An Inheritance of Shame(31)

He heard her draw in a short breath, and knew she was more conflicted, more tempted, than she was trying to act. ‘No.’

‘Dio, Lucia, I think after last night I deserve a little more than that.’

‘Did I deserve more than that, before?’ she answered. She didn’t sound angry though, not the way he felt. She sounded only tired. Resigned, and that made him even more furious. He knew she wanted him. Wanted him as much as he wanted her. Why couldn’t she see the sense in what he was offering?

‘And so I apologised. I told you I knew I shouldn’t have left you like that. God help me, I am trying to make it up to you now. I want to be with you, Lucia. That’s what this is about. I thought—I thought you wanted to be with me.’ He heard a ragged note enter his voice and stared straight at the road, his jaw so tight he felt as if he might break a tooth. He couldn’t believe he was saying these things, much less meaning them.

It felt awful, this helpless confession, like peeling back his own skin. He was raw, vulnerable and completely exposed. And yet still he couldn’t help himself. He had to say these things. He meant them utterly. He wanted more with Lucia. And yet looking at her averted face he knew his more was still less than what Lucia wanted.

I want to be with you. For a man like Angelo, it was a huge confession. She’d never imagined that he would consider last night the start of something. It hadn’t even crossed her mind, because he’d never even hinted at such a thing before. Never remotely wanted it.

And even though it was an amazing admission for him to make, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough because he didn’t even realise how little it was.

Yet Lucia still felt a longing open inside her, that old, endless ache, and she was so unbearably tempted to snatch his paltry offer with both hands. She would have accepted it before. She would have taken whatever crumb he tossed her way, and forced it to sustain her. It was this understanding of her own weakness that made her stiffen her shoulders, harden her resolve.

She really had changed, and she wouldn’t let herself accept Angelo’s offer of being nothing more than a mistress, even if he hadn’t used that word. Even if he didn’t understand that was what he was suggesting.

‘Lucia,’ he said again, his voice still revealingly ragged. ‘Say something, please.’

She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. Willed herself not to say yes…yes, she’d do it, she’d take it, just as long as she could be with him. She would not be that pathetic creature again. Surely she’d had enough rejection for one life.

She’d heard how her mother had begged her father to stay, never mind the drinking, the abuse, the other women. Watched her mother spiral down into despair and bitterness in the following years. Did she really want to be like that?

She had no illusions about how little Angelo was capable of. He’d been pushing people away his whole life. Pushing her away. Seven years ago it had been one night; this time it might be a week, a month, perhaps a little longer. And then? He’d push. He’d walk away just as he had before, without a backwards glance. Without even a thought.

‘I did want to be with you, Angelo,’ she said in a low voice, each word formed with painful effort. ‘Once.’

‘And not now?’

She swallowed, forced the single word past stiff lips. ‘No.’

With her eyes still closed, she didn’t see him turn the steering wheel. She just heard the squeal of the tyres and felt her body flung sideways as he pulled the car onto the side of the dusty road. Her eyes flew open and she stared at him in shock, saw his chest rise and fall with ragged breaths as he stared straight ahead.

‘Damn it, Lucia,’ he said, ‘that is not true.’ He turned to her, his eyes blazing grim determination. ‘Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want to be with me. Right here, look me in the eye and swear on your mother’s grave—no, on our daughter’s grave that last night meant nothing to you.’

Lucia stared at him, opened her mouth. No words came out. She couldn’t say that, couldn’t mean it, and he knew it. ‘What do you want from me, Angelo?’ she whispered.

‘The truth.’

‘Why?’ she burst out. ‘Does it stroke your ego to know how much I loved you once? How much I still love you?’ She saw shock blaze across his face and his jaw dropped. She laughed, the sound high and wild. ‘Yes, I love you. I’ve always loved you. I loved you when we were children, when I waited for you on my doorstep with a damp cloth for your cuts. I loved you when you told me your dreams of leaving Caltarione, all of Sicily, to make your fortune. I dreamt you’d take me with you, and when you left I still dreamt you’d come back for me. And then you did come back for me—’ She broke off, drew in a clogged breath. She was saying so much more than she’d ever intended to reveal, and yet even now she couldn’t believe he’d never known. It had been so appallingly obvious to her.