Page 41 of Innocent's Wedding Day with the Italian

Rubbing at her leaking eyes, she slipped the sandals on. Should have left her ankle boots. Now she’d have to root through her stuff for them before the flight so her feet didn’t get cold. She hated having cold feet.

The last thing she did before leaving the villa was dig her sunglasses out of her handbag and put them on. She was glad she’d remembered to do that when she stepped outside. The sun, strong since she’d watched it come to life, was now scorching, the villa’s grounds bathed in yellow from its rays.

Too intent on putting one foot in front of the other without her legs giving up on her before she reached the car, the dozens and dozens of cameras flashing on the other side of the electric fence hardly registered, nor the loud shouts being hurled at her.

The driver got out and opened the back door.

Inside, she fastened her seat belt.

The car slowly rolled forwards. A short wait and then it drove through the electric gates. Camera lenses were pressed against the windows, flashes going off, but the tinted glass dulled the effect.

She clenched her teeth together and refused to look anywhere but forwards.

And then the cameras were gone and the car was gaining speed and Rebecca was, finally, on her way home.

Pressing her cheek against the door, she closed her eyes. A tear trickled under her sunglasses and down her chin. She wiped it away. Another fell. Soon her sunglasses were so wet that she took them off and absently placed them beside her.

The more the miles slipped by and the further she was taken from Enzo, the more acute the pulsing agony in her heart.

She saw a sign for the airport. Which airline had he booked her with? Knowing Enzo, the plushest airline. Knowing Enzo, she’d be travelling in the highest class the airline had to offer.

In five hours from now, they were supposed to be taking his private jet to Mauritius for their honeymoon. Enzo had suggested it because it was a paradise he’d never visited before. He’d wanted them to experience it for the first time together. Rebecca would have been happy to go anywhere so long as it was with him.

She pressed her knuckles to her forehead and tried as hard as she’d ever tried at anything to banish him from her thoughts.

What would happen to the suitcases she’d packed for their honeymoon the other day? Frank had taken them so they could be loaded into the car...

Were they in the boot ofthiscar? Would she get to the airport and the driver unload them?

No sooner had this thought came into her head than an image of Enzo standing in the doorway of her bedroom followed, laughing at the sheer amount of clothes bulging out of the open cases.

‘You don’t need to pack any clothes,cara,’ he’d murmured seductively, stepping to her to wrap his arms around her waist. ‘Our honeymoon will be spent in bed.’

Her heart racing frantically, Rebecca breathed in as deeply as she could and glimpsed another road sign for the airport.

Whyhadn’t she booked her own flight back to England? Or thought to get Frank to book it for her?

It was when she saw the third airport sign that a pain cramped in her chest, so acute that she doubled over with a howl.

Struggling to breathe, she crossed her shaking hands over her heart. Her knees were knocking together, every part of her trembling. She’d thought the pain from losing her parents had been enough to kill her, but this...

This was a different kind of grief, and it came to her in a vivid, painful flash what the difference was. Her parents had been taken from her. She was taking herself from Enzo.

Taking herself away from the man who’d blown away the cherry blossom that had landed in her hair when he’d taken her to Japan during her school’s half-term break. The man who’d stroked her hair for hours when she’d been curled up next to him on the sofa suffering menstrual cramps. The man whose smile could have powered the earth when he’d watched her face during her first sunrise on his terrace. The man who’d secretly had her father’s old, battered vintage car restoredfor her.

Another realisation punched her. Rebecca’s mind had refused to let her think about booking a flight back to England because, at a subconscious level, a part of her brain was working in tandem with her heart. England wasn’t her home any more. Enzo was.

Maybe he was too much like his mother when it came to his need for vengeance but at least he could admit to his mistakes and had tried to put them right. That had to count. And couldn’t she be accused of being like the grandfather she detested for his treatment of her mother? Hadn’t he refused to put right his relationship with his only child even when his actions proved how much he’d missed having her in his life? What had stopped him from reaching out to her? Pride? Sheer stubbornness? Or as Enzo had said, a refusal to admit to his mistakes? She would never know because it was all too late. The dead didn’t speak.

Is that what she wanted for herself? To live the rest of her life with regret? To reach old bones haunted by demons of the past?

Rebecca was barely aware of undoing her seat belt and flinging herself forward to bang on the dividing window. ‘Take me back!’ she cried, then remembered the intercom and slammed her hand on the button. ‘Take me back! Please, take me back!’ Terrified the driver wouldn’t understand her she scrambled for the words in Italian but the only ones she could find were,‘Portami a casa!’

Take me home.

The driver must have caught the hysteria in her voice for he brought the car to a stop with a screech. In seconds, to a blast of furious horns, he’d performed a U-turn and then they were flying back in the opposite direction on the roads they’d just travelled. No matter how fast he drove though, it wasn’t fast enough for Rebecca. Her agitation got too much when they were back at the electric gate and waiting for them to open. Flinging the car door open, she jumped out. Catching the press off guard, she elbowed her way through them, squeezed her way through the small gap that had appeared in the gate, and then ran over the gravel driveway to the front door.

She shoved the door open and raced inside. ‘Enzo!’ When he didn’t immediately answer, she ran into the living room, shouting his name again. ‘Enzo!’

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