Page 38 of 2 Books in One Bundle
She was lying to herself if that was what she thought they were talking about here. But he could see it. Children would adore her with her beautiful flowing dresses, her fiery copper hair. Looking like one of the magical creatures she’d drawn. They’d flock to her. He didn’t know why that left a pang in his chest. A sense of...nostalgia almost. It made no sense, so he didn’t dwell.
‘Do you have any other projects?’
‘Nothing immediate. I have some time to myself now.’
That was perfect. They were here, now, yet there was a whole world waiting out there for her. Properties everywhere. All the time he needed to show her what she was missing.
Course after course materialised. Magnificent dishes local to the area. More champagne, which she’d begun to savour. The little bubbles tingling her tongue, the sensation like happiness sparkling through her. Something between them had changed over the meal. They’d each given of themselves. Shared their pain.
‘A burden shared is a burden halved.’That was what Mae used to say. Louisa had never believed it before. She’d carried her burdens close because the telling had been too painful, but now?
It was as if a veil had lifted. The night appeared somehow brighter, everything around her seemed to gleam.
She ate the last mouthful of a magnificent dessert. Pannacotta. It melted on her tongue and she moaned.
‘I’m guessing you enjoyed that?’ Matteo said, his voice a little deeper, in a way, somehow raw.
‘The whole meal, everything. Tonight. Thank you.’
‘It’s what you deserve. Never doubt that.’
If only she could believe it. Sometimes, the demons still dwelled close. That was what her dreams were about, which was why she drew them. When viewed in the daytime they seemed to have less impact.
‘I don’t think I’d be able to fit in a dinner like that too often. I feel like I could almost roll all the way home.’
Home...it was the first time she’d really thought about any place other that Easton Hall in that way. But Matteo’s Lake Como mansion wasn’t hers. It was just a place to lay her head. Wasn’t it?
‘If you’re done, we can go. Walk. As you said, it’s not far.’
‘I—I’d like that.’
She relished the idea, because she didn’t really want the night to end. She had a fear that if it did, she’d lose something that she’d never get back.
Matteo stood and moved to her chair, helping her pull it out. A prickle of awareness shivered down her spine, pleasure at his closeness. She shut her eyes for a moment, simply absorbing the sensation.
‘It’s a date.’
It wasn’t. She needed to remind herself, once again, that it was something people just said. A turn of phrase.
But a date was exactly what she wanted this to be. She wanted it all, whatever ‘all’ was. A yearning simply overtook her, for the things that a young woman who’d had a normal kind of life with a loving family might experience. She’d never grieved it before, but she did now. Because her life had been about survival, getting through each day without fear. It had never been about her other needs being met.
It was as if those locked-in emotions began spilling out around her. That was the problem with sharing them. It was hard to stuff those errant feelings back in when the sharing ended.
They left the restaurant after saying their goodbyes and she felt almost giddy. The sensation unfamiliar, till she realised that it was something like happiness. Or perhaps it was just the champagne. Whereas once, all she’d wanted to do was melt into the shadows like a little mouse, now she craved to skip down the streets in a way that would draw attention to herself. To laugh out loud and not care who was watching.
She didn’t feel like a mouse now.
Night had settled solidly over the town. The streets still awash with people. Some local. Some tourists. Eating at cafés. Talking. There was music, a jaunty kind of folk tune. Singing in the distance. People coming alive as she felt. She and Matteo ambled in silence as she took in the wonder of it all. The cobbled streets, the stone buildings. Geraniums and petunias blooming in pots.
‘This is a gorgeous place.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’
‘With your Italian heritage, will you keep looking for your birth parents?’
He shrugged. ‘I’m unsure. I was trying to find out about myself, my history. The Bainbridges love their family stories. Mine. Myrealstory, became...important somehow.’
The Bainbridge family had never been titled. Their money derived from trade, a brickworks in the distant past, which meant, no matter how much money they held, they had always been seen as something less. Yet their once vast riches meant power, and that power opened doors. Tarnished now by poor management and a belief that things would always remain the same. Riches squandered.
