Page 47 of Forbidden Until Midnight

Which was how it had come to pass that Freddie had accompanied her to meet her father, Pietro Moretti, in the late spring. It had been one of the scariest things she’d ever done, but that Freddie was with her meant the absolute world. She knew then that, no matter what happened, what Edward did or threatened, she would never be alone. She was loved and she loved. Greatly. And that was far more important than blood ties and truths.

Pietro Moretti was older than she’d imagined—that or time hadn’t been kind. The poor man had been as nervous as she was, but beneath the cream awning of a café in Rome, conversation unfurled in a way that swept away hesitancy and heralded a tide of familiarity that struck her bone-deep. She hadn’t expected it, but it was there. They shared mannerisms that were impossible but undeniable, and regrets that would never be healed but could be soothed.

She could tell that Pietro had been sad that Analise wasn’t there with them, but it had been important to Eleanor for this to be just for herself. Analise had understood, and that was enough. Eleanor’s feelings towards both her parents were complex. She couldn’t deny that there was a deep sadness that her father hadn’t been able to come for her and her mother hadn’t been able to be truthful with her, but she could also recognise that, had they been different, she wouldn’t have had Freddie in her life, and she wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Eleanor walked up the red carpet covered steps, wondering how many of the guests would have noticed the slight fraying at the edge, or the smears of mud and wet gathered from rain-covered streets. Not many, she decided as she presented her invitation. Now the scales had fallen from her eyes, Eleanor could see the darkness that touched everything about these people and these events, because no amount of money could hide the gluttony, selfishness and greed that were at the heart of nearly everyone here.

She hadn’t talked about Santo with Pietro. It had been too much of a sore subject for her to broach. But he had tried. Just before she’d left him that afternoon in Rome, he had told her how good a man Santo was. Tears had filled both their gazes and she’d left with a twist in her heart.

Freddie had flown back to London, but she’d decided to stay on in Italy for a while, seeing some of her father’s country. It was hard to distinguish the hope for connection with her birthright and the feel of the country as a stranger, but she’d found her way down south to Puglia almost by accident. And once she had ensured that Santo was away in London on business, she couldn’t stop herself from heading out to the olive groves where the owner of the Sabatini Group had his residence.

There had only been a few people on the public tour at the unseasonable time of year and the estate manager had proudly shown off the grand estate. Rows and rows of olive trees filled the groves, some only just planted and others established over years. There was something incredibly beautiful about the vegetation blooming beneath the spring sunshine.

The tour had passed by a villa that looked so homely and inviting she had nearly refused to believe it when the manager had told them proudly that it belonged to the owner of the Sabatini Group.

The manager had explained how Signor Sabatini spent as much time amongst the olive groves as his staff, caring for the land far beyond what was expected for such a busy man. And it was evident, not just in the health of the land, but the happiness of his staff. And she’d realised then that the things Santo chose to keep secret, the things he kept to himself, was what he valued the most, so much that he couldn’t risk any of the families seeing that and using it against him.

It was like seeing him for the first time, she’d felt, as if she’d seen him, untainted by vows and heated exchanges, untainted bythem.Here, she could see the real Santo, in the soil, the work, the place that he had carved for himself in the world, and she liked that man, was impressed by him.

And it had given her hope. Hope that had led her all the way here tonight. Tohim.

Two suited men held the doors open for her to pass through and she entered the Black and White formal ball planned for that evening by the Fouriers. As she walked into the large ornate gothic hall, decorated in gold and cream on one side, and black and silver on the other, she squared her shoulders, a wry smile gently pulling at her lips at the gasps and whispers as she passed.

The crimson silk dress hugged every inch of her figure, and matched the slash of carnal red lipstick she wore on her lips. It was a silent battle cry, and she intended full well to wage war tonight.

She was done playing their games and by their rules.

With his back to the large entrance on the other side of the hall, Santo heard the ripple of consternation shiver out across the guests.

Only one woman could do that.

Eleanor.

He’d honestly thought that she wouldn’t come tonight. He knew that she’d met with Pietro earlier in the year, had tried to ignore the rumours and gossip about what she was up to. He’d told Mads that he no longer wanted to know about what she was doing and how she was getting on, but he’d been like an addict, desperate for a fix, and his only solution had been to cut himself off from her completely.

For months following their night together he’d been utterly unbearable. To have gone from such incredible highs to such incredible lows in the space of what had felt like minutes had been utterly devastating. But the accuracy of Eleanor’s accusations that night had been inescapable.

The dramatic contrast between what he’d thought they’d have together, the futurehe had constructed in his mind, and what she had shown him he had in fact offered her, had left him numb to almost everything around him. He’d let things go at the Sabatini Group, his panicked assistant and board desperately scrabbling to cover in his absence.

He’d blocked Pietro’s calls and ignored his mother as he’d cut himself off from everyone and everything. And eventually he’d found himself at his father’s grave for the first time since he’d been put in the ground.

He’d thought about bringing a bottle of whisky for the bastard who had shaped Santo’s life with fists and fury, and then decided that he wasn’t even worth it. For days he’d come back again and again, pacing and cursing him to hell and back and hating that what Eleanor had said was true; ithadbeen safe for him to hide behind the lie. He’d made that promise knowing as much and, coward that he was, he had hidden from the truth the last time they’d been together.

Because if he could get away with showing her only what he wanted her to see, if he could cast himself in the role of her protector, he might just be able to make up for what he had never been able to do for his mother.

And by the time his mother came to find him at Gallo’s graveside, he’d realised that he would never have been able to use Eleanor to appease the hurt in his heart. Not while he was still lying to her and himself. And there, by his father’s grave, in his mother’s arms, he’d wept like the child he’d never been allowed to be. For the fears he’d never been allowed to express and the love he’d so desperately wanted, no matter how much he’d denied it.

Santo braced against the memory of it, forcing himself not to tense against it, not to push it away, but to welcome it in, to let it wash over him and accept his feelings about it. It was a hard thing to do, given that he’d spent so many years refusing to even acknowledge such a thing.

Mads and Kat glanced between him and over his shoulder, and the sympathy and concern that he saw in their gazes told him that she was getting closer. The fact that they were worried about him was enough to let him know just how awful he’d been since the last time he’d seen her.

Mads had been the first person Santo had turned to when he’d come away from his father’s grave. He just hadn’t realised, truly realised, how isolated he had kept himself, until Eleanor had accused him of it. How much he’d done that toprotecthimself. And the stark irony of discovering that he hadn’t been protecting Eleanor but actually only protecting himself this entire time had nearly brought him to his knees.

So he had started with Mads, letting him in, bit by bit. And Mads had paid that back in kind, slowly opening up to Santo, enabling them to form a friendship that Santo knew would last, no matter what. He had also made his peace with Pietro, realising that the reason he had clung so staunchly to his vow to the man who had been like a father to him was because he’d been convinced that it was the only reason Pietro had stayed close by. Pietro had told him that he was like a son to him, had offered his love freely, and let loose something in Santo he hadn’t realised he’d been hiding. And that had finally given him the courage to come here tonight, for the one and only thing that could make him whole.

Mads and Kat made to leave and Santo took a deep breath, slowly turning around to face the woman he loved beyond distraction.

Eleanor.

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