Invitation from the Venetian Billionaire by Lucy King

CHAPTER TWELVE

ONTHEMORNINGof her departure, while Rico was in the shower Carla was methodically folding and putting clothes into the suitcase she’d had to buy to accommodate her recent purchases. But if anyone had asked her to itemise those clothes, she’d have merely blinked in bewilderment.

The drenching she’d had yesterday afternoon had been an almighty shock but not nearly as great as the one that had led to it. Ever since, she’d been able to think of nothing but the stunning realisation she was in love with Rico.

Which couldn’t possibly be.

She’d known him for less than a week. She didn’t know what love was. Not this kind of love. She loved Georgie, of course, and even her parents, despite all their flaws, but this was entirely different. This was...well, she didn’t know what this was.

And yet all these feelings, which had been rushing around inside her for a while but now flooded her like a tsunami, had to mean something. Why else would her heart tighten every time she thought of what he’d been through? Why else would she overflow with admiration and respect at what he’d achieved? He was the only person she wanted to talk to. The only person alive she wanted to tell everything to and find out everything about. He’d become her world. He’d even saved her from sinking.

So much for steering clear of emotional intimacy, she thought, her pulse pounding and her head spinning as she distractedly packed. She’d been creating it and encouraging it since the moment she’d met him.

And had that been such a bad thing?

No.

Quite the opposite in fact.

He’d shown her that ceding emotional ground didn’t have to lead to vulnerability and weakness. It could actually lead to empowerment and healing instead. He’d shown her what a proper relationship could look like, free from manipulation and fear. How it could be a give and take of ideas and opinions, an exchange of thoughts and experiences, hopes and dreams, and not a loss of identity. He’d given her space. He’d given her choice. If this was love, then she adored him, and when she focused on the happiness beginning to spread through her like sunshine, it was glorious.

When she thought of what Georgie had it didn’t fill her with horror, it filled her with envy. When she thought of combining a family with a career she realised it was a challenge she’d be thrilled to embrace.

Could she dare to hope that Rico had reached a similar conclusion and now felt the same way? she wondered, her throat dry and heart thudding wildly as he took her cases downstairs and loaded up the boat.

Like her he’d said little since her dip in the lagoon, but somehow she sensed that, like her, he’d changed. He’d dropped his facade and shown her the whole of the man beneath. He’d opened up to her. He’d told her things she didn’t think he’d told anyone ever before. He’d trusted her with his past and his soul. Despite his reluctance, he’d let her into his sanctuary, into his life. That had to have meant something.

And then, the tenderness with which he’d made love to her last night... That had definitely been new, as was the glittering warmth with which she’d caught him looking at her on several occasions over the last couple of days.

There was so much to this amazing, complex, beautiful man, she thought dizzily as they sped across the lagoon towards the airport, the exhilarating rush of wind blowing through her body and whipping up a storm inside her. So much more that she longed to know. She wanted to talk with him, make love with him and fight his corner, today, tomorrow, for ever.

So what happened now? Time was running out. All too soon the airport hove into view and then he was slowing the engine of the boat and tossing a loop of rope over a mooring post.

Did she dare hope he might, like her, want more? Might he ask her to stay the rest of the weekend? What would she do if he did? What would she do if he didn’t? Was she brave enough to take the initiative herself? Was she ready to take the greatest risk of her life?

Oh, this was awful.

Having deposited her bags on the jetty, Rico helped her off the boat and pushed his sunglasses up onto his head. ‘Well, here we are,’ he said, his voice giving away absolutely nothing.

‘Do you mind if I send your phone back in a day or two?’ she said, her stomach churning with nerves while her heart hammered frantically. ‘It has my boarding pass on it.’

‘Keep it as long as you need.’

‘I’ll put it in the post as soon as I get home and I’ll transfer the money I owe you.’

‘Fine.’

He looked as if he was going to take a step back and her throat went tight.

‘I bought you something,’ she said in a rush, swallowing hard as she dug around in her new handbag for the gift she’d seen and impulsively bought for him the day before yesterday. ‘A gift. A kitsch gift, admittedly, and one that was technically bought with your money, but still, here.’

She handed it to him, her fingers brushing against his, which made her heart leap for a moment and then plunge when he frowned.

‘What is it?’

‘A fridge magnet. I picked it up in Murano.’ She’d seen it and been amused by it and had a vivid vision of it actually on the door of his fridge, the only personal possession on show in his house.

He stared at the scene of his city, complete with canal, bridge and gondola, depicted in appallingly rendered relief above a bright red ‘Venezia’, as if he’d never seen such a horrendous thing in his life and had no idea what to do with it, which instantly made her regret her decision to give it to him.

‘Grazie,’he muttered, eventually slipping it into his pocket, since clearly there was nowhere else for it to go.

‘It’s I who should be thanking you,’ she said, wishing fervently she’d never bought it in the first place and covering her embarrassment with a shaky smile. ‘It’s been quite a week.’

‘It has indeed.’

For a moment he just looked at her while she willed him to ask her to stay, but he remained resolutely silent, so she took a deep breath and before her courage could desert her said, ‘I wondered if maybe you’d like to meet for dinner in London, next time you’re there.’

He froze. For the briefest of seconds she thought she caught a glimpse of pleasure light the depths of his eyes, but it was gone in a flash and there instead was the cool indifference she’d thought long gone. ‘I’m not planning on a trip any time soon,’ he said, with a return to the drawl she hated.

‘Maybe I’ll find myself back in Venice some time,’ she said doggedly. ‘Maybe I’ll look you up instead.’

‘You’d be wasting your time. There’d be nothing waiting for you here.’

The flatness of his tone struck her square in the chest, knocking the breath from her lungs, and she reeled. Where had the man she’d fallen in love with gone? Where was the smile and the warmth?

‘Are you sure?’ she said, her voice cracking a little in response to the ice she could feel forming inside him.

‘Quite sure.’

His expression was unreadable and his eyes were devoid of every emotion in existence, but his meaning couldn’t be any clearer. For whatever reason, he didn’t want her the way she wanted him and it was agony.

‘Right. No. Of course not. Sorry,’ she said, a thousand tiny darts stabbing at her chest.

‘We agreed a week.’

‘I know.’

‘I’m sorry I can’t give you what you want, Carla.’

Couldn’t? Or wouldn’t? She wasn’t going to ask. There was only so much humiliation she could bear. ‘It’s fine,’ she said, dredging up a smile from who knew where because she was not going to fall apart in front of him, however much it cost her. ‘It’s not your fault I fell in love with you.’ The almost imperceptible widening of his eyes was the only indication he’d heard what she’d said. Other than that he remained silent, his face expressionless. ‘None of this is your fault,’ she continued. It was hers. All hers. She was the one who’d read too much into everything and come to conclusions that didn’t exist. However much it broke her heart, he might never be ready to embrace everything she and life had to offer and there was nothing she could do about it. ‘I just have one last request,’ she said shakily, determined that some good should come of this.

‘Name it.’

‘I know I can’t force you to see things my way about getting to know Finn, but you’ve been looking for a family, Rico, and you have one. A great one. Please say you’ll at least think about meeting him. At least give me that.’

For the longest of moments he didn’t say anything—was he really going to make her beg, after everything?—but then he gave a short nod. ‘Va bene,’ he said. ‘I can give you that. I’ll think about it.’

‘Thank you.’

And with her heart in bits, her body aching with sadness and disappointment, the warmth of the day and the sunshine beating down on her a bitter contrast to the chill seeping into her bones and the darkness now enveloping her like a heavy black cloud, Carla turned on her heel and walked away.

With every step she took the strength leached from her limbs, but despite the stinging of her eyes and the sobs building in her chest she held it together through Check-in. She made her way through Security and Passport Control without giving in to the pain clawing at her stomach and shredding her heart.

It was only once she was on the plane and in the air and Rico hadn’t made a dramatic appearance to declare his love for her and beg her to stay—as she’d secretly, stupidly, been hoping—that her defences exploded and she crumbled.

How could she have got it so wrong? she thought desperately, tears leaking out of her eyes and rolling down her cheeks as she stared out of the window, her heart breaking at the realisation that with every second she was leaving him behind. She’d been so sure. He’d taken on an employee in order to spend more time with her. He’d sought her counsel and shared intimate details of his past. He—a man who had spent so long on his own—had let her into his world.

But she hadn’t got it wrong, she told herself, nudging her sunglasses out of the way so she could wipe her eyes with a tissue as she went over the conversation for the hundredth time. He’d been tempted to say yes to dinner. He’d wanted to embrace everything she’d offered. She’d felt it. So why the resistance? Why didn’t he want to fight for her the way she wanted to fight for him? Why was his attachment to the past more important than a future with her? Why wasn’t she enough? Why wouldn’t he allow himself to love her?

She’d taken the biggest gamble of her life, she realised, the pain slicing through her and splitting her wide open unlike any she’d felt before, and she’d lost. What was she going to do?

Rico spent the first day following Carla’s departure once again thanking God at having had such a lucky escape. He’d been right to recognise the danger of her wanting more. He’d been right to reject her offer of dinner in London.

But as the relief faded the guilt set in. That she’d fallen in love with him was his fault. He should have put a stop to it sooner. He should have resisted her allure. He should never have opened up to her. He should never have let her into his life in the first place.

The rampant remorse sent him to his gym, where he tried to sweat out the image of how devastated she’d looked when he’d said there was nothing left for her here, which seemed to be permanently etched into his memory. He’d hurt her further when she’d declared she was in love with him and he hadn’t said a word, he realised grimly as he rowed a stretch of the Arno on the ergometer, his muscles screaming with every stroke. He’d done more than that. He’d crushed her. But who the hell fell in love in a week?

If only he could remove her from his head as decisively as he’d removed her from his home. He didn’t want her hanging around in there with her smiles and her warmth. It shouldn’t have even been hard to do. It wasn’t as if she’d left anything behind apart from that maledetto fridge magnet that was hideous and served no purpose and which he should have tossed in the bin instead of slapping it on the door of his fridge and then doing his best to ignore it. He’d never wanted reminders of the past, he was all about looking forward, and he’d never understood why people grew so attached to things.

Carla definitely fell into the category of ‘the past’ yet annoyingly, frustratingly, his house was full of her. Everywhere he looked he could see her, especially in his bedroom, and the images that bombarded him were as vivid as they were unsettling. The villa felt strangely empty without her and when he wasn’t on the treadmill, running up and down virtual hills and pounding along virtual paths through virtual valleys and villages, he prowled around it, oddly restless and unpleasantly on edge. Being alone had never bothered him before. It was irritating and frustrating that it did now. He didn’t even have much work to distract him, since the fund manager he’d hired was so keen to impress.

Unable to stand it any longer, Rico went to Milan to visit a client. The fact that the city was also home to the law firm where his parents had lodged their letter to him all those years ago was not a coincidence.

Because when he wasn’t remonstrating with himself about how badly he’d handled Carla and regretting the promise guilt had forced him to make, he found he couldn’t stop thinking about these brothers of his, the family he might have out there. Long before he’d met her and lost his mind, Finn at least had been lurking in the depths of his conscience, unwelcome and unacknowledged but nevertheless there.

Rico remembered all too clearly how he’d felt when he’d first seen the picture of his brother in the press, the sense of something missing slipping into place. Carla had been right about that, and although it pained him to admit it he was beginning to wonder if she might have been right about other things. Such as the importance and the significance of family. The basic human need for connection. He’d always operated alone and relied solely on himself—he’d even found having to put himself in the hands of medical experts in the aftermath of his accident frustrating and annoying—but perhaps that was what he’d subconsciously been seeking while taking ever-increasing risks and continually pushing himself to do and be more. Maybe that was what he’d always wanted but had been too wary of being exploited and used again to actually reach out and grab. And so perhaps it wasn’t the accident on its own that had affected him, but seeing the photo of Finn in conjunction with it.

Rico had never been bothered by the idea of his own mortality, but it looked as if he was now. He didn’t want to die alone in some mountain range. He didn’t want to die full stop. His nihilistic approach to life no longer appealed. He didn’t want to just fill the days with things that would merely pass the time. Risks now needed to be calculated and recklessness curtailed. He wanted to live.

And if everything now running through his head was quite possibly true, then wouldn’t it be a good idea to establish contact with Finn? Couldn’t he do with allowing someone else into his life and vice versa? How would he know if the gaping void where his soul should be could be filled if he didn’t give it a chance?

At least if Finn had been searching for him for months, the likelihood of being rejected by him was low. His brother’s email, which had been lurking in his inbox, repeatedly snagging his attention until he’d had no option but to open it and which had contained an invitation to visit at any time, had certainly been encouraging.

Actually meeting his brother needn’t open the can of worms he’d feared, he told himself repeatedly. And even if it did, what made him automatically assume he wouldn’t be able to handle it? Wasn’t it a bit cowardly to keep hiding himself away under the pretext of being better off alone? Was anyone better off wholly alone and cut off?

Well, he was about to find out.

Exactly two weeks after he’d first made the trip here, Rico found himself once more at Finn Calvert’s door. Not skulking beneath a tree, but actually on the doorstep, on another Saturday afternoon in June.

For a moment he stood there, stock still, his heart thumping so hard and fast it reverberated in his ears, his every muscle tight with tension, anticipation and trepidation. Despite his efforts to downplay the significance of what was about to happen, it was huge. With every passing second his brother and a life irrevocably changed came that bit closer. If he wanted to, this was his last chance to walk away. But he didn’t. He was done with the life he used to lead. He and Finn had an appointment and this time he was going to keep it.

And it would be fine, Rico assured himself, taking a deep breath and stiffening his spine as he banged the huge brass knocker twice against the door. This brother of his dominated the hospitality industry and one didn’t get to a position like that by being sentimental. There wouldn’t be an overload of emotion. No one needed that. And in the unlikely event a heart-to-heart did appear to be in the offing, if things moved too fast all he had to do was deflect it and slow them down.

The seconds ticked interminably by, and then came the sound of footsteps, just about audible above the thunder of his pulse. The latch lifted and the door swung open and there, on the other side of the threshold, stood his brother. His identical brother, physically at least, bar a few superficial differences. He’d been right about that. Expecting it, even, given how long he’d spent looking at the photo over the last couple of days.

What he hadn’t been expecting, however, was the sense of recognition that suddenly slammed into him, smashing through his exterior and striking at his marrow, crushing the air from his lungs and leeching the strength from his knees.

Staring into his brother’s eyes was like looking in on himself. The urge to stride over and give him a hug roared up through him, along with the sudden extraordinary concern that Finn might not like him, none of which made any sense, when he hadn’t hugged anyone in over twenty years and it didn’t matter what Finn thought of him.

‘Federico Rossi,’ he said, getting a grip of the emotions running riot inside him and holding out a hand to forestall any attempt at something closer from the man who was staring back at him with a gaze containing just as much shock and curiosity that his own had to have. ‘Rico.’

‘Finn Calvert,’ his brother said, taking it. ‘Come in.’

‘Grazie,’he replied, glancing down at the familiar fingers gripping his with similar strength for a moment before forcing himself to let go.

‘You have no idea how pleased I am to meet you,’ said Finn, breaking into an enviably easy, genuine smile as he stood back to allow Rico to pass. ‘I’ve been looking for you for months. I thought Carla was mad when she told us she was going to Venice to get you to change your mind, but I can’t deny I’m glad it worked.’

His heart lurched at the mention of her name, but he swiftly contained it and got a grip. ‘How much did she tell you about me?’

‘Not a lot. A few basic facts. She said she hadn’t got very far.’

She’d got very far indeed. Too far. At which point he’d pushed her away. Which had been absolutely the right thing to do. He had no business wondering how she’d been, he reminded himself, biting back the question on the tip of his tongue. No business knowing he didn’t deserve her loyalty but being inexplicably pleased he had it anyway.

‘But she did mention that we were identical.’

‘Not quite,’ Rico replied, snapping himself out of it and forcing himself to focus.

‘No. How did you get the scars?’

‘A misspent youth.’

‘I look forward to hearing all about it,’ Finn said, opening the door to the study that only a fortnight ago had put the fear of God into Rico, and heading on in. ‘I had one of those briefly. Drink?’

‘Sure.’

‘Take a seat.’

‘Thank you.’

Selecting one of the two wing-backed armchairs in front of the fireplace, Rico sat down and glanced around. Strange to think that this room with all its photos had once had him running for the hills, while today he could take it all in with relative equanimity, even if the sight of so much clutter was making him inwardly wince. Even stranger to think that where once he’d had no interest in his brother, now he could barely contain the curiosity ripping through him. The force with which questions were ricocheting around his head, multiplying with every second, was making his pulse race.

‘How do you feel about milk?’ said Finn, bending down at the sideboard and opening a cupboard.

‘It makes me want to throw up,’ Rico said, willing everything inside him to calm down so he could process it.

‘Me too. We’d better stick to Scotch.’

‘Fine with me.’

Finn took a moment to fix the drinks, then handed Rico a generously filled glass and sat in the chair opposite. ‘So what made you change your mind about meeting me? You disappeared pretty quickly the last time you were here.’

‘I wasn’t prepared.’

‘But you are now?’

‘Not entirely.’

For a moment his brother just looked at him in shrewd understanding. ‘I can appreciate that. When I discovered I was adopted—and that I had siblings I knew nothing about—it turned my world upside down.’

‘In what way?’

‘In pretty much every way. Everything I thought I knew had been a lie. Or that was what I believed, at least.’

‘You don’t now?’

‘Thanks to Georgie, no.’

Another woman with undue influence, although Finn didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. Judging by the smile playing at his mouth and the softening of his expression, he didn’t mind at all. And perhaps his brother’s life had been as gilded as he’d assumed.

‘I came because of this.’ Reaching into the top pocket on the inside of his jacket, Rico withdrew the letter he’d picked up from the solicitors only yesterday. As if having his thoughts dominated by Carla and Finn wasn’t frustrating enough, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that either, wondering now what it might contain, whether it might somehow be useful. He’d had to find out if it still existed before he drove himself mad. To both his astonishment and that of the archivist, it had been found in a file in a box in the basement.

‘What is it?’

‘A letter left for me by my adoptive parents to be read at the age of eighteen.’

‘And did you read it?’

‘Not then. I have now.’

‘What does it say?’

Rico didn’t have to look at it to remind himself of its contents. He knew every word off by heart. It was a letter penned by his mother and filled with love. She’d written about how much she and his father loved him and always would, but if he ever wanted to look for his birth parents, they’d understand and he should start here. He had broken down when he’d read it. The anger, grief and regret that he’d never had a chance to process had slammed into him and he’d sunk to the floor, racked with so much torment and pain that it had taken hours to blow itself out.

‘It gives the name of the agency my parents used to adopt me,’ he said gruffly.

‘Would you mind if I gave that information to the investigator I have working on the case?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Thank you.’

‘No problem.’

‘And how would you feel about doing a joint interview?’

‘What kind of an interview?’

‘The kind that might go viral and be seen by our elusive third brother.’

It would mean stepping out of the shadows, Rico thought with a faint frown as he rubbed his chest and briefly wondered at the absence of the cold sweat he might have expected at the idea. It would mean a rejection of the past and embracing the future.

But perhaps that was all right.

He’d once thought his life didn’t need changing, but he could see now that it most definitely did. His life before Carla had blown into it like a whirlwind had been terrible. A cold, empty desert, devoid of colour and light and warmth. For the week he’d shared it with her, it had been brighter and shinier and better.

She’d shown him what it could be like to let someone in. When he thought about the void he’d lived with for so long, he couldn’t find it. She’d filled it with promise and hope. She’d helped put him back together. She’d risen to his defence. She’d never once been anything other than honest and upfront with him. She’d given him her love and her loyalty, even after everything she’d been through, and what had he done?

Still determined to believe that he could only survive if he remained alone, he’d sent her away.

What he’d lost hit him then with the force of a battering ram, slamming into the mile-high walls he’d spent years constructing and reducing them to rubble and dust.

Carla, with her unassailable belief in family and friends, was everything he’d never known he wanted, he realised, his head pounding with the realisations now raining down on him. Everything he’d been subconsciously seeking his entire life while convincing himself that he wasn’t lonely and he didn’t need anyone. She was strong and brave and tough. And, Dio, the loyalty she so fiercely believed in... He’d been on the receiving end of that and it had been stunning.

He’d had the chance to build a future with someone who understood him and who he understood. After years of searching he’d finally found a place to belong and develop new foundations upon which, with her, he could have built a life, something brilliant and strong.

How could he have been such a fool?

Well, he was done with allowing his preoccupation with the past to influence his present. He’d let it dictate his thoughts, his behaviour and his actions for too long. Carla had shown him a glimpse of what his life could be if he took a risk and spent it with her.

And taking the risk was exactly what he was going to do, because as he looked briefly around Finn’s study he realised that he wanted the photos. He wanted what Finn had. All of it. And he wanted it with Carla. Seven days ago he’d wondered who the hell fell in love in a week. Well, apparently, he thought, giving free rein to the emotions that had been clamouring for acknowledgement for days and letting them buffet him, that would be him.

‘Fix up the interview,’ he said, his heart banging so hard against his ribs he feared one might crack. ‘It’s a good idea.’

‘It was Carla’s.’

Of course it was. All the good ideas were hers.

‘Would you mind if we continued this conversation another time?’ he said, leaping to his feet as if the chair were on fire. ‘There’s somewhere I have to be.’