A Shadow of Guilt(47)

His guilt reached out to envelop her in that moment and it was so suffocating that she stepped back, letting his arm drop heavily. Panic prickled in her belly. For one awful second she’d wanted to place her mouth over that tattoo, to kiss Gio there, to assuage his pain … and that was a revelation she wasn’t ready for.

Feeling rigid all over, the previous night all but forgotten in her bid to put some space between herself and his man, Valentina stepped back and said, ‘I should get ready for work.’

She went into the bathroom and turned the lock in the door. And then she rested her back against the door. She half expected to hear Gio demand autocratically that she open up and remembered his own reluctance to admit what the tattoo was. But nothing happened.

It was only when she heard her main apartment door open and close and she knew that Gio had left that she allowed herself to sink to the floor and silent tears leaked from her eyes.

She wasn’t even sure what she was crying for … but for once it wasn’t grief for Mario; it was for something much deeper and more ambiguous. Allowing herself that glimpse of Gio’s pain and guilt had shaken her to her very core. And deep down, in that dark and secret place within her, the shameful truth she’d harboured for seven years was rising back to the surface.

Valentina was aware that if she were to acknowledge it now, it would blast apart everything that had been holding her together since Mario had died … and if she didn’t have that, who was she?

As Gio walked away from Valentina’s accommodation his gut churned. The tattoo. Of course she’d noticed the tattoo. He’d been drunk when he’d got it, full of bile and self-recrimination. Guilt. A perverse part of him had liked the thought of being marked for ever, so he could never forget. As if that were possible.

For a crazy second back there, he’d almost fancied that Valentina had been moved enough by the tattoo that she’d. She’d what? a voice mocked him bitterly. That she’d understood something of his experience? That she possibly didn’t hate him as much as he thought she did?

His mouth firmed. She would never forgive him. And she certainly wasn’t interested in absolving him.

Gio resolutely pushed tender emotional roots back down into the murky darkness of his damaged soul and vowed that if the physical was all he was going to get with Valentina, then he would take it. And let her walk away when she’d had enough. Even though the thought of that made him want to smash his fist through the nearest solid object.

‘Mini doughnuts to go with mini coffees for dessert … and the sweet fig starter … truly inspired …’

Valentina smiled weakly and cursed herself inwardly. This was what she’d been waiting for, an opportunity to showcase her skills in front of the very people who could take her forward with her career and yet she couldn’t concentrate. She was too keyed up, her whole body quivering because she knew Gio was just feet away in the crowded throng. Guests were finishing lunch in the VIP marquee and moving back outside for the biggest race of the three days.

Valentina gave up trying to focus on what the guests were saying to her and murmured her thanks and excuses, cursing herself again that she was so distracted. She turned to head back out to the main tent to make sure that everything was set up for the inevitable celebrations after the race and ran straight into a wall of steel.

Gio.

She looked up. His hands were on her arms and her legs felt like jelly. His gaze raked her up and down and dimly she realised that he’d shaved since the morning. He looked … edible. Her insides melted. She thought of the tattoo and her heart clenched.

‘OK?’

It took a second for his question to register. She was too caught up in her reaction to him. Jerkily she nodded her head and then she realised that he was standing with another couple. The man was tall, as tall as Gio. There was a startling resemblance even though Valentina knew it wasn’t one of his brothers. A woman stood beside the man, his hand in a proprietorial hold on her arm, much the same way Gio now held Valentina’s arm. It was only then that she became aware of the crackling tension between the men.

In that instance some flicker of affinity passed between the women, even though Valentina had never seen her before. She was beautiful, with long straight brown hair and stunning blue eyes.

‘Angelo, I’d like you to meet Valentina Ferranti, the woman who has been in charge of catering for this year’s Corretti Cup.’

The man smiled and Valentina felt Gio’s hand tighten on her fractionally. He was stupendously handsome, even though he did nothing for Valentina. He put out a hand and said urbanely, ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Gio’s illegitimate cousin. I’m also betting against his horse today and I expect to win.’