Page 13 of Forbidden Until Midnight

His humour made her smile, but she recognised it as yet another diversionary tactic, keeping her at arm’s length. Despite that, she could still recognise the sheer amount of work he must have done to not only maintain his father’s business but grow it, all the while completing a degree.

‘Why did you do it?’ she asked, unable to keep her curiosity at bay. Every little piece of information made her hungry for more.

His pause made her wonder if he was debating how honestly to reply.

‘I wanted something that couldn’t be taken away from me,’ he said finally, the ring of truth in his words.

And there it was. The same desire she had. To have something fully for herself. Something that she wouldalwayshave. After the shocking loss of the future she’d thought she’d have with Tony, her degree had become something that she’d clung to whenever she felt at sea. It was a need for something solid, somethinghers.

‘Did it work? Did it give you what you needed?’ she asked hopefully.

‘Yes...and no,’ he replied. Again, she appreciated his honesty, even as she found his answer disappointing. She’d wanted reassurance, even if it were fake. The promise that things would all be okay. But she would never get that from Santo Sabatini and she didn’t know whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

The flames in the fireplace were beginning to die down. It would be time to go back to the party soon. Eleanor knew she couldn’t stay up here for ever. Certainly, she couldn’t be caught up here with Santo. And her father would send someone looking for her eventually. But she didn’t want to leave just yet.

Santo was watching her, as if reading her thoughts in her expressions. It wasn’t intrusive in the way that she felt from many of the other guests, especially this evening. But it made her feel...lacking in some way. As if he were looking for something that wasn’t there in her yet.

She’d heard the rumours about him and Marie-Laure. The widow was beautiful, clever, sophisticated, powerful in a way that intrigued her, whilst also making her strangely jealous. It was a confidence, a self-belief that was so strong it was almost alienating. And Eleanor wondered whether she would ever be anything like the other woman.

‘I’m keeping you from the party,’ she said eventually, acknowledging the silence in the room.

‘Yes,’ he said simply.

She nearly huffed out a laugh, whether he’d meant it to be funny or not. She would always get the truth from him and she was thankful for that.

‘Well, Mr Sabatini,’ she said, returning to formality as if she could undo the intimacy of their exchange as easily, ‘thank you again.’

He nodded simply, the firelight taking slow, unfurling licks across his cheekbones, casting shadows across his powerful jaw line, across the hair curling ever so slightly at the collar of his shirt and jacket.

She held out her hand and in a flash she remembered their first handshake, the awkward mistiming of it, the trace of his hand at her fingertips. There was none of that this time. He took her hand in his, again, his gaze searching for something in her that she couldn’t help him find. His palm against hers was slightly rough but warm, his grip firm, but held just a second too long. Because in that time she yearned for something more. For something she didn’t dare name. For in her wildest dreams she couldn’t imagine this man wanting from her what she wanted from him.

‘Happy New Year,’ he said, taking his hand back and leaving the room without a backward glance.

‘See you next...’ The door closed on her words. ‘Year,’ she finished to herself.

Things would be different, she promised herself. People would have got over the gossip about her and Tony and would have found something else to talk about. Next year, she wouldn’t be defined by anything other than herself, she promised herself, hoping that perhaps then Santo would see in her what he’d been looking for.

CHAPTER FOUR

New Year’s Eve six years ago, Berlin

‘ANDTHAT’SWHENI took his entire company with an ace high,’ Allencourt guffawed, as if swindling someone out of their company with the lowest hand of cards was something to be proud of.

Santo rolled his shoulders, trying to shake loose the tension that had taken up residence earlier that day.

‘He never forgave you,’ Aksel Rassmussen said, shaking his head.

‘My conscience is clear,’ Allencourt replied, and Santo nearly choked on his drink.

‘More champagne, sir?’ a waiter asked.

Santo shook his head. ‘But I’ll give you fifty euros for a glass of whisky.’

‘It’s a free bar,’ whispered the waiter, leaning in.

‘I know,’ Santo whispered back drily, the poor kid not knowing what to say. Santo laughed, more at himself than the waiter, and waved the boy off.

There was something about humour that no amount of language lessons could teach. And that, he realised, was just another thing that set him apart from the people here. Or most of the people here, he thought as he caught sight of Mads making his way across the sprawling nave in the most beautiful church in Berlin’s Kreuzberg district.

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