Beautifully Broken (The Montebellos Book 6) Page 13

  Sympathy shaped his features. “And the second?” His voice was deep and husky, his accent like caramel.

  “Family.” She flickered her eyes away from his, surprised to be revealing something she’d never told another soul. There was something about him, and this place high above the rest of the world, isolated by snow, that made this a safe space for secrets. “Most people are lucky enough to be able to take that for granted, but not me. I’ve always been on the outside, looking in. I’ve never had anyone who would – fight for me.” Her voice broke a little and she forced an over-bright smile to her lips. “God, sorry, this is all very maudlin for this time of day. Have some more croissant. I made heaps.”

  His eyes narrowed; he continued to stare at her, so her smile dropped and her cheeks grew warm.

  “It must have been hard, then, to walk away from your fiancé.”

  “It was either that or my business.”

  “Mmm, but if the aim of your business was financial independence and he could offer that –,”

  She shuddered. “Relying on someone else isn’t true independence,” she pointed out.

  “You could have picked up a legal job.”

  “You think I made the wrong decision?”

  “Hell, no. I think the guy sounds like a bastard and leaving him was very smart.”

  She grimaced. “He was just selfish and immature.” She sighed softly. “You’re right though. It was hard to leave him. But the day I realised that I wanted a marriage more than I wanted him was the day I knew it was over. And he wanted an ornamental wife more than he wanted me – I don’t mean that I’m anything special, just that I was there, willing to marry him, and he knew I’d be able to make conversation at his political fundraisers, that my academic pedigree would reflect well on him.” She groaned. “I don’t know how I ever thought I could live with the guy, to be honest.”

  “He was offering you something you wanted, desperately.”

  “Yes. But it wasn’t enough.”

  He nodded once. “And what was the third thing?”

  She didn’t immediately follow.

  “That you wanted, as a teenager, more than anything in the world?”

  She twisted her lips to the side, shaking her head softly. “It’s silly.”

  He was quiet, silently inviting her to continue.

  “I just wished my mum would come back.” Her eyes swept shut as she thought of Jude, her throat swelling with tears. “She was so beautiful, Gabe. She was kind and happy and she’s the only person who’s ever really loved me.” God, it hurt to admit that, and yet there was a form of catharsis in baring her soul to him. “You have no idea how badly I longed for her, on so many occasions. I’ve made my peace with her absence now, even though I still miss her, and the idea of her. But I try to honour her every single day, by making decisions I know she’d be proud of. By being the woman I know she hoped I’d become.”

  Gabe’s expression was impossible to decipher, but it didn’t matter. Isabella felt as though a weight had been lifted off her chest just by making that admission.

  “And so you came to Italy looking for an insight into your birth mother.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “More than that, I was hoping I’d feel like I…belong. Like something snapping into place.”

  “That sense of displacement is difficult to walk alongside.”

  She lifted a brow. “Speaking from experience?”

  His expression was guarded, and something clanged in the back of her mind. He’d mentioned ‘Yaya’ often, but never his parents. “Somewhat.”

  It gave very little away. Frustration zinged through her chest. She wanted to push him, but at the same time, already knew Gabe had opened so much of himself to her. Was there merit in going gently, gently?

  “My grandparents had three children. I think I told you about my aunt?”

  “Who married someone they didn’t approve,” she nodded, sipping her coffee, glad he was continuing to talk, even though she had the impression whatever he was about to say was putting pressure on a very painful wound. And for no reason except that she suspected he needed it, she laced her fingers through his as she looked up into his face.

  “My experience of Gianfelice and Yaya was that they were very strict. Loving, too, but we were allowed to get away with nothing.” He winced. “I, as the youngest, was perhaps the hardest to bring into line.”

  She squeezed his hand.

  “But with my father and uncle, it was a different story. Gianfelice was heavily involved in his business when they were young, and Yaya supported him. But more than that, their children were very spoiled, aware of their wealth and allowed to luxuriate in the knowledge they would never have to work a day in their lives. They went to the very best schools and colleges, but instead of making the most of those opportunities, they fell in with people from similar backgrounds. Money was no object in their social set. They flew around the world from one lavish party to the next, frequently high or drunk on one bender after another. After my aunt left home, Yaya was quite broken. She stopped focussing on my father and uncle at a time when they were losing themselves completely to the hedonism of a certain lifestyle.”

  “That’s understandable. Being estranged from her daughter must have been very hard.”

  He made a growling sound of agreement. “Add into the mix the fact my aunt was only sixteen years old,” he placed his coffee cup down on the bench behind her, but made no effort to disentangle their fingers. “Yaya was heartbroken.”

  “I can imagine.” She frowned. “So what happened?”

  “With what?”

  “I presume your dad sorted himself out once he got married, had kids?”

  “Why?”

  She lifted her shoulders. “I don’t know.”

  “They didn’t. They continued their lifestyle. If anything, once they became parents, it got worse, as though they were trying to outrun responsibility at every opportunity.”

  “Your mother?”

  “The same as my father.”

  Sadness squeezed something deep inside of Isabella.

  “We were taken away from them. I was only a baby – I don’t remember anything of life before Gianfelice and Yaya brought us to Villa Fortune, but my brothers and cousins have told me enough.”

  Isabella’s eyes were wide like saucers.

  “My cousin Luca was found walking two miles from their mansion on Ibiza one morning. He was barefoot, naked, and though he was only young, he just kept saying, ‘ho fame, ho fame’ over and over.”

  She frowned. “Ho fame? I’m hungry?”

  “Right. Apparently while our parents were excellent at making sure they had enough cocaine in the house to see their friends through a couple of nights, they were not so good at remembering to feed us regularly.”

  “Oh, Gabe.” Tears sparkled in her eyes. “That’s terrible.”

  He winced. “Like I said, I don’t remember any of this. It’s only what I’ve been told.”

  “I suppose that’s lucky.”

  “Yes.” His voice was a deep growl.

  “And now? Are your parents still –,”

  “Alive? Yes.”

  Her smile was lopsided. “I was going to say ‘living like that’.”

  “Oh. Yes. So far as I know.”

  They were quiet a moment, but it was a quietness that was full of contemplation. Eventually, Gabe broke it and Isabella was immeasurably glad, glad that his disclosure was willingly given, not drawn from him almost against his will. “Gianfelice and Yaya learned from what they deemed to be their mistakes. Where they had indulged their own children’s every whim, and allowed them to be lazy and spoiled, we were raised with the same work ethic as my grandfather. We took nothing for granted. We had billion-dollar trust funds but were given very little in our day to day lives. We made do with hand-me-down clothes for years, and each of us had jobs around the house that we had to do in order to earn a small amount of pocket money.”

  �
��And you don’t approve of that?”

  “On the contrary, I’m grateful to my grandparents for finding a way to raise us with a ‘normal’ attitude to money despite what we would one day control. I know Yaya thinks about her children every day. She is a beautiful woman, kind-hearted and with a ready smile, but there is something in the depths of her eyes that I see whenever we’re together. Her grief, and regrets, are constant.”

  Isabella sighed softly. “That’s really sad. I’m so sorry for her.”

  “I am too.”

  “She’s going to miss you this Christmas.”

  “She’ll forgive me.”

  “Yes, but –,”

  “Believe me, I’m mindful of what skipping Christmas will mean to her – and my family. There is nothing that can be done about it.”

  Isabella felt a swelling of selfishness – because despite what he was missing with his family, she couldn’t help but be glad they’d ended up stranded here, two strangers on the edge of the earth.

  “The weather should clear soon. A few more days, at most.”

  She wondered if he had any idea what those gruffly spoken words did to her insides. Did he know that instead of feeling relieved at that prospect, something like remorse washed through her?

  “Great,” she pushed a smile to her face. “Just a few more days then.”

  11

  IT WAS SORT OF AN out of body experience. Gabe watched himself as he climbed the tower of the eastern most turret, ascending a well-worn spiral staircase and kicking dust plumes as he went, until he reached the top – a darkened storage space with dormer windows panelled with antique glass showing a different perspective on the forest, and valley beyond. Everything was a shade of white, except for the fronds of the pine trees that could just be seen poking through the blanket of snow. It was also colder than the arctic.

  He moved quickly, breath erupting in clouds as he curved his hands around a sturdy cardboard box and lifted it. A sound tinkled as he hoisted the cardboard to hip height, continuing to tinkle as he walked down the stairs. The whole way, he watched himself, a huge part of him urging his mind to change – it wasn’t too late. She hadn’t seen him yet. He didn’t have to go through with this.

  Memories plunged into his soul, memories that were sharp and painful, memories that almost stole his breath completely, yet each step was also a sort of exorcism, wiping the memories – or at least reducing their ability to wound him.

  Once he reached the first floor, he strode towards the kitchen, almost certain she’d be there. Sure enough, when he walked in, she was pulling something out of the oven – sweet smelling, so he felt an immediate lurch of hunger despite the three croissants he’d eaten at breakfast.

  “Hi,” she smiled sweetly as she faced him, her cheeks pink – from surprise or the oven? It didn’t matter, the effect was the same. Desire, fascination and longing flooded his veins. What was it about this woman? She was beautiful, sure, but he’d known a heap of beautiful women and none had ever embedded themselves in his consciousness quite like this. He’d never had difficulty enjoying the brevity of a satisfying sexual fling, then saying goodbye, and never thinking of them again. But with Isabella, the more he knew of her the more he wanted to see. Her eyes drifted to the box in his hands, jolting him back to his purpose.

  “What’s that?”

  He moved to the table, his heart thumping his ribs hard, the enormity of what he was about to do – the fact it was now too late to change his mind – weighing on his chest.

  “Have a look,” he encouraged, wondering if his motives weren’t just a little selfish when she came to stand in front of him, brushing his arm then pausing right at his front. He could feel her body warmth through his clothes, breathe in her sweet vanilla fragrance.

  He closed his eyes on a small exhalation, then opened them at the sound of cardboard being handled. He watched as she slid finger into the opening, to separate the lid, lifting the sides and leaning forward, to peer in. He braced himself. There was no turning back.

  She was quiet as she reached in and lifted something out – a ceramic star with a red ribbon attached. She spun around abruptly, her expression showing surprise at his nearness, her lips parting on a gasp, her eyes flying to his. Gabe held his ground, a challenge in his proximity – but there was also the courage he was taking from standing so close to her. It was only Isabella that made this possible. Were it not for her, the box would have stayed in the turret, stowed as far away from him as possible, a relic of a time he would always be haunted by.

  “It’s an ornament,” she said with a small frown.

  “Actually, it’s a box of them,” he agreed, tension humming through the words.

  “But…why?”

  He forced himself to continue, even now, when there was a chance he could break away from this idea. But her face – her admission of what Christmas meant to her – his ability to do this one special thing for someone who really, really deserved it…he had to overcome his own pain to do this, and it was worth it.

  “Because without ornaments the tree will look sort of lonely.”

  Her brows shot up. “What tree?”

  His body moved closer, so their thighs were brushing, and he gestured towards the window. “Any tree. It’s your choice.”

  She gaped at him. “You can’t mean to cut one down?”

  “Why not?”

  She swallowed as she looked up at him, the delicate column of her throat shifting visibly. “But…”

  “But?”

  “We have this,” she gestured to the branch.

  He pulled a face. “It’s not exactly a tree.”

  “No,” she agreed. “It’s a branch, but it’s as big as I could manage on my own.”

  “Sure. So you don’t want a tree?”

  “I didn’t say that, but you hate Christmas,” she blurted out, lifting a hand and curling her fingers into his shirt. “You hate Christmas and you shouldn’t feel – you don’t need to make a big fuss just because I’m here.”

  He studied her for several seconds, then lifted a hand and tucked an imaginary clump of hair behind her ear, simply because he wanted to touch her. “But I want to.”

  He found, as he issued the assurance that he completely meant it.

  Her brows drew together as she stared up at him, looking at him as though she wanted to understand him better, studying his face for any hint of how he felt and what he wanted.

  “Why?”

  That was harder to answer, and so he shrugged like it wasn’t important. “Why not?”

  Phew. Isabella could have watched him chop down a tree all day. As if he needed to become any more hyper-masculine and distracting! There was something so incredible about his physique as he worked, his arms moving deftly to chip away at the trunk with the axe, one angle then another, like a coordinated ballet, each strike confident and firm, easily hitting its mark, so that ten minutes after he’d begun, the trunk of the smallest tree they’d been able to find, had two triangular indents on the sides, showing a paler wood beneath. The smell of pine needles filled the air. A few more blows and the tree’s angle changed.

  “Watch out,” he called over his shoulder, gesturing for her to step backwards. His concern for her did something to her belly, so that it flip flopped and warmth ran through her veins.

  She took a few more paces backwards, mesmerised as he lifted a foot and kicked at the tree, reangling it so that it would drop straight into the snow-covered clearing.

  A few more knocks with the blade of the axe, a large creaking noise and the tree was falling, a delicate, gentle drop to the earth, dislocating clouds of snow, and a flock of black winged birds.

  Her attention was drawn to the sky as they took off, wings moving quickly and erratically, gliding the birds towards the ravine – and somewhere nearer her car.

  The snow had stopped falling, but it was still thick underfoot, so they hadn’t ventured too far from the castle – a silver lining given that they’d have to get t
his beast of a thing back inside!

  Only Gabe had a plan for that too. He pulled some ropes from the bag he’d brought, showing himself to be some kind of Boy Scout as he tethered them around the trunk then formed a loop that would act as a handle.

  “You make this look easy,” she admired as she drew nearer to him.

  “It’s not exactly rocket science,” he said with a frown.

  “Still, that was mighty impressive.”

  “It occurs to me you might be easily impressed,” he pondered, a grin cracking his lips.

  “I don’t think that’s it.” In fact, she knew it wasn’t. Gabe Montebello was, quite simply, an incredible specimen.

  Their eyes locked and her smile faltered as the air between them grew thick with understanding and awareness, and in the back of Isabella’s mind, a cloying sense of danger was there too, so that she jolted her face away, looking down at the tree as though it were suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

  “Where shall I grab hold?”

  He was quiet, yet she didn’t look at him. She couldn’t.

  After a moment, she was aware of his movement, his feet making almost silent marks in the snow as he came to the front.

  “I’ve got it. Just try to stay out of the way.”

  “I can help –,”

  Their eyes met once more. “I know you can. But I’ve got this.”

  I’ve got this. The words spoke to his confidence and control; the words urged her to put her faith in him, to allow him to guide her.

  “I know.” Her words were husky. She swallowed and smiled, taking several steps backwards, just as he’d requested.

  “Okay, macho guy. Show me what you’ve got.”

  He made it look almost easy. Of course, it wasn’t – it couldn’t have been. The tree must have weighed a tonne, yet he dragged it through thick snow as though it were almost nothing. At the house, he pulled it up the steps, each bump dislodging some of the snow that clung to the branches. She quickened her pace to get in front of him, skirting him and the tree to open the door.

  The house – which she’d once thought cold – instantly provided warmth and relief.