‘So? What is it?’
‘She deserves to know the truth about your health,’ Pietro said heavily. ‘She isn’t going to understand why you haven’t told her. You must give her a chance to see you. To say goodbye.’
A wheeze. Then another. Pietro waited, but his loyalty was shifting from the dying man to his daughter—the woman who loved her father and had no idea his life was ending.
‘You can’t tell her.’
It wasn’t the response Pietro had expected. He shifted his weight to the other foot and braced an arm against the glass window that overlooked the city. In the distance he could make out the hill that screened his villa from sight. Was she there, looking out on the same blanket of stars he was? Was she staring up at the sky, wondering about him, missing him, wanting him?
His body throbbed with a need he fully intended to indulge. Soon.
‘Someone has to,’ he said, with a soft insistence that was no less firm for being quietly spoken. ‘She deserves to know.’
‘You aren’t to say anything.’
Col’s voice was raised, and in the background Pietro heard someone—a woman—telling him to calm down.
But Col was working himself up, his tone harsh. ‘If I’d wanted her to know I’d have damned well told her. She’s my daughter, Pietro. You’ve known her for a month—I’ve known her all her life. I know what she needs, damn it. You can’t ruin this.’
‘She deserves a chance to say goodbye.’
‘No.’ It was emphatic. ‘I’m already gone. The man she thought I was...the man I used to be...that’s not me now.’
There was a thick, throaty cough, then the scuffling sound of the phone dropping to the floor.
Pietro spoke quickly. ‘Col? Col?’
A woman’s voice came more clearly into the earpiece as the phone was lifted. ‘Hello?’
Pietro expelled an angry breath. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m sorry, Senator Bovington needs to rest now. This conversation will have to wait.’ The nurse lowered her voice. ‘And next time please take more care not to upset the Senator.’
The call was disconnected before Pietro could ask to speak to Col for a moment longer. He shoved his cell phone back into his pocket and paced to the other side of his room.
And he swore, loudly, into the empty office, his temper ignited more than ever before.
The confidence he’d worn into the office earlier was morphing into doubt. Emmeline deserved to know the truth, but it wasn’t Pietro’s confidence to break. Perhaps with anyone else, he would, but Col was like a second father to him. He wouldn’t share this secret until he had Col’s permission. He couldn’t.
But the knowledge that he was lying to Emmeline was a weight on his chest, and he found himself hesitant to go home to her that evening. The idea of looking at her, kissing her, making love to her, knowing that he was sitting on such a fundamental secret, made his situation unpalatable, to say the least.
He dialled Rafe’s number on autopilot.
‘Ciao?’ Rafe answered, the single word slightly rushed and breathless.
‘Are you free for dinner?’
‘What time is it?’
Pietro gazed down at his gold wristwatch. ‘After seven.’
‘Dio. Already?’
‘Si.’
‘Okay. Dinner in an hour?’ He named a restaurant near his own apartment. ‘Is Emmeline joining us?’
Pietro’s spine ached with rejection but he shook his head. ‘Not tonight. She has...something on.’
Rafe was silent for a moment. ‘You’ve always been a bad liar. I’ll meet you soon.’
He disconnected the call before Pietro could refute the claim. Then he flicked his cell phone from one hand to the other and finally loaded up a blank message.
I have a meeting to attend. I’ll be late. I’m sorry.
He grimaced as he sent it. Rafe was right; Pietro was a God-awful liar.
He saw the little dots appear that showed she was typing a message, but they went away again almost instantly, without any message appearing. He frowned, waited a few more moments and then put his phone back into his pocket.
Rafe was waiting at the restaurant when Pietro appeared.
‘So?’he asked, nodding towards the martini that was sitting at the empty place on the table. ‘What’s going on?’
Pietro took the seat and threw back half the drink in one go. ‘I need your complete discretion,’ he said quietly, his tone showing the seriousness of his mood. ‘This is a...a private matter.’
‘Of course.’ Rafe was clearly resisting the urge to joke about feeling like an extra from a bad World War Two resistance movie. He must sense it was not the time.
‘Col’s sick.’
‘Col? Col Bovington?’
‘Yes. Who else?’ Pietro hissed.
‘What do you mean, sick?’
‘He has cancer; it’s terminal.’ He paused, in deference to the memories he knew would be besieging Rafe of the cancer that had taken their own father. ‘He has months to live. Perhaps only weeks.’
‘Poor Emmeline. She must be beside herself. I know how close they are.’
‘Yes.’ Pietro nodded angrily, his jaw clenched as he reached for his drink and twisted it in his hand. ‘The thing is, she doesn’t know.’
‘She doesn’t know?’ Rafe repeated with disbelief, his dark eyes latching on to his brother’s. ‘What the hell do you mean?’
‘Col wanted it that way,’ Pietro responded with a defensive lift of his shoulders. ‘And when I agreed to keep it from her I didn’t... I hardly knew her,’ he finished lamely. ‘I didn’t think it would be any hardship not to tell her the truth. I didn’t care about her at all.’
‘And now?’ Rafe pushed.
The newness of what he was feeling was something Pietro wasn’t willing to ruin by discussing it, though. He kept his answer vague.
‘I know her well enough to know that she’d want the truth. She wouldn’t want Col going through this alone. She’d want to be with him at the end.’
‘Perhaps.’ Rafe nodded. ‘But Col is obviously seeking to protect her from the grief of watching a much-loved parent die...’
‘We’ve
