Chapter Twenty Two
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"I have a meeting."
Bronte looked up from her breakfast.
Today Nico wore a power suit and looked more like the man who owned Ludlow Hall than the man who'd burned up the dance floor last night.
"I have plenty to do. Nico, don't look like that. I don't mind."
She rose, gave him a hug and pressed a kiss on his smooth cheek.
He caught her in a rib crushing embrace, pressing his mouth to her throat.
"Take this." He handed her a Blackberry Smartphone. "I noticed you using one at home. If you need me, my personal number is at the top of the list. I need a favour?" He gave her an over bright smile that had her narrow her eyes.
"Yes?"
"Pop into Madame's and try on three evening gowns she has selected for the ball. The driver will take you anywhere you want to go."
The pleading look in his eyes melted her heart.
"Only three?" At his nod, she gave in. "Okay, but I don't need the driver."
"This is the one."
Madame clapped her hands as Bronte turned in front of her. The designer label made her uneasy. It probably cost a small fortune, but she had to admit, it was a dream. Chiffon Elie Saab in ivory and gold silk. Strapless and fitted across the bust, it fell in a glittering waterfall from her hips. It could have been made for her.
"I'll take it."
"Would you like to try on ...?"
Bronte interrupted her with a firm little smile.
"No, but thank you."
Madame patted her hand.
"I'll have it boxed and delivered to Nico's apartment." She slanted Bronte a look. "You make him happy. Take care of his heart; he does not give it easily."
"I'm sorry?" Stiffly polite, Bronte stared at her.
The woman blushed and took a breath.
"I apologise if I have offended you. He is very dear to me." She moved to the window and stared out into the street. "See those boys?"
Bronte moved to her side and saw a couple of very dirty little boys, around nine years old, playing with a football. "He was one of those a long time ago." She turned back to Bronte and smiled. "He has done well for himself, no?"
Yet another piece of the puzzle that was Nico, Bronte mused, taking a seat at the same cafe they'd visited the day before.
Raising her face to the winter sun, she absorbed the buzz of Italian voices, the scent of coffee, enjoying the moment and the spell Rome had cast over her.
A shadow fell across and she opened her eyes.
The man who had been watching Nico in the cafe yesterday stood before her.
He wore a grey suit under a camel coat that hugged his wide shoulders.
Imposing, was her first thought. The second was he looked just like Nico, but older - late thirties? He had the same aquiline features, perhaps sharper, with none of Nico's easy humour in his eyes.
Eyes that appeared almost black.
"Scuse signorina. You are English?"
The accent was stronger. Those eyes pinned her to the chair as she nodded.
"May I join you?" He settled into the chair next to her before she answered.
Alarm battled with curiosity as her mind raced. What could he do to her in broad daylight?
"I will not harm you, Miss Ludlow. I wish to speak with you about Nico."
She blinked in surprise. "I have no intention of discussing him with you or anyone else."
His mouth twisted in what could have been a smile. He placed a business card on the table. Gabriel Ferranti, CEO of Ferranti Enterprises.
She placed her palms on the table ready to leave. Then something in his eyes had her pause. What was it they said about curiosity?
"Who are you?"
Gabriel stirred sugar into an espresso as the waiter served her another cappuccino.
He watched her carefully. "I am his brother."
Her eyes flew to his face. "I'm sorry, but Nico has no family."
Perhaps she could have been a little more diplomatic?
The expressions in his face were fleeting, but she caught the shock, replaced by pain, replaced by a cold anger.
He nodded and placed the tiny cup very carefully on the saucer.
"How dare you speak to her?"
Bronte's head whipped up, not only at the freezing tone of Nico's voice but the suppressed violence that accompanied it.
His eyes lasered into the man who sat at the table.
Gabriel stood now, his eyes just as furious as his brother's. And they were brothers. Bronte's breath caught in her throat. My God, they could have been twins.
"Are you unhurt?"
Nico's furious eyes held hers and she read a dark agony before he hooded his lids.
"I'm fine." She desperately tried to catch his eye.
Gabriel's snort of derision brought Nico's head up.
"How dare you approach her," he thundered.
His voice shook with anger and for a moment Bronte thought he was going to strike out.
She gripped his hand.
"I would not have approached her if you responded to our letters or answered our telephone calls."
Nico's voice trembled with suppressed violence. "I have nothing to say to you."
Gabriel leaned in closer and spoke in Italian, his voice viciously angry.
Whatever he said, they were nose to nose and Nico responded through his teeth in Italian. It brought a hot angry flush to Gabriel's face. The whole cafe had gone deathly quiet and Bronte realised every single person was listening.
She stood, trying to squeeze Nico's hand. He was holding hers so tight he'd almost cut off the blood supply in her fingers.
Desperate, she used a tone her mother had perfected when dealing with her and Alexander when they were at each other's throats.
"This is not the place to have this conversation. You're drawing too much attention to yourselves."
Gabriel nodded his head and his eyes met hers.
The expression in those dark eyes was so like Nico's it brought a hot lump to her throat.
Bronte recognised desperation when she saw it.
"I apologise for upsetting you, Signorina Ludlow."
With a final remark in Italian to his brother, Gabriel gave her a stiff bow and left.
For a moment Bronte felt lightheaded until she realised she'd been holding her breath.
"What ...?"
Nico turned to her, his lips white.
Those eyes were black as coal and lasered into hers.
"Not here. What the hell were you thinking?"
She blinked. The tone hard and cold brought jittery nerves into her stomach.
Her feet fought to keep pace with her racing heart as he strode through the streets, his grip on her arm felt like a vice. How was any of this her fault? He was the one who told her he had no family. Apparently he'd lied. He had a brother and God knew what else.
"Nico, slow down." Her voice sounded high and panicky and it seriously ticked her off.
?He ignored her and if anything his pace increased. He pushed her into the lift to his apartment ahead of him.
Chest heaving, Bronte rubbed her arm and spun around.
"You lied to me."
He looked as if she'd slapped him.
A bleak sadness whirled in his stormy grey eyes. He refused to speak to her.
This is the stuff of nightmares, she thought, as he marched her through the door to his apartment. She jumped as the door slammed like a gunshot and braced herself.
Nico threw his jacket and coat on the floor, loosened his tie and unbuttoned the neck of his shirt.
Genuine distress flooded into his eyes and she pressed her fingernails into the palm of her hand.
"Why were you speaking to him?"
"I ..."
Bronte realised she had no answer to his question that would satisfy the fury in his voice. To tell him she spoke to his brother because he looked and sounded so much like him made her look and sound ridiculous.
&nbs
p; She'd wanted to help, to understand what made Nico tick. Something had happened to him as a child. That much was clear to her. How could she tell him she needed to understand him? To help her come to terms with the feelings she had for him, feelings that terrified her.
Face composed, voice level, she studied his face.
"Why did you lie to me?"
His eyes were darker than night and she shivered as the shutters came down. His face was cold and hard. There was no sign of the man she knew, with whom she'd fallen irrevocably in love with.
"My personal life is none of your business," he told her in a tone that lashed over her frayed nerves.
She nodded, just what she'd expected. Nausea rolled up into her throat and she moved to the bedroom.
He followed her, pulled her round to face him.
"My father is dying."
His father? Okay, so he had a father and brother. That explained the undercurrent of sadness with Gabriel.
"I am sorry, Nico."
"Apparently, he wishes to see me."
"You've never met him?"
"No."
Pity for him rose into her throat but she knew better than to show it. He would never forgive her. Instead she sat on the edge of the bed. Nico didn't forgive. She'd seen that last night at the nightclub. He saw things in black and white with no grey areas. The man had defined lines about how he ran his life. And she'd stepped over one today by talking to his brother.
He sat on the edge of the bed now with his head in his hands.
"He is your father and you have a brother? A family?"
He lifted his head and shot her a look of smouldering impatience.
"Why did you speak to him? My family has nothing to do with you."
It had everything to do with her, she thought. She loved him, she could admit it now. He was so alone in his life.
Nico rose and stalked into the sitting room. He poured himself a cognac and swallowed it in one.
Bronte stood at the door, uncertain and unsure. And she gathered herself.
"I know what it's like to have a parent die with words unsaid. Words unspoken breed anger, fear and mistrust."
Nico turned to her and looked as if he wanted to strangle her.
"What are you talking about?"
She felt a glimmer of hope. At least he was listening to her.
"My mother. There were things ... she should have told me. Important things that I had a right to know."
She jumped as the glass shattered against the wall.
"You have no right to interfere in my life," he roared.
Chin high, eyes flashing, Bronte stood her ground.
"You will live to regret it every day of your life if you do not listen to what he has to say. What happened to we need the truth between us?"
Eyes weary now, he stared at her and shook his head.
"You know nothing about me. You do not understand."
"Then tell me. Make me understand."
With a heavy heart, she witnessed him struggle with inner turmoil and felt so helpless. There was nothing she could do for him if he refused to trust her.
She turned away.
"I lost my mother when I was ten." He sank into a sofa and laid his head back. Eyes wide, he stared at the ceiling. "When she became pregnant with me, her father threw her out, disowned her. Her lover was a married man with a young son. She died in poverty, sick and alone. After she died, my grandfather took me in. He reminded me of my birth every day."
She cleared the lump in her throat, her heart breaking for the sad little boy she saw in the man. A man who had never fully healed, she realised and sat opposite him.
He took a breath and continued.
"My grandfather was a vicious unforgiving bastard. But at least he gave me an education. He told me everything I need to know about my biological father. My father left us to starve on the streets. I will have nothing to do with him or his son."
Bronte blinked. Her mind racing, surely he could see that his grandfather was just as responsible?
"Your grandfather?"
"He died twelve years ago and I built up my business from his legacy." He turned tormented eyes to her. "I will not be tainted by my father. He is dead to me."
Okay. "Why would you listen to the views of a man who turned his back on his daughter and her baby?" She moved to sit beside him, took his hand and rubbed the back of his knuckles. He stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched as she continued.
"Yes, your father might be a monster and your brother even worse, but unless you hear the facts for yourself, how will you ever know?"
He pulled his hand from hers and stood.
She recognised the expression. It was the same one on his face when he dealt with the woman in the nightclub.
Nerves dried her mouth.
"I do not wish to discuss it further."
"I'm being your friend, Nico," she whispered.
The expression in his eyes chilled her blood.
"You have listened to my enemy and taken his side. Is that how you treat a friend?"
"I have not taken sides, Nico," she whispered. But her conscience told her that she had hurt him.
"Yes, Bronte, you have and you know it." The look on his face made her eyes sting. "I made a choice years ago on the path I wish to take through life. You have no right to interfere with that decision."
Her heart broke in her chest, she could actually feel it.
The blinkers she'd been wearing were torn from her eyes. He had no heart, no forgiveness. He was never the man she thought he was. Even worse, he would never become the man she knew he could be.
What a waste.
"I'm the best friend you will ever have, Nico. Words unspoken break hearts. You should remember that."
He gave her a cold, level look. And she knew she'd lost him.
"You should pack. We are leaving."
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