck and shoulders.
God, she hoped he was still asleep.
Jerking the car to a stop, she hopped up the stairs and threw open the carved door.
"Signora." The housekeeper bustled towards her, astonishment on her face. "This is such a surprise."
Good. Surprising Dante worked to her advantage. "Ariana, where is he?"
The older lady's eyebrows rose. "He?"
How embarrassing. Could she say she'd misplaced her husband? At this point, though, she no longer cared what others thought. She wanted to find him; that was the only thing that mattered. "Dante? Is he upstairs?"
A hand stayed her instinctive turn towards the grand staircase. The housekeeper's face was wreathed in frowns. "The Signore is not here."
Her heart thumped to the bottom of her stomach. "You're sure?"
"Si." Worry clouded the old woman's expression. "He would not have arrived last night without my knowledge."
Ariana ran a strict household. Nothing except the best for the Casartellis. If her employer were here, she would know. Where was he? A sense of hopelessness coursed through Lara and a sheen of tears threatened to spill. She'd been so sure he'd be here.
Alarm flashed in the housekeeper's eyes. "The Signore is missing? We must alert-"
"No, no." She grabbed the woman's shoulders before she could move away. "Ariana, it must be a misunderstanding between Dante and me."
"You thought he was here?"
"Yes." Patting the older woman's hand, she plastered on a smile. "We must have got our signals crossed."
"Si, si." The wreath of frowns turned into a gentle smile. "This can sometimes happen. It is too bad you have traveled all this way-"
"Not a problem." She blinked and swallowed her tears. "I'll nip over and see Papa."
"Bene." Ariana nodded. "He will be glad to see you."
"I'm sure he will." Turning quickly to hide the tears slipping down her cheeks, Lara headed toward the open front door.
"If the Signore appears, I will have him call you."
Waving an airy hand, she slipped into the Fiat. Driving out to the main road, she pulled along the side of the lane and stopped to lay her head on the wheel.
Where could he be?
Was he zooming around the European capitals, ignoring her calls, already putting her out of his mind?
A fierce determination surged through her. Whatever he was thinking, wherever he was hiding, he couldn't ignore her forever. Some way, somehow, she was going to find him and confront him with her love. If he wanted to throw away what they had after that … she would deal with it then.
Pulling onto the road, she drove towards her family home on autopilot. Seeing her father was exactly what she needed. His quiet calm would be a balm and give her courage for what lay ahead.
The fountain's water sparkled in the morning sun, the flowers surrounding it alive with vivid color, lifting their faces to the warmth of the rays. Pulling to a stop, she took a deep breath, wiped the remaining tears off her cheeks and put on a happy smile. She would say hello, grab a comforting hug, before returning to Florence to track down her husband.
Her hand trembled as she pushed the car door open and stepped out.
"Lara." Hugo Derrick emerged from around the side of the villa, garden trowel in hand, face quizzical but filled with a warm welcome. "What a surprise."
In a flash, all her shaky composure disappeared and she was a small girl again, running to her papa after falling or fighting with her brother or any myriad of childish hurts. Yet this wasn't a childish pain; this was a gigantic yawning claw of anguish she could not contain inside any longer.
"Well, well," her father muttered, his arms coming around her quaking body to hold her in a warm hug. "Something's amiss, I take it."
A watery chuckle escaped the sobs. Leave it to her father for English understatement. "Papa," she whispered into the leathery neck, letting the smell of his tobacco soothe her.
He grumbled and groused, but his arms continued to hold her until the wave of crying subsided. "Let's sit down."
Allowing him lead her to one of the many stone benches dotting the property, she blotted her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt, trying to bring herself back from utter despair. As soon as they sat, her father's bushy eyebrows rose with a look at her face, and one more time she found his arm around her shoulders, her head planted firmly on his chest.
"Not like you to do this," his voice rumbled above her. "Must be something major."
"It is." A hiccup broke through her tears.
A warm, rough hand patted her shoulder. "I'm sure you'll tell me all about it when you're ready."
Tell him all about it. Tell him she'd been forced to marry to save him and Andy. Tell him she'd fallen in love with her husband against her will. Tell him she'd stupidly hurt her husband with her stubbornness and her unwillingness to admit her new feelings. Tell him she'd been served with divorce papers and couldn't find her husband to confront him.
Another wave of tears accompanied her thoughts and her papa's arms tightened around her. "Now, now," he murmured.
After wetting his shirt to the point of dripping, finally she felt the last of her tears dry on her skin. Slumping into his hold, her mind dulled to exhaustion. What would she do now? She'd gone everywhere she knew. She supposed it was time to confront his family. Someone would know where his bolthole was. It would be embarrassing, but she was beyond any shame. She wanted her husband back.
Lifting her head and sitting upright, she mopped her wet face with her sleeve.
"Do you want to talk about it now?" Her father's mild voice was edged with concern.
She glanced at him. He was looking straight at her, his eyes filled with affection. "I love you, Papa."
Chuckling, he patted her arm. "And I love you. Whatever has happened, we'll fix it."
"I'm not sure that's possible." She stared at her clasped hands. "I've screwed it up royally."
"It?"
Her hands tightened. "My marriage."
"Hmm." Her father relaxed back on the bench. "You and Dante have had a fight."
"More than that."
He hummed again.
A lulling silence fell. The tree leaves above them rustled in the soft wind and the buzz of a bee rambling among the fountain flowers wafted in the air. The morning sunshine hit her legs, warming and soothing her. Some of the tension of the past few days started to slide away. Her papa always did this to her; he centered her with his love and gave her hope with his acceptance.
"He's left me."