An Inheritance of Shame(36)
She focused on counting pillowcases, but in her mind’s eye she could see Angelo at ten, eleven years old, bloody and defiant, angry and proud. She remembered trying to tease him out of his hurt, coming up with ridiculous taunts for the ignorant schoolchildren who refused to think of him as anything but the Corretti bastard, the son of a woman they’d said was no better than a whore. More often than not Angelo had just shrugged her off, but once in a while she’d succeeded in making him smile, even laugh. He’d meet her gaze and they’d grin at each other, both of them hurting and yet happy in that moment, united in their understanding of how harsh and unfair the world really was.
‘That was a long time ago, Angelo.’ Her voice sounded clogged and she cleared her throat, kept her gaze firmly on the sheets and not on the man who seemed intent on breaking her. Again.
‘Not so long.’ Angelo put one hand on her wrist, stilling her, his touch sure and strong and yet also gentle. ‘You don’t love me, Lucia.’
She turned to him, surprise temporarily wiping away every other emotion. ‘You came here to tell me that?’
‘You think you do, but you don’t.’ He gazed at her steadily, his eyes dark and serious, his tone so very certain.
Lucia shook her head slowly. ‘How on earth could you know a thing like that, Angelo?’
‘Because.’ He frowned, as if he hadn’t ever considered the question before. ‘Because you can’t.’
‘I can’t,’ Lucia repeated. She searched the harsh lines of his face, tried to find some clue as to why he felt the need to tell her this now. ‘Does it ease your conscience somehow, to think I didn’t love you?’
‘It’s not about my conscience.’
‘What, then?’
The sound of someone pushing a cart came from the corridor, squeaky wheels and a heavy tread. Angelo’s breath released in an impatient hiss. ‘We can’t have this conversation here.’
‘I’m working…’
He opened his mouth and she knew he wanted to order her to stop; it was certainly within his rights as her employer. ‘When do you get off your shift?’ he asked instead, the words coming reluctantly.
‘At six.’
‘Let me pick you up—’
‘And take me back to your villa?’ Lucia finished. She felt herself flush and she knew from the answering heat in Angelo’s gaze that they were both remembering what had happened the last time they’d done that.
‘Then we’ll go somewhere else,’ Angelo said. ‘Out to dinner.’
‘A date?’ she mocked, even though it hurt. ‘Why bother, Angelo? We have nothing more to say to each other.’
‘I have something to say to you.’
She stared at the steely glint in his grey-green eyes, and suddenly she remembered her conversation with Maria earlier in the day. He knows I love him. That’s what matters.
She’d spent so much time and effort pushing Angelo away. What if she stopped? Instead of bearing her love for him like a burden, she’d wear it as a badge.
You’ll only get more hurt.
She’d already experienced so much heartache, and yet she’d survived. She was strong; just as Angelo had said. Tragedy had made her stronger.
Yet strong enough for this? To risk her heart one more time, and this more than ever?
She swallowed, made herself nod. ‘All right, then.’ She turned back to the stacks of sheets. ‘You can meet me at the Borgo Vecchio.’ She wondered if he’d remember the last time they’d gone to one of Palermo’s outdoor markets.
‘The Borgo Vecchio? It’s no more than a street fair.’
She turned back to him, eyebrows raised. ‘Are you too good for a street fair?’
‘No, of course not.’ Annoyance flashed across his features. ‘I just don’t see why.’
Obviously he didn’t remember. It hadn’t been important, at least not important to him. ‘I don’t belong in fancy restaurants,’ she told him. ‘And I won’t be paraded about Palermo as your whore.’
He recoiled. ‘Is that how you see it, Lucia?’
‘It’s how others see it,’ she answered flatly. She saw the surprise in his eyes and knew he hadn’t known, had never realised. Never thought for one moment how her pregnancy and his abandonment would have affected her standing in a tiny place like Caltarione.