Page 55 of Innocent in the Sicilian’s Palazzo

‘You know, I used to think that she might have stayed if I was prettier. She likes pretty things. I was a major disappointment. I didn’t even fill out.’ She glanced down at her non-existent bust.

His heart raged at the thought of this callous bitch. ‘Your mother is a selfish narcissist!’ His eyes flared, sparking blue contempt and fury, his heart aching for the little girl she had been.

‘I’m not going to disagree with that analysis, but it took me twenty-four years to reach the same conclusion...

She paused while he swore with an inventive fluidity in several languages.

‘Oh, I know it’s not in the same league as what happened to you.’ Compassion softened her eyes as she continued but the passion had drained away, leaving her feeling pretty damned vulnerable. ‘But the point is...’ She stopped and drew a deep breath, and realised that actually she had no idea what the point was.

‘Well, you can tell me all about your complications in, what shall we say...twenty minutes?’ Without waiting for a response, she stalked off, head high.

Anna walked back through the garden. It covered acres and an army of gardeners kept it immaculate. She had explored a fraction of it, and it was now entirely possible she might never get to explore the rest.

Of the areas she had explored there was one that had already drawn her back. She headed that way now because what it lacked in formal planting, classical design or manicured green expanses it made up for in soothing charm.

She had started the familiar circuit when Ragnar and Rok appeared, as they had begun to do. They fell into step at her side even after she had opened her hands to reveal she had no treats.

Maybe it was the canine-greenery combination, but she felt the calm working its magic as she walked through the dappled shadow of the soothing glades where the organic planting blended seamlessly into the encroaching wild countryside it bordered.

She left more composed but still not sure if she really wanted to do this, if she wanted to push things this far, when she knew it might not work out the way she hoped.

It was in this ambivalent frame of mind she arrived at the area of the palazzo that was a home office, but not in the conventional sense. There were several satellite spaces, a conference room, a gym, and Soren’s private domain, a large room with an outer office.

There was one person in the outer office, one of the assistants who seemed to operate on a rota basis, working, as far as she understood, between Palermo or Rome and here. She knew this woman’s face but not her name.

The woman had no problem identifying her, but then the fact she had divided her time here so far between the library and Soren’s bed probably made her stand out.

There were few mistress-slash-librarians around.

She might even be unique.

The woman slung a laptop case over her shoulder. ‘My transfer is waiting, he isn’t here yet, but go through,’ she said, with a wary eye on the dogs, who hadn’t waited for an invitation and when Anna entered had already settled themselves on the leather chesterfield.

Anna didn’t sit down. She walked down the room, gazing but not seeing any titles in the book-lined walls to distract her.

She had issued what amounted to an ultimatum and she was regretting it. The timing, she decided, was wrong; she should have waited.

For what? For him to realise he’s wildly in love with you? The only place that’s going to happen is in your dreams.

She shook her head to clear the mocking voices. That they were not going to end up together was pretty much a given, but if anything she said or did helped push Soren in a direction that led to healing the wounds he carried from his past, that could only be a good thing.

The strident ringing of the landline on Soren’s desk made her start, then as the ringing stopped and the message machine kicked in Anna began to move automatically towards the door.

Though it would be hard to eavesdrop when the one-sided conversations seemed to be in Italian, she had started to recognise the odd word and phrase.

She was actually at the door when she heard a familiar name, at the same moment the person speaking switched seamlessly to English, the way she had heard Soren do on many occasions.

She recognised the voice, identifying him as the young lawyer she had last seen cycling away. She turned and stood beside the desk, unashamedly listening to the lawyer give a detailed report.

By the time he was finished she was deathly pale and shaking; inside she felt frozen.

When Soren walked into the room, he knew there was something wrong, something badly wrong—he could literally feel the waves of tension rolling off her hunched body.

His intention was to tell her the truth, finally, but the second he walked in he knew that this wasn’t the moment.

‘What is wrong?’ Only one thing he could think of would make her look like that. ‘Is it your grandfather?’ He had lifted his hands to frame her face when she placed both her own hands on his chest and pushed viciously hard.

‘Do not touch me, you bastard!’ she growled, putting all the venom and hurt she was feeling into the one word.

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