Page 7 of ‘I Do’ for Revenge

‘About what? I think we said all that needed to be said on the day you stood me up at our wedding.’

A muscle in his jaw pulsed. The muted sound of voices came from nearby. He glanced away and Flora had an urge to smack his hand aside and quickly press the button to escape but at that moment an elegant older couple appeared.

The woman smiled at Flora and even though Flora was being offered an opportunity to use this couple as an excuse to stay in the elevator and travel back down, something else inside her compelled her to step into the corridor, out of their way, signalling that she was with Vittorio, even though she couldn’t have looked more mismatched with her white shirt, black skirt and serviceable shoes.

The doors closed again and Vittorio was heading for a doorway at the end of the corridor. Flora followed him, her feet sinking into the carpet. It had been months since she’d inhabited surroundings as salubrious—not that her uncle’s palazzo had even been that luxurious. It hadn’t been comfortable. It had been more like a museum, stuffed with antiques and forbidding portraits of ancestors who looked nothing like her.

Flora had taken after her English mother’s side of the family, perhaps something else that had never endeared her to her uncle.

Vittorio was standing in the open doorway now and looking at her as he undid his bow tie with his other hand. He cut a rakish figure with stubble lining his jaw.

Before taking a step over the threshold Flora commented, ‘You obviously do this a lot.’

‘What?’

‘That manager didn’t even blink when you asked for a room.’

Vittorio’s mouth quirked ever so slightly on one side. ‘That’s probably because, as of about a month ago, I own this hotel.’

‘Oh.’ Flora felt exposed. She’d been imagining that it was a regular occurrence for Vittorio Vitale to appear with a woman demanding a room at short notice. As if he would do that with a woman like her!

He stood back. ‘Please, come in.’

Flora took a breath and walked past him. His scent tickled her nostrils, sharp and musky with woodier undertones. All at once sophisticated but also with an edge of something indefinable. Very masculine.

She was very conscious of her own scent—eau-de-kitchen.

The room was palatial. Then she saw more rooms leading off this main one. It was a suite. With windows looking out over Rome. Flora could see a terrace outside.

She saw Vittorio reflected in the window, behind her. Tall and indistinct. She forced herself to turn around. ‘Why do you want to talk to me?’

His bow tie was undone now. Top button open. He spread his hands out. ‘What are you doing here like this? Why aren’t you with your uncle? I heard he was last seen in South America trying to make a name for himself where he’s less known.’

That stung. Vittorio knew more than she did. Her uncle hadn’t been in touch since that morning at the church.

Feeling hurt and hating that weakness, she said, ‘What my uncle does now, or where he is, is none of my concern. I haven’t seen him since that morning six months ago.’

Vittorio’s brows snapped together. ‘What?’

Flora shrugged. ‘It’s like you said, I was free. I did my own thing.’

‘What was that exactly...that has led you to this?’

The humiliation of his very public abandonment and the way he’d cast her out of his office as if she was nothing but an irritation made her say, ‘You know what? I don’t owe you any explanations. If you don’t mind, I have somewhere to be and I need to go.’ Because it was going to take her at least an hour to get back to where she lived on the outskirts of the city.

She moved back towards the door and Vittorio asked incredulously, ‘You really burnt through your inheritance that quickly?’

Flora stopped. Didn’t turn around. She felt like laughing and crying all at once. The inheritance she’d never seen! Because her uncle had taken it. The truly pathetic part was that she’d never really known how much was there. She’d been too young to know at first and whenever she’d brought it up, her uncle had been vague and assured her he was taking care of it for her. No doubt this man, Vittorio Vitale, who had rebuilt his family’s name and fortune, would laugh himself silly if he knew the full extent of her sad story.

As frigidly as she could, she said, ‘Yes, that’s exactly it. I squandered it and now I’m working in menial jobs. Goodbye, Vittorio, have a nice life.’

She was almost at the door when Vito broke out of his trance and said, ‘Wait.’ He was reeling. Nothing made sense. He knew something was very off but he wasn’t sure what it was.

Flora stopped. There was something fragile about her from the back. Her hair pulled up into a high bun. He realised that she’d lost weight. He had a strong aversion to letting her out of his sight. He put it down to needing to know what she was up to, because it was something. Even if it didn’t involve her uncle.

‘Look, can I offer you something to eat? Drink?’

For a long moment she didn’t move and then she turned around. She’d definitely lost weight. He could see it now. Even as he also noticed the same curves he’d noticed before, when she’d been in that wedding dress. Breasts high and full.

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