An Inheritance of Shame

chapter ELEVEN



ANGELO GAZED AT Lucia sitting across from him in his private jet and smiled. He’d made the right decision, leaving Sicily for a little while. Escaping, just as Lucia had said. He’d hated how he felt there, trapped as the boy he’d once been, determined to prove himself yet still dismissed.

He remembered how Gio Corretti had turned away from him, indifferent, dismissive, and his heart burned inside him. Perhaps Gio would think differently when he took over another chunk of Corretti Enterprises. Last night, after he’d left Lucia, he’d put several meetings into place with various shareholders in Corretti Enterprises’s different interests. He might have to wait on Corretti Designs, but other companies under the Corretti umbrella were ripe for the taking. And he intended to take.

‘You’re frowning,’ Lucia said quietly, and he returned his distant gaze to her, taking in the blueness of her eyes, shadowed grey by a moment’s worry. She didn’t understand, Angelo knew. Didn’t share his need to equal the Correttis, to rise above them.

‘Sorry, I was lost in thought.’ He leaned forward to brush his lips against hers, all his plans for meetings and takeovers momentarily forgotten as her mouth met his. She tasted so unbearably sweet, and he longed to take her in his arms, to lose himself in her generous warmth. They’d hadn’t done more than kiss since that unforgettable, tempestuous night at his villa. He hoped that might change today. Tonight.

‘So you haven’t even told me where we’re going,’ Lucia said, and Angelo was gratified to see her eyes clear to sapphire. ‘Not too far away, I hope.’

‘No.’ He glanced out the window and smiled. ‘We’re almost there.’

Twenty minutes later the jet touched down. As she stepped out onto the tarmac Lucia clutched her hands together, turned to Angelo with shining eyes. ‘Paris.’

‘You always said you wanted to go.’

‘I did, didn’t I?’

He drew her towards him, unable to resist kissing her again. ‘I hope it lives up to your expectations.’

‘I think it will,’ Lucia murmured as she kissed him back.

Angelo felt his insides lift, lighten. Coming here had been such a good idea. Here, away from Sicily, their childhoods, the memories and prejudices, they could be themselves…and learn to love each other all over again.

Lucia felt as if she were floating. She was finally in Paris—and with Angelo. It was her birthday and Christmas all in one, everything she’d ever wanted. Almost.

They rode a limo into the city, and Lucia kept her nose nearly pressed to the glass as she watched the monuments flash by: le Place de Concorde, l’Arc de Triomphe, the huge Louvre with its winking glass pyramids and of course the Eiffel Tower, a glorious steel pinnacle piercing the sky. She had a postcard of each one, but the reality, even from behind the tinted window of a limo, was far better.

‘I want to see it all,’ she breathed, and Angelo chuckled.

‘And you will. But first let’s check in and get something to eat.’

They checked into the Presidential Suite at the Georges Cinq Hotel, and after the bellhop had left Lucia walked around slowly, taking in the antiques, the huge marble bathtub, the private terrace. She’d cleaned such rooms, of course, working at the hotel, but she’d never stayed in one before.

She stared out at the City of Light dazzled by a noonday sun and shook her head in wonder.

‘Do you like it?’ Angelo asked, and to her own shame she heard an uncertain note of vulnerability in his voice.

‘Do I like it?’ she repeated, and turned around. ‘It’s the most amazing place I’ve ever been. It’s even better than the penthouse suite at the Corretti!’

He chuckled softly. ‘For now. I intend to make the Corretti the most luxurious hotel in all of Europe.’

‘And you’ll manage that easily, I’m sure.’ Away from Sicily, from the memories and prejudices, she felt her resistance to Angelo’s wealth melt away. He was a different man here, and she was a different woman. Finally they could be the people they wanted to be, the people they were meant to be, loving each other.

She walked towards him, reached for his hands. ‘Thank you for bringing me here, Angelo.’

She felt his tension ease, saw his countenance lighten. ‘Thank you for coming.’ He drew her towards him and she came willingly. ‘I’m glad we escaped.’

He slid his arms around her and she pressed her cheek against his chest, felt the reassuring thud of his heart. ‘It felt like a close one,’ she whispered, and his arms tightened around her.

‘I know.’

She didn’t say anything more, didn’t want to drag them both down into argument once again. They had time to work out their differences, time to change and heal. ‘Let’s go see the city,’ she said instead, and he laughed ruefully, his arms still around her.

‘I have some good ideas of what we could do right here, you know.’

Her heart seemed to turn right over, her insides tightening with longing. She had a good idea too, and if it actually came down to a choice between seeing the Eiffel Tower and making love with Angelo…well, the postcard really was a good likeness, wasn’t it? Although the thought of actually making love with Angelo—not just a moment’s grasped pleasure, a one-night stand—thrilled her and terrified her in equal parts. It would be so much more.

Still chuckling, Angelo released her. ‘Come on. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t let you see the Eiffel Tower.’

It was better than the postcard, Lucia decided as they took the lift to the top viewing level. The city lay spread before them in a living map, the sky cloudless and blue above. Angelo slipped his hand in hers as they stared out at the endless view.

‘Is it as you imagined?’

‘Better.’

‘It’s nice when things live up to your expectations,’ he said dryly.

Some strange impulse made her ask, ‘Has this lived up to your expectations, Angelo?’

‘This?’ he repeated, his voice turning just a little guarded and Lucia gazed at him openly, wanting, even needing, this honesty between them.

She wasn’t really sure what she was asking. ‘Success,’ she said after a pause. ‘Wealth. Power. Revenge, even—all of it. Has it lived up to your expectations? Is it everything you hoped it would be?’

Angelo squinted as he gazed out at the city. ‘Wealth and power have their advantages.’

‘But do they fill that emptiness inside?’

She felt him tense, saw his eyes narrow and his pupils flare. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Do you remember?’ she asked softly. ‘When your—when Carlo Corretti died, and you came and found me. Do you remember what you said?’

She could tell by the way his mouth tightened and he looked away that he did. He’d dead, Lucia, and I don’t feel anything. I just feel empty.

‘Why are we talking about this?’ Angelo asked, his tone even and yet also edged with impatience, annoyance. ‘I thought we came to Paris to forget about all that, at least for a little while.’

‘Is it wrong of me to want to know? To want to know you?’

He let out a sigh. ‘Not wrong. Just…difficult. We’ll argue about it, Lucia. I know that. You don’t see things the way I do.’ A fair point, yet she knew the implication was that he was seeing things correctly and she wasn’t.

Lucia decided to leave it. Why ruin a perfect afternoon by insisting on a discussion she wasn’t sure either of them were ready to have?

‘We don’t have to talk about it now,’ she said quietly, and with a grateful smile Angelo turned from the railing.

‘There’s plenty more to see in this city, you know.’

They spent the afternoon touring the sights, taking in the endless steps of Montmartre and the quaint, narrow streets of the Latin Quarter, the modern Centre Pompidou and the ancient Louvre.

They wandered down the Champs-élysées and Angelo insisted on buying her a dress for dinner, a strappy black number that made Lucia feel both sophisticated and sexy.

‘And we’d better not forget the shoes,’ he murmured, his eyes glinting, and she laughed, realising he’d noticed her old shoes from before. ‘How about these?’ He’d stopped in front of an exclusive-looking boutique and pointed to a pair of diamante-encrusted stilettos. The heel was at least five inches high.

‘They’re ridiculous,’ she protested.

‘True,’ Angelo agreed solemnly. ‘But you do love them.’

Lucia had to admit that she did. She’d never possessed anything frivolous or extravagant before, and suddenly those silvery stilettos seemed the best shoes in the world.

Angelo led her by the hand into the boutique, and a few minutes later he was slipping one of the stilettos onto her foot.

‘I feel like Cinderella,’ she said with a laugh, and he glanced up at her with passion-darkened eyes.

‘You’re my Cinderella.’

‘That’s the only one I want to be.’ She swallowed, her heart suddenly starting to pound, and then stood. She felt about ten feet tall in the heels, and she tottered around the shop, feeling outrageous and yet so very sexy.

‘We’ll take them,’ Angelo told the sales assistant. He pulled Lucia close so only she could hear his whispered words. ‘I have a fantasy of seeing you wearing those and nothing else.’

A blush fired Lucia’s body and she glanced away. ‘That sounds like a…an interesting fantasy,’ she murmured.

By the time they’d arrived back at the hotel Lucia was exhausted but also happy. All afternoon Angelo had been relaxed, fun, even silly. He’d been the boy she had missed, the boy she’d fallen in love with. Underneath the hard gloss of wealth and power he was still there, and the realisation made her heart sing with joy.

As she walked into the suite, still amazed by the sheer luxuriousness of the place, she stopped suddenly for the doors to the private terrace were ajar, and she could see a table there, laid with linen and flickering with candlelight.

She turned back to Angelo. ‘How—?’

‘I’d like to say it took great planning and precision, but all it really took was a phone call.’

‘Even so,’ Lucia murmured, touched more than she could say by his thoughtfulness. She gave a slight grimace, gestured to her plain T-shirt and capris. ‘I think I have half the dirt of Paris on me.’

‘There’s no reason why you can’t make good use of that huge marble shower,’ Angelo said with a glint in his eyes. ‘We both could.’

Lucia’s breath caught in her chest as she remembered how they’d made very good use of the shower in Angelo’s villa. He laughed softly and shook his head.

‘No, there will be time for that later. Bathe and we’ll eat first.’

‘All right.’ She headed for the bathroom, peeled her clothes from her body and stepped under the hot, powerful spray. Why, she wondered as she washed her hair, did Angelo’s words feel a bit like a temporary reprieve? She wanted to make love with him, had dreamt of it, and yet…

She was afraid. Afraid that now they were actually trying to have a real relationship, sex might ruin it. She might disappoint him. He might walk away afterwards.

‘Stop it,’ she said aloud, her words lost in the shower spray. ‘Stop waiting for the worst to happen.’ She’d lived her life like that for too long already. Now she wanted to hope. To believe.

Trust was a choice.

She wore the strappy black dress Angelo had bought for her earlier, and the silver stilettos. Gazing at her reflection in the mirror, she hardly recognised herself. Her hair tumbled loosely about her shoulders, and her eyes were smoky and dark with anticipation. With passion. As for the dress…it clung to every curve before flaring out about her thighs. The silver stilettos made her legs look endless.

Taking a deep breath, she headed out to the terrace. Angelo was already out there, having showered and changed into a pair of charcoal-grey trousers and a white button-down shirt, open at the throat. His hair curled against his neck and as he turned to her his eyes blazed almost emerald and for a moment Lucia forgot how to breathe.

In, out, lungs filling—she had to tell herself, remind her body of its basic functions because every sense, every cell and neuron, was short-circuited by awareness.

She loved him so much.

‘Bellissima,’ Angelo said softly as he came towards her. ‘Mi cucciola.’ She didn’t mind the endearment then, knew it was part of their history, who they were.

He took her hands in his and drew her to the table. ‘Good enough to eat,’ he said, and Lucia laughed.

‘And I’m starving.’

She didn’t really remember what they talked about that evening, only how easy and relaxed it seemed. How happy she felt, and how happy she knew Angelo felt; the tautness was gone from his body, the shadows from his eyes.

The City of Light had settled into silence for the evening, the sun streaking its last orange rays across the horizon. As the sky deepened into indigo, Angelo reached for her hand and pointed to the Eiffel Tower.

‘Watch.’

The last of the sun’s light sank from the sky and the lights of the Eiffel Tower came on, transforming the tower into a diamond-like jewel in the centre of the city, sparkling with lights against a darkening sky.

‘Oh,’ Lucia breathed as she gazed at the lit tower with wonder. ‘It’s beautiful. I’m so glad I saw it.’

‘I’m glad I saw it with you.’

She turned back to Angelo, and saw he was looking at her with heavy-lidded, languorous intent. She swallowed, then whispered, ‘Make love to me, Angelo.’

He smiled and drew her up by the hand away from the table, and then from the terrace to the sumptuous bedroom with its huge four-poster bed.

He stood her in front of it, his hands cupping her face. ‘You’re trembling.’

‘I’m…nervous.’

He frowned. ‘Why?’

‘Because…this is different, isn’t it? It should be different. The other times—it was rushed.…’

He slid his hands from her face to her shoulders, sliding his fingers through the heavy mass of her hair. ‘I don’t think it was too rushed in the shower,’ he murmured, and she chuckled in acknowledgement, the sound wavering on the still air.

‘Yes, I know, but…it still felt temporary. I still thought it was a one-night—’

‘This is not for just one night,’ Angelo said softly, silencing her words. ‘This is the beginning, Lucia, of for ever.’ And then he kissed her, softly, his lips brushing across hers, a whisper, a greeting, before her lips parted beneath his and he went deep as her mind went blurry, awash with pleasure.

Slowly, reverently, he slipped the straps of her dress from her shoulders and she stepped out of the garment, wearing only her underwear and the silver heels.

‘Ah,’ Angelo said as he gazed down at her, drinking her in. ‘My fantasy. Almost.’ Smiling, he reached forward and undid the clasp of her bra. He slid her panties down her legs and she kicked them off. She was naked, save for the shoes.

And amazingly, she didn’t feel embarrassed or uncertain. She felt powerful. Sexy. And incredibly desired. Smiling, she reached for the buttons on his shirt. ‘And now it’s time for my fantasy.’

Angelo’s eyes were dark as he gazed down at her, his voice a husky murmur. ‘Which is?’

‘You wearing nothing at all.’ She slid the shirt from his shoulders and then, fumbling only a little, went for his belt. She drew it through the loops and heard Angelo’s breath come out in a hiss as she undid the button of his trousers and then slid them down his legs. His boxers followed and now they were both naked.

Lucia kicked off her shoes. Angelo laughed softly. ‘There goes my fantasy.’

‘I think I can do better.’

‘I’m sure you can. In fact, my fantasy is becoming less and less about shoes and much more about you—and me.’ Tugging on her hand, he drew her to the bed, pulling aside the duvet, and then took her into his arms and she curled into him, sliding her legs along his, her softness against the hard, muscular planes of his chest and abdomen. In the comforting cradle of his arms she remembered how good he felt, how right. How much she missed this warmth, this connection, and how she never wanted to be without it again.

That connection strengthened with every touch, every kiss, every caress. Lucia arched against him, gasping aloud as he touched her in every intimate place, hands and mouth, fingers and lips. And she touched him back, tentatively at first and then with growing confidence and power, revelling in the way he responded, drawing his breath in a hiss through his teeth as she followed the path blazed by her hands with her mouth. She knew every part of him now, and yet she wanted to know more. Needed more, craved that full union, when her body would be joined with his wholly and utterly.

‘Angelo…’

‘I’m here, mi cucciola,’ he whispered as he rolled her onto her back, his body poised over hers. ‘Amore mio. I’m here.’ He slid a condom on and then joined his body with hers, filling her right up so she gasped again, her nails biting into his shoulders as she wrapped her legs around his waist and drew him even more fully into herself.

‘I—’ she gasped, unable to manage more as his body drove her closer and closer to shattering completely. ‘I love you—’

‘I love you,’ Angelo said, his voice breaking on the words, and then he kissed her as her body convulsed around his and the world fell apart and came together again, a more beautiful and perfect whole than ever before.

His words still reverberated through her as she lay in his arms, sated and sleepy. I love you. He’d actually said it. But had he meant it? Or had it simply come from the intensity of the moment.

‘You’re wondering if I meant it, aren’t you,’ Angelo said softly. He brushed a strand of hair away from her face and Lucia turned to look at him, unable to dissemble.

‘Did you?’

‘Yes.’ He sounded quiet, certain, and yet a little sad. ‘Yes, although this is so new for me, Lucia. I’ve never loved anyone before. I’ve never let myself.’

‘I know,’ she said softly.

‘But I love you. It doesn’t make it easy or comfortable.’ He let out a shaky laugh. ‘But it feels right. And I can’t live without it now. Without you.’

They made love again, even more slowly and languorously this time, and afterwards they showered, washing each other before they made love a third time until Lucia laughed, her face buried in Angelo’s neck.

‘I’ll be exhausted tomorrow.’

‘Good thing we can spend the whole day in bed, then.’

‘Don’t you need to be anywhere?’ she asked once they were back in bed, snuggled against each other, this time to sleep. Angelo slid his fingers along hers in turn, not speaking for a moment.

‘I can spare a day or two,’ he finally said, and Lucia could not keep the disappointment from whispering through her.

‘A day or two,’ she repeated, and he rolled over to face her.

‘This time. But there will be other times and places, Lucia. Other escapes.’

She stared at him, wanting to accept what he said, wanting to believe in it, and yet something held her back. ‘What is it?’ he asked, and drew her fingers to his lips. ‘You’re frowning.’

‘I don’t want a relationship of escapes,’ she said after a moment. ‘What are we escaping, Angelo?’

He sighed and rolled onto his back, his hand still loosely clasped with hers. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘How did you mean it?’

‘Just…’ He shrugged. ‘We’ll have other holidays. Other cities, other hotels—I want to show you the world.’

‘And I want to see it with you,’ she said, wishing she could leave it at that, and be content with what they had. Yet she couldn’t. That fear still lurked her inside her, whispered its taunts. She knew she wanted to silence that sly voice for ever, and the only way to do that was by speaking it aloud.

‘But seeing cities—travelling the world—that’s not real life, Angelo.’

‘It could be.’

She shook her head. ‘What about—what about my life back in Sicily? Your life? What will happen when we return?’

‘We can decide what happens. You don’t have to return to work as a maid—if you don’t want to.’

She knew it cost him to say that, to not demand she quit. He’d never wanted her scrubbing floors, cleaning toilets. And frankly, it wasn’t a job she really liked, so why had she clung to it? Out of pride, perhaps, as well as fear. Quitting her job to await Angelo’s pleasure felt like the actions of a mistress or a whore, not an equal.

‘I don’t know what else I would do,’ she said after a moment.

‘I’ve been thinking about that. You enjoy helping women like Maria, don’t you? With their reading and writing?’

‘Yes…’

‘Why not start a literacy charity for women like her? Women who had to quit school at sixteen or even younger to work. You could be involved on the ground level, help teach them yourself. I could provide the initial funding—’

She felt an incredulous bubble of hope rise up inside her and she squeezed his hand. ‘You would do that for me?’

‘Of course I would. And for them, as well. I would have liked to keep at school. I know what it’s like to feel frustrated by your own lack of education.’

Softly she kissed his lips. ‘You’re a good man, Angelo.’

He slid his arms around her and they lay there in silence for a moment, thoughts tumbling through Lucia’s mind. Just leave it, she told herself. Leave it and be happy. This is so much more than you ever dreamt of, ever hoped for. Still she spoke.

‘And what about you? When we return to Sicily?’

‘What about me?’

She took a breath, prayed for courage to see this through. ‘What kind of man will you be, Angelo? Because it’s still in your power to decide.’

She felt his emotional withdrawal like a physical thing, as if the very air around them had cooled. He rolled onto his back, slipped his hand from hers. ‘I am who I am, Lucia.’

‘I know you are, and I love you. But you said yourself how returning to Sicily made you someone you didn’t want to be. I don’t want you to return and still find you’re acting like that person, not when I know who you really are. I know how much goodness you’re capable of.’

He stared up at the ceiling, not answering, and Lucia held her breath. He had to see what she meant. He had to give up this awful idea of revenge—

‘You’re right,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t want to be that boy with a bloody lip and broken dreams. The boy who’s always been rejected or reviled. And when I come back to Sicily that’s who I feel like, a beggar at the Correttis’ feast.’ He turned to face her, and determination blazed from his eyes. ‘That’s why I’m doing this, Lucia. You might see it as some kind of cold-blooded revenge, but it’s different than that. I’m showing them—and myself—that I’m not that boy any more. That I’m someone to be reckoned with—’ He stopped, his eyes narrowing. ‘What?’

Lucia swallowed past the thickening of tears in her throat. ‘But, Angelo,’ she whispered. ‘I fell in love with that boy.’

For a moment she thought he understood. His mouth twisted and she glimpsed that old bleakness in his eyes. Then his mouth firmed and his eyes shuttered. ‘Then the question is, do you love the man that boy has become?’

She swallowed again, her throat aching. Everything aching, because she hadn’t expected it to come to this so quickly, so terribly. Moments ago they’d been making love. ‘I love you, Angelo, but this revenge you’re desperate to pursue…it’s tearing you—and us—apart. You can’t see it, but it is. Why do you think you got that migraine—’

‘I’ve always suffered from headaches.’

‘And why do you think that is? Why do you think you still feel so restless and angry, even when you have all the power, all the wealth, you could possibly ever need or want? Why do still feel so empty?’

He stared at her hard, and she thought he might not answer. He might turn away, and then what would she do? How could she make him see how this was destroying him—and any chance their love had?

‘Why do you think that is?’ he finally asked evenly.

‘Because revenge doesn’t satisfy you, Angelo. Wealth, power, any of it—no matter how many companies you buy up, or how many Correttis you grind into the dust, you’ll still feel as empty as you did the night of your father’s funeral, when you came to me—’

‘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.