An Inheritance of Shame(60)
‘Don’t.’
He rolled away from her, into a sitting position, so she was facing his taut back. Lucia sat up, clutching the duvet to her, knowing they had to have this conversation. The only way was through. ‘I must. Our love—any love—can’t survive this kind of cold-blooded destruction, Angelo. You have to let it go.’
‘It’s a business deal, Lucia.’
‘No, it’s not. It’s so much more than that. You might be able to tell Gio Corretti it’s just business, but you can’t lie to me. You’re doing this because you’re still the hurt little boy whose father wouldn’t acknowledge him, and you hate that.’
‘Of course I hate it,’ he snapped. He rose from the bed, reached for his trousers. ‘You think I want to feel like that again? You think I want to look into the Correttis’ sneering faces and see how they’ve dismissed me?’
‘And you think ruining them will achieve anything?’
‘Yes—’
‘No, Angelo,’ Lucia said quietly. ‘It won’t. It might make them respect you, but that’s not what you want.’
‘Oh?’ He turned to her, dressed only in his trousers, one eyebrow arched in cold incredulity. ‘What do you think I want, then?’
‘You want them to love you.’ She might as well have hit him. He jerked back as if she’d slapped his face. ‘And they won’t,’ she forced herself to continue. ‘You can’t make someone love you, Angelo. But I love you. I love you with all my heart, and it’s love that fills the emptiness, that feeds the hunger. Let my love be enough.’
Angelo didn’t respond. He stared at her, his face expressionless, every emotion veiled. Lucia held her breath and waited. What would she do if he said it wasn’t?
She would, she realised hollowly, leave him. She would have to.
‘Don’t make me choose,’ he finally said, and it was a warning.
‘And if I do?’
‘I said, don’t make me.’
‘Because you will choose revenge.’
‘It doesn’t have to be like that,’ he said, impatient now. He reached for his shirt and shrugged into it. ‘Dio, Lucia, you’re the one bent on destruction. Why are you trying to ruin what we have? It’s been good so far, hasn’t it?’
‘It’s been amazing,’ she whispered. ‘It’s been the most wonderful experience of my life.’
‘So why not just let it go? Why are you always asking for more of me?’
‘Because that’s what love does, Angelo.’ She choked back a sudden sob. ‘That’s what love is. You don’t love half a person. You love all of them, everything, and that’s how I want to love you. But I can’t—’
‘You can’t love me if I continue with this?’ he finished. ‘That sounds like conditional love to me, Lucia. That sounds like you trying to manipulate me as surely as I was trying to when I suggested you become my mistress. I wanted to put you in a compartment of my life, I see that now. In a nice, tidy little box. I wanted to manage you. Now you’re doing the same to me.’
‘It’s not like that,’ she insisted. Tears slipped down her face, cold and silent. ‘I’m trying to free you from the box you’ve put yourself in—’
He flung up one hand. ‘Enough. I’ve had enough of this ridiculous arguing. Dio, nothing I ever do will be enough for you.’
‘That’s not fair. I’ve never asked for any of this, Angelo. Not the diamonds or the clothes or money or trips to Paris. I just want you. The real you.’
‘This,’ Angelo said flatly, ‘is the real me.’ And then he turned and walked out of the room.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ANGELO GAZED MOODILY out the window of his private jet at a grimly cloud-laden sky. The weather had turned grey and cool and after the argument with Lucia last night it suited his mood perfectly. Although if the weather truly suited his mood, a storm would surely be raging, just as anger surged inside him.
Who the hell did she think she was, telling him all that psychobabble? Insisting he wanted the Correttis’ love? It was absurd, pathetic. Yes, maybe he’d dreamt of such things once upon a time, when he’d been a foolish boy—but now?
Now he wanted revenge. He wanted justice. Didn’t she see that? Why couldn’t she understand this integral part of himself? And how could she even pretend to love him, when she wouldn’t accept this?