I hope you can both forgive me for making him stay the course. Or perhaps I have been selfish to the last.
Be happy together. He is a good man and he loves you very much.
As do I.
Forever,
Daddy
Emeline didn’t realise she was sobbing until the young girl at the table beside her reached across with a tissue.
‘Oh, I’m sorry...’
Emmeline stood up, the table jerking loudly as she moved. She wove through the restaurant and caught Sophie just as she was bursting through the door.
‘I have to go,’ Emmeline said quickly. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Is everything okay?’
Emmeline shook her head, then nodded, her face showing all the confusion that was rich in her heart. ‘I... I don’t know.’
She handed the letter to Sophie and wrapped her arms around herself as her best friend scanned its contents.
Afterwards, she lifted her eyes to Emmeline’s face, trying very hard not to react. ‘Where did you get this?’
Emmeline’s voice was a sob. ‘It was...it was in his book. I found it on the day of the funeral but I... I put it in my clutch and I just found it now. I didn’t even think about it again. I suppose I presumed it was just... I don’t know. Why didn’t I read it sooner?’
Sophie tsked sympathetically. ‘Would it have changed anything?’
Emmeline’s expression bore anguish. Sophie knew the truth of the situation now—including her real reasons for marrying Pietro.
‘How can he have thought it was the right decision?’
Sophie expelled a soft breath. ‘Your father was a very proud man.’
‘God, I know that. I know that! But he was also selfish.’ Her voice cracked as she spoke the condemnation. Hot guilt at betraying him spread like wildfire through her body. ‘He had no right to decide to cut me out.’
‘He wanted you to be happy.’
‘So he sent me away?’
Sophie sighed. ‘Imagine if you’d stayed. You’d have nursed your father and you’d have been by his side when he died, sure. You’d have seen a great, strong man become weak and no longer in control of his body. And when he died you’d have been alone. Bereft. Miserable. Instead you have a new life. A life you love.’
‘A life my father chose for me,’ Emmeline scoffed. ‘Don’t you see, Sophie? I should have been free to find my own way!’
‘If you had every choice in the world before you, would you want anything other than what you had with Pietro? Would you have chosen any differently for yourself?’
Emmeline’s heart skidded at the mere mention of her husband’s name. It spurred an ache deep inside her gut, for it was not just a random collection of letters. It was a call that her body instinctively wanted to answer. It was a promise and a denial. It was everything.
‘You can choose now, Emmeline. It’s not too late. You have the world at your feet. What do you want to do?’
* * *
Pietro was on fire, and then he was ice-cold. His brow beaded with perspiration as once again he read the letters at the top of the document. Did he miraculously expect them to alter in some way? To rearrange themselves and say something else.
PETITION FOR DIVORCE
Emmeline Morelli v Pietro Morelli
He swore, using every curse he knew, and then repeated them for good measure, scraping his chair back and moving to the door of his office even as he wrenched his phone from his pocket. For the second time in two months he ordered his jet to be made ready at a moment’s notice, the urgency in his voice instantly communicating itself to his unflappable assistant.
He stared at the document for the entire drive to the airport, and then again as the plane lifted off. It was a straight-up divorce petition. No dispute over assets or ongoing entitlements, despite his considerable wealth—then again, her own fortune was formidable. She had no need to make a claim on his.
But it bothered him because everything about the document spoke of a woman who wanted to wrap their marriage up swiftly—to bring it to an official conclusion in the fastest possible way.
Did she really think he’d sign the damned thing? Without so much as a conversation?
His plane touched down in the early evening and Elizabetta, with her usual efficiency, had organised a driver to collect him. He stared broodingly out of the window as the car cut through the miles between the airport and Annersty.
But when it pulled up at the front of the grand estate the adrenalin that had brought him the whole way to Georgia seemed to disappear. He swore under his breath and pushed himself out of the car, the divorce papers clutched in his hand.
Miss Mavis answered the door and her smile was warm. Precisely the opposite of what he expected from Emmeline.
He was unable to dredge up more than a grimace of acknowledgement. ‘Is she home?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Miss Mavis stepped back, holding the door wide open. ‘She’s swimming, I believe.’
‘Swimming?’ He arched a brow. Well, he hadn’t expected that.
He stormed through the house, anger taking the place of adrenalin. How dared she end their marriage like this? Without the courtesy of so much as a phone call? Hell, she hadn’t even answered his text messages!
As he got closer to the indoor swimming pool the sound of her splashing made him slow. He tried—and failed—to get a grip on his temper. The doors were made of glass. He saw her even before he’d shouldered into the marble-floored room. She was moving slowly through the water, her stroke elegant, her legs languid as they kicked along the length of the pool.
Desire kicked hard in his gut; he forced himself to ignore it.
He ground his teeth together and began to stride on at the side of the water, all the way to the end of the pool. He reached it before she did, and crouched down so that when her fingertips
