Invitation from the Venetian Billionaire by Lucy King

CHAPTER ELEVEN

NOAMOUNTOFalcohol was going to make this easier, thought Rico, his heart beating a thunderous tattoo at the realisation that there was no going back from this. But at least it was dark.

‘I’m not entirely sure where to start,’ he said thickly, once Carla had filled their glasses and set the bottle down on the table.

‘Why don’t you tell me about your parents?’

Shifting on his seat to ease the discomfort, he forced his mind back to the people he barely remembered. ‘My mother was a dentist, my father was an estate agent. From what I can recall, which isn’t a lot, we were a small, normal, middle class family.’

‘Were you loved?’

He allowed a tiny seam of memory to open up, a hazy blur of hugs and kisses, and felt a ribbon of warmth wind through him. ‘Yes.’

‘You said they died in a car crash. What happened?’

‘I was at school,’ he muttered, rubbing his chest as if that might erase the sharp stab of pain. ‘A car overtaking on a bend went straight into them. They were killed instantly.’

‘And the driver?’

‘Him too.’

‘So you didn’t even get justice.’

Her statement lodged deep and then detonated. ‘No,’ he said, realising with a start that he’d never thought about in that way even though it was an obvious explanation for the intense anger he’d felt at the time. ‘I got no closure at all. I had no time to process the shock or the grief before I was taken into care. It was like I’d been hurled off a moving ship and into a heaving, churning sea.’

‘I can’t begin to imagine,’ she said softly, her voice catching.

‘I was so lost and so alone. I’d been ripped apart from everything I’d ever known and tossed into a whole new world. A new school, new faces, a new home. Except none of the places I lived in were home. There was nothing wrong with them, it was just that I quickly learned that wherever I was sent was only ever going to be temporary and so to make attachments would be pointless. I realised I belonged nowhere and I ran away to find something better.’ He gave a bitter laugh and shook his head. ‘If only I’d known... Dio, the fear...the hunger...’

‘So the gang became your family.’

‘That was what I’d hoped,’ he said, for a moment losing himself in the sympathy he could see in her gaze and feeling the ribbon of warmth begin to unfurl and spread. ‘I was so excited about it. I genuinely thought I’d found a place to belong, but I was swiftly disabused of that too.’

‘In what way?’

‘There was no loyalty,’ he said, his chest tightening as the memory of the shock, bewilderment and finally devastation flashed into his head. ‘No code of honour. I was just useful and light-fingered and suited their purposes. And then when I was arrested and therefore no longer of any use they were nowhere to be seen, which is why I took the job.’

‘That must have been devastating to discover,’ she said softly, her eyes clouding in the candlelight.

‘It was. I put my trust in the wrong people and I allowed myself to be exploited. But by the time I realised what was going on I was in too deep to get out.’

‘You said you were responsible for the accounting,’ she said, her eyes fixed to his.

‘I was good with figures. They didn’t care that I was only fifteen. They put me in charge of cleaning the money and collecting the debts. I was handy with my fists and big for my age. One time I nearly put a man in hospital. I carry the shame and guilt of every dirty, terrible thing I did to this day.’

‘You were so young.’

‘But old enough to know right from wrong.’

‘None of it was your fault.’

‘Wasn’t it?’

‘No,’ she said vehemently, sitting up and leaning forwards, the sudden burn in her eyes scything through the numb chill he’d lived with for so long. ‘Your parents’ death was a tragedy, and there was nothing anyone could have done about that, but you were let down by a whole host of people who should have done more. You were what, eleven, twelve, when you started running away?’

‘About that.’

‘They should have tried harder. Someone should have fought for you. You should not have been allowed to slip through the net.’

Maybe she was right, he thought, the tension gripping his body easing a fraction. He’d been little more than a child. He’d been dealt an impossibly tough hand and he’d had no idea how to play it.

‘And as for your later actions,’ she continued in the same fierce tone, ‘I suspect you’ve been trying to atone for them ever since.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘The donation to the consul’s wife’s charity for homeless children. What other charities do you support, Rico?’

Plenty. Anonymously where possible and always at a distance. ‘A few.’

‘I thought so. I bet you’ve done an immense amount of good over the years.’

‘It will never be enough.’

‘You have to forgive yourself.’

‘That’s easier said than done.’

‘But not impossible. If I can, you can.’

He frowned. ‘I thought you said you knew you weren’t to blame.’

‘That was after the therapy,’ she said. ‘Initially, I blamed everyone for what happened to me but the person responsible. I was livid at having been discovered. I’d considered myself so sophisticated, so much more interesting and mature than everyone else. I accused Georgie of being jealous and my parents of not wanting me to be happy. When the scales finally fell from my eyes, thanks to the therapy, I felt like the biggest fool in the world. I hated that he’d had the power to do that to me and that I’d been so easy to manipulate. I swore that I would never allow it to happen again, and it hasn’t. So I know all about shame and guilt and grubbiness.’

‘You’re beautiful.’

‘In this old thing?’

‘You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.’ And the strongest. Whereas he felt utterly weak and drained. The ground beneath his feet was unstable and he suddenly felt strangely adrift, which was why he turned his attention to something he could hold on to, something he did understand. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

Rico did an excellent job of attempting to wear Carla out, but while he slumbered away on the bed, of which he now seemed to hog less and upon which he now barely twitched, sleep eluded her.

While she sat on the balcony watching the sparkle of moonlight on the water, their conversation ran through her head as if on a never-ending loop, the details of which she didn’t think she’d ever forget.

Her throat closed and her eyes prickled just to think about it. Her heart was in tatters for the boy he’d been, for all the children all over the world who one way or another slipped through the net. She couldn’t imagine the loneliness he must have felt. The terror and the confusion and the hunger, the fear of which he still clearly carried with him. And all the while struggling to come to terms with the death of his parents.

His detachment and desire to move through life on his own made so much sense now. No wonder he kept himself apart and relied on no one but himself. No wonder he didn’t form attachments when he’d experienced the destruction they could bring. She could totally understand why he didn’t want to look back and why he had no mementos of the past he’d spent a long time trying to forget. He’d been exploited and abused, manipulated and badly let down. Who’d want to remember that?

How on earth had he had the strength to survive? she wondered, her chest tightening as she tried and failed to imagine the horror and brutality he’d been a part of. She’d always thought that she’d had a rough time of growing up, but compared to his experiences, hers had been a walk in the park. She’d had people looking out for her, even if she hadn’t appreciated it at the time. Rico had undergone hell and, with the exception of the judge who’d given him a way out, had had no one on his side, no one fighting his corner.

He’d learned how to hide it, and hide it well, but once upon a time he’d been as vulnerable as her and just as easy to prey upon. He knew as well as she did what it was like to be manipulated and exploited. Was that why she had the feeling that he instinctively got her? Was that why when he called her beautiful she didn’t inwardly cringe as usual but deep down purred instead? Compliments, which could be flimsy, easily given and weren’t to be trusted, had always made her uncomfortable, but when they came from Rico—was she really the most beautiful woman he’d ever met?—they made her melt.

In fact, she thought, something in her chest shifting and settling, everything about him made her melt. His strength. His resilience. His innate if reluctant chivalry and the way he’d taken care of her after her bag had been stolen, even though she’d resisted with every bone in her body.

Even if he couldn’t figure out what the judge had seen in him, she could. She saw a frightened, grieving child who’d found himself in a situation of indescribable torment. She saw an indomitable will to survive by any means necessary, and the inherent good that had made him the incredible man he was today.

‘What are you doing out here?’

His deep, rumbling voice broke into her swirling thoughts and she turned to see him standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist.

Feeling strangely giddy, her heart thumping unusually fast, Carla got to her feet and undid the belt of her robe. She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to dwell on the way the foundations of her existence seemed to be shifting. She just wanted to feel. So she put a hand on his chest and gave him a little push and they tangoed back until he was lying on the bed and she was straddling him, his towel having been discarded en route.

Without a word she leaned down, put her hands on his head and sealed her mouth to his. She kissed him hard and long, her pulse pounding and desire throbbing deep inside her. He clamped one big, strong hand on her hip and the other at the back of her neck, his palms like a brand on her heated skin.

Tearing her mouth from his, her chest heaving and her breath coming in pants, she dotted a trail of tiny kisses down the column of his throat, the hard-muscled expanse of his chest, her heart thumping as she took extra care with his scars, and then lower, over the ridges of his abdomen, shimmying down his body until she reached his long, hard erection, steel encased in velvet.

She could feel the tremors gripping his large frame and when she wrapped her fingers round the base of him and her lips around the tip the groan that tore from his mouth sent reciprocal shivers shooting up and down her spine. She took him deeper into her mouth and his hands moved to her head, threading through her hair, holding her when he needed her, guiding her yet giving her the freedom to use her hands, her mouth and her tongue to drive him to the point where his hips were jerking and his breathing was harsh, his control clearly unravelling.

And then he was lifting her off him and rolling her over, applying a condom and sliding into her with one long, hard, smooth thrust, lodging deep inside her, and staring into her eyes as if trying to see into her soul.

She clung on to him, her gaze locked with his as he began to move, slowly, steadily, driving into her, pushing her higher and higher each time, making her shatter once, white lights flashing in her head, and then again, and again, before with a great groan he buried himself hard and deep and poured into her.

She was wrung out physically and emotionally and her last drowsy thought before she finally fell asleep was, I could stay here with him for ever.

At the helm of his boat, with Carla sitting in the stern, Rico was feeling lighter than he had in years yet at the same time oddly uneasy, as if the world had been broken up and put back together with the pieces in the wrong place.

Something had shifted inside him last night, he thought, the frown that he felt he’d been wearing all morning deepening as he increased the throttle and they sped off in the direction of the island of Murano. With her insight and understanding Carla had sliced through his long-held doubts and shone a light on his darkest fears. She’d somehow given him permission to let go of the shame and the guilt he’d carried around for so long—even if he didn’t think he could let it go just yet—and he had the strange sensation that tiny droplets of light might slowly be beginning to drip into the great well of nothingness inside him.

But he’d sensed something change in her too and that was the source of his discomfort. The shimmering emotion he’d seen in her gaze when he’d found her on the balcony, before she’d subsequently blown his mind, wasn’t something he’d needed to witness. He didn’t want her pity or her sympathy. He didn’t want anything more with her than what he already had.

But it was what she might want that was his concern. He’d assumed she was on board with the temporary nature of their arrangement, but what if for some reason what they had now became not enough for her? What if she wound up wanting more? Under no circumstances could he allow that to happen. He’d never be able to give her more, no matter how much talking they did. He’d been on his own for so long it simply wasn’t in him. But he would never want to hurt Carla, so he had to prevent such a situation arising at all costs and nip things in the bud before they got out of control.

And not only for her benefit, he forced himself to acknowledge.

Yesterday while he’d been showing her the sights he’d started to see his city through her eyes and it had been illuminating. He’d noticed less of the grey and the grime and more of the glitter and shine. Colours had seemed strangely brighter, sounds sharper, smells more intense. Even the heat, which he was well used to and had not changed, felt fiercer.

This shifting of the sands over unstable ground couldn’t continue. A stronger-willed man would send Carla home now, and retreat to rebuild his walls, but he wasn’t a stronger-willed man. He was a man who wanted her in his bed for as long as they had left. He just had to keep reminding himself that great sex was all it was.

The island of Murano, famed for its glass and a stone’s throw from Venice, was amazing. Far less busy than its much bigger neighbour, it had colourful low-rise houses, wide, tranquil canals and a laid-back vibe that made Carla want to stop and linger along the walkways so she might have time to take it all in.

Vibrant glass sculptures stood in piazzas, glinting and sparkling in the midday sun. Rico had taken her to a workshop off the beaten track where she’d spent a good half an hour watching a glassblower creating a vase. She’d even picked up a bauble of her own.

The only minor awkward moment came when, while strolling down a walkway beside him, she’d suddenly been overwhelmed by the romance of it all, giddy with the effect this man had on her, and had reached for his hand, only to feel him jerk it away when her fingers brushed his.

‘After all this,’ said Carla, hiding her mortification behind a bright smile and determinedly reminding herself that she didn’t, ever, do romance and, more importantly, neither did he. ‘London’s going to feel very pedestrian.’

‘But it’s your home.’

‘It is and it’s great,’ she said, thinking that she really did love it with all its energy and buzz and variety, and she really was looking forward to getting back to it. ‘But this is beautiful and Venice is stunning. Everywhere you turn there’s another incredible piece of architecture and it’s such... I don’t know...an effervescent city.’

‘And unfortunately,’ he said drily, ‘sinking.’

‘So I’ve read. Why’s that happening?’

‘Early settlers drained the lagoon, dug canals and shored up banks by piling tree trunks into the silt. They laid great wooden platforms on top of the piles and stone on top of that and started building from there. But increased traffic in the canals—not to mention the cruise ships—has started churning up the water and the silt and the trunks are being exposed to oxygen that’s making them rot. There’s a campaign to ban everything but gondolas and small boats and it has my full backing.’

She knew how Venice felt, she thought dreamily, wondering for a moment what it would be like to be fought for like that. She too had been fine for years and then stirred up and exposed. She too had the sensation she was slowly sinking into deeper waters than felt safe, only in her case there was no one there to save her.

‘You care,’ she said, focusing on the topic of conversation and not the sliver of worry that slid through her at the thought that even though she’d done her best to prevent it she might be getting involved.

‘It’s complicated.’

‘It’s your home.’

‘It was also my prison.’

‘It’s shaped the man you are and it’s in your blood. I can’t imagine you living anywhere else.’

‘Neither can I. Can you imagine living anywhere other than London?’

Yes. She could imagine living here. With him. All too easily. But, despite what she’d thought last night, addled with emotions, this wasn’t for forever. ‘No,’ she said, because it was the only answer she could give and anything else was simply not possible. ‘As you pointed out, it’s my home. I can’t wait to get back.’

‘Tomorrow’s your last day,’ he said, his eyes fixed on hers but curiously devoid of anything. ‘What would you like to do?’

‘I think I’d like to learn to pilot a gondola,’ she said, struggling to ignore the tightening of her chest at the thought of leaving, determined instead to make the most of what little time she had left.

‘Your wish is my command.’

But if only her wish was his command, thought Carla wistfully the next day, perching on the padded bench seat as Rico steered the batela through the busy and choppy canals and out into the relative calm of a more placid section of the lagoon. Because she was beginning to wish she hadn’t been quite so sensible in booking a flight for tomorrow morning. She didn’t need a whole day and a half to prepare to go back to work. She’d only been on leave for a week. What had she been thinking?

‘I thought I was going to be learning to pilot a gondola,’ she said, looking up at him, so breathtakingly gorgeous her heart turned over.

‘Patience,’ he said with the arch of one dark eyebrow. ‘A gondola is a very technical boat. Tourists start on these.’

‘And is that what I am? A tourist?’

‘What else would you be?’

It was a question to which she didn’t have an answer, even after an hour’s tuition that took two, since shortly after it had begun there’d been a rocky moment during which she’d needed close contact support and her concentration had fled.

She was none the wiser when he handed her the oar and murmured, ‘Your turn now,’ or when she arched an eyebrow, gave him a wide grin from her position at the front of the boat and asked, ‘Do you trust me?’

It was only when he replied, ‘You already know I do,’ with a smile so blinding, so real, that it lit up his face and stole her breath, which weakened her knees, robbed her of her balance and promptly toppled her headlong into the lagoon, that she realised she was head over heels in love with him.

Rico had dived straight in after her. By the time he’d hauled himself back onto the boat and then pulled her up too, the coastguard had arrived. An hour later, with the paperwork completed and tetanus shots administered, they’d been delivered back to his island, where they’d got out of their wet things and taken a scalding shower.

Carla had been unusually quiet for the rest of the evening. No doubt, she was still in shock. He knew he was. He didn’t think he’d ever forget the moment she’d fallen into the water. Time had slowed right down, but the sheer terror that had ripped through him, wilder than any tide, had been swift and immense. She’d gone under for the briefest of seconds, but to him it had felt like a lifetime. He hadn’t thought twice about diving in to rescue her. The only thought screaming through his head was that he couldn’t lose her.

And that was equally terrifying.

She wasn’t his to lose. Or keep. She never would be. She was leaving in the morning and going home. He was going to wave her off with no regrets, and reclaim the life he’d led before the accident had blown it apart. That was the plan and it was a good one, a necessary one.

Nevertheless, when he held her in his arms in bed that night he did so a little more tightly. He found himself noting every sound she uttered, every move she made, and storing them somewhere safe. And when he moved inside her, he realised he was trembling.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked softly, once the sweat had cooled on their skin and their harsh, heavy breathing had faded.

‘I’m fine,’ he said, but he wasn’t. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. All he knew was that he wasn’t fine at all.