A Moment on the Lips(57)

Except she wasn’t relieved.

Because she realised then exactly what was missing from her life. What she wanted. Why she’d really come back home to Italy.

She wanted a family.

Specifically, she wanted to make a family with Dante. To have his children. To have everything that had been taken from her as a child.

But would Dante take a chance on her? Given the way he seemed to be avoiding her, she doubted it.

She brooded about it all day, her mood growing darker and darker. And then she pulled herself together. She was a Tonielli. She didn’t wait to see what life dealt her; she went after what she wanted. And she wanted Dante. She sent him a text. Can I see you tonight? Need a quick chat. She deliberately didn’t tell him the subject, knowing that he’d assume it would be about the business. Which was possibly a little devious, but if she told him why she really wanted to talk to him, she knew he’d run a mile.

It was two hours before she got a reply. I’m working late. Tomorrow?

It looked as if she’d have to learn to be patient. Tomorrow’s fine. Half-past seven, here?

OK.

The next day dragged. And then finally it was half-past seven, and Dante rapped on the door of her office.

‘Hi. Coffee?’

‘No, I’m fine. So what’s up? Problem with the figures?’

‘No.’ She indicated the chair opposite hers, and he sat down. ‘I thought you’d like to know, my period started yesterday.’

His expression was absolutely unreadable, and his voice gave nothing away when he said, ‘That’s probably for the best.’

No, it wasn’t. Not in her book. Though she couldn’t tell him that just yet. She had to work up to it.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said. ‘This thing between you and me, it isn’t what it started out being.’

He frowned. ‘How do you mean?’

‘It’s not just about hot sex and mentoring. Not any more.’ She took a deep breath. ‘You’re a workaholic, you’re difficult and half the time I don’t have a clue what’s going on in your head. But since I’ve got to know you, I’ve realised …’ Once she’d said it, there was no going back from here. But she knew Dante wouldn’t say it first. She had to be brave.

Take the risk that he’d reject her. And hope to hell that he wouldn’t. ‘I love you.’

Emotion flickered across his face, too fast for her to read it: and then he was back to being inscrutable again.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t feel the same way.’

But there was a tiny flicker in his eyes as he said it. She knew that he was lying—what she didn’t understand was why. ‘That’s not true,’ she said softly. ‘I knew in Paris. It was different between us, that night. And I heard what you said.’

He looked panicky. ‘I got carried away.’

‘More like you thought I was too sleepy to remember.’

He dragged in a breath. ‘OK. I said it. But this can’t work—I can’t take the risk.’

‘What risk?’ She frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘I guess I owe you the rest of what I started telling you.’ He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘This is hard for me. I don’t spill my guts. Ever.’

She took his hand. ‘It’s not weak to talk.’

‘Isn’t it?’

She sighed. ‘I don’t want to argue with you, Dante. I just want to understand what’s going on in your head, and I can’t read your mind. Talk to me. Please.’

‘Just promise me—no pity. Ever.’

Why would she pity him? ‘I promise. Just talk.’

His words were hesitant at first; then it was as if something had cracked and everything came pouring out.

‘I don’t remember it being bad when I was tiny, but when I was six or seven my father lost his job and started drinking. When he came home, he’d hit anyone who got in his way or answered him back. He broke my sister’s arm, he broke my mother’s ribs, he gave my mother black eyes.’

‘And he hurt you?’ she asked softly.

Dante nodded and swallowed hard. ‘The more he drank, the worse he got; and the less reliable he was when he did get a job. And then he’d lose his job and start drinking and it was a vicious circle.’

Now she understood why he never drank. And no wonder there was no picture of his father on his mantelpiece. She reached over the desk and took his hand.