Page 43 of ‘I Do’ for Revenge
Vito raised a brow. ‘That’s funny because so do you but I’d never be so rude as to mention it.’
Flora’s mouth dropped open. ‘No, I do not.’
‘How would you know?’ Vito pointed out.
Flora closed her mouth. She picked up a small pastry and threw it at him. He caught it deftly. He grinned and the flip-flopping of her heart got worse. Then Vito took another gulp of coffee, wiped his mouth and stood up, saying, ‘By the way, we’re leaving for London this afternoon. I have to stop off en route back to Rome. Is that okay?’
Flora looked at Vito. She felt as if she were on a roller coaster, living at the speed of Vito. She nodded her head to indicate she didn’t mind, even as the thought of London filled her with a sense of disquiet. She hadn’t been back there since the accident that had killed her parents and brother, after they’d left her at a friend’s house for a sleepover. She pushed it down deep where all the other painful memories were stored.
‘How long will we be there?’
‘Just a couple of days. There’s an event to attend, and I’d like to meet with Massimo Black.’
Flora was slightly cheered at the prospect of seeing Carrie Black again. Then she thought of something. ‘Oh, I promised Mrs Weinberg I’d take the dogs out again this morning and do a little shopping for her.’
Vito looked amused. ‘You do realise that anyone living in this building can afford to have their dogs walked and their shopping bought whenever they want?’
Flora just smiled sweetly. ‘Maybe they do, but maybe they’re also just lonely and want a bit of human contact. Is that so bad?’
Vito shook his head and came around to her chair and bent down, putting his hands on the arms, caging her in. Flora’s pulse leapt.
Vito said, ‘You’re too good to be true...or are you?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
Vito shook his head and stood up again. The implication that she was somehow faking being nice cut Flora deeper than it should. Damn him.
She said, ‘Don’t you get tired of being so cynical all the time? Maybe things...and people are just as they seem.’
Vito’s expression hardened. ‘Maybe, in some small corner of the world, but not in my world.’
Now Flora felt sad. ‘Then your world must be a very lonely place.’
A glint came into Vito’s eye. ‘Not so lonely...for now.’ And on that, he turned and left the room. Those two words rang in Flora’s head for the rest of the morning:For now...for now.As if Vito hadn’t already made it clear as a bell that this was very finite, the message had just been well and truly drummed home.
London sweltered in the humid heat and under moody grey skies. A storm was imminent. To Flora, the weather felt as if it were an outward manifestation of the storm brewing inside her. The storm that told her all of this—between her and Vito—would explode sooner or later and she’d be left in the debris, shattered and hoping that she could pick herself up and start again.
Feeling maudlin, and not liking it because she strove hard to maintain a sunny attitude, Flora looked around the suite at the top of one of London’s most iconic and exclusive hotels. Sheshouldfeel as if she was fitting in. After all, she’d chosen her travelling clothes with care—cream pencil trousers and a matching silk blouse—pulled her hair back into a tidy braid because Vito had warned her about the British paparazzi because apparently they kept an eye on private planes arriving at the airport, hoping to catch celebrities.
Flora had almost forgotten about all of that thanks to the relative anonymity in America.
The suite was luxurious. Sumptuous. Thick plush carpets. Muted grey-and gold-trimmed decor that allowed the art and antiques to shine. Exquisite furniture.
But somehow all of this opulence only made her feel unkempt and volatile. As if this world were mocking her, saying,You never really belonged, not even with your uncle...
Just then, Benji came into the room, and started sniffing around the leg of a chair that looked as if it had been in Louis XVI’s court and, before he could cock his leg, Flora scooped him up and brought him out to the terrace.
When she’d put the dog down, Flora realised what it was that was bugging her, apart from being back in London after all these years, and the fact that she was falling for a man who saw her only as a lover and a vehicle to restore his reputation.
While Vito did make her feel seen in a way that was dangerously seductive, she also felt a bit like a piece of flotsam and jetsam being carried along in his current and at any moment, much like the way he’d announced they were coming to London, he might simply announce—
At that moment, as if conjured out of her tumultuous emotions, Vito appeared in the doorway. He was wearing a shirt and trousers. Casual. He looked up at the sky. ‘It’s starting to rain. You should come in.’
But Flora stayed rooted to the ground, emotions bubbling up before she could stop them. ‘I don’t have to do anything.’
Vito looked at her. ‘There’s a downpour starting.’
‘So? It’s only rain.’