Page 39 of Bound By The Italian’s 'I Do'

Issy loved cooking. There were certain aromas, like freshly baked cakes and bread, that never failed to transport her back to a time when her family had been whole and happy. So far that day, she’d baked a lemon drizzle cake and made herself an Italian sausage pasta dish laden with parmesan. Comfort food. Instead of soothing her though, the aromas twisted her stomach to the extent that her plan to demolish the lot was foiled. It had been the same the day before, when she’d made profiteroles laden with whipped cream and chocolate and only managed to eat two of them.

If she was to believe Gianni’s twisted accusation against her father then that meant the happy memories she relied on to lift her spirits and make her believe that good times could once again come for her and Amelia and maybe even their mother were built on a lie. She couldn’t believe her father had been corrupt. She just couldn’t. Until the day the Rossi cousins had barged into their home and destroyed their lives, her father had been a kind and loving man who’d lavished all the love and time he could spare on his family. Would a corrupt man cut short a business meeting so he could watch his six-year-old daughter perform the challenging role of a snowflake in a ballet recital? Would a corrupt man make every effort to be home by his daughters’ bedtimes each night so he could read to them?

And would her mother, a once fun-loving, sweet, kind, joyful woman marry a corrupt man? Absolutely not.

Gianni was lying to her. He had to be. Probably because he didn’t want to have to confront the damagehisthievery and corruption had caused, and the more she thought this, the greater her outrage grew. How dare he twist things to make her father the bad guy?

There was a knock on her cabin’s front door.

Crossing the airy living area adorned with the most exquisite furniture to the door, she guardedly asked, ‘Who is it?’

‘Me.’

She pressed a hand to her chest to stop her suddenly thrashing heart from bursting out. ‘Are you here to set me free?’

‘You are free,bella. You can go wherever you like in the complex.’

‘Am I free to leave the complex?’

‘No.’

‘Then go away.’

‘You can’t spend all your time in here. It’s not good for you.’

‘If I was to leave this chalet I guarantee it wouldn’t be good for you.’

His laughter rumbled through the door and made her want to cover her ears. ‘That’s a risk I’m prepared to take. Come on, Issy, we could be here for a few more days. You can’t spend it locked away. Come out and explore with me. We can talk.’

‘In case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t want to talk to you, and I don’t need to leave this cabin. You’re a great host and there is plenty here to keep me occupied, so do me a favour and leave me alone. I’m not going anywhere until you let me go home.’

‘You’ll be free to go home as soon as I get word from Alessandro, but we will need to talk at some point.’

‘We have nothing to say to each other.’

‘We have a marriage to dissolve.’

‘Then get dissolving it and leave me alone.’

Realising she was close to tears, Issy hurried back through the living area and out into her stunning private garden.

Gianni stared at Issy’s chalet door. Still locked. Still no sighting of her. He regretted now making sure each chalet had all the privacy the occupants could wish for. These were the chalets for his close friends to use and for Alessandro, who he fully intended to one day drag here.

He knocked on the door. No answer came so he knocked again.

Her voice was even more guarded than it had been the day before. ‘Yes?’

‘It’s me.’

She didn’t respond at all.

‘You can’t avoid me for ever,’ he said, and as he said it, he smiled ruefully to imagine her thinking,Just you ruddy watch me.

‘Okay, you don’t have to let me in,’ he said after she’d ignored him for another twenty seconds, ‘and I can’t force you to talk to me. But I can sit here and talk to you and hope that you’ll listen.’

Although the windows of the chalet were tinted to ensure complete privacy and her shutters closed so he couldn’t see in, he sensed she was still at the door and hadn’t rushed into the garden to escape his voice as she’d done the day before.

Lowering himself onto the front door step, he took a drink of the water he’d brought with him, made himself as comfortable as he could and rested his head back against the door.

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