Page 153 of A Diamond Deal
Because he’d had no expectation of her becoming any part of his life. She’d been just a convenient bride, a chess piece to manoeuvre into position, nothing more.
‘I should have known.’
‘Not at all,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I didn’t mention it. I wouldn’t have wanted you to make a fuss, or do anything different from this.’ Then she stepped forward, and pressed her hand to his. ‘Last year, Dad was really sick, but he still made me set it all up, and wheel him into the lounge room,’ she said, her smile so heartbreakingly sad that he felt himself being torn to shreds. ‘And I remember sitting there thinking it would be the last year that I’d ever do this. Because it’s too sad to do it on my own,’ she added, lips tugging to the side again. ‘And the thing is, it just feels right to share it with you. I don’t know why. Is that stupid?’
He stared down at her, fiercely ignoring the twisting in his gut, the heating in his chest, and shook his head. ‘It’s as far from stupid as you can get.’ He cupped her face, holding her still, his voice thick as he said, ‘Happy birthday, Signora Moretti. I’m glad we can do this together.’
The next day, Massimiliano’s assistant called Amelia around the time she was starting to expect him home. ‘Signora, Signor Moretti has asked if you can be available to be picked up in an hour’s time.’
Amelia frowned. ‘I can be, yes. What for?’
There was a pause. ‘He asked for it to be a surprise.’
Amelia’s cheeks hurt from the force of her smile as she said, ‘Okay, tell him I’ll see him soon.’
She had no idea what he had planned, so hedged her bets by dressing in a pair of sleek black trousers and a cashmere sweater, which she teamed with champagne-coloured leather flats and a clutch bag. Precisely one hour after the call, the discreet buzzer rang. With anticipation firing her insides, she slipped out, and took the elevator to the elegant, high-security foyer. A black limousine was parked beyond the glass doors. She walked quietly over the tiles, and out into the cold afternoon air. It was midway through autumn. Winter was approaching, and, with it, the promise of Christmas, the feeling of change as a new year came. A new year that took her deeper into this marriage, and closer to the end of it.
She pushed that thought aside, not wanting it to darken her mood, or this moment.
Massimiliano’s driver stood with the limousine door open and she held her breath as she stepped in, eyes sweeping the car for her husband, only to be disappointed. While he wasn’t there, on the seat opposite, there was a present, with a Post-it note that said, ‘open me’.
She clicked her seat belt in place and reached for the present as the car pulled out of the driveway. She slid it from the bag, and unwrapped it quickly. It was a book, very, very old, and written completely in Italian, though that didn’t matter. A gentle flick through the aged pages showed it for what it was: a record of the most prominent families of Europe, dating back centuries. He’d bookmarked two pages. The Rossis, and the Morettis.
She sat back in the seat, smiling to herself, as the car weaved through a twilight-covered Rome, thinking how much she liked the idea of their families being linked in this book. Though she infinitely preferred the fact they were linked in marriage.Even when it was fake,a voice in her mind sternly reminded her, and just in the nick of time, too.
First a private jet, and now a helicopter, she thought, with a quirk of her lips, as she stepped into the beautiful, sleek aircraft and fastened the seat belt. Still no sign of Massimiliano, but here, there was yet another gift. She reached for it as the rotor blades began to spin, and with the deafening noise that accompanied their lift-off, she focused not on their altitude but rather the unwrapping of the present. It was a box, the sort that would be perfect for a necklace, so as she clicked it open, she fully expected it to be some kind of jewellery. And in a sense, it was, she supposed, but it was also so much more. For inside the box was a case, and in that case was the most beautifully stunning personalised stethoscope she could possibly imagine. Gold-plated and engraved with ‘Dr Redgrave’, it was both perfect, and heartbreaking. Because there, in delicate cursive script, was a name that she now found utterly jarring. The name she’d used all her life—a rejection of her mother’s surname—now didn’t seem to fit her at all. At least, it fitted only part of her.
Mostly, though, it was such a graphic display of what they’d agreed to: that this marriage would last only two years. That she’d be divorced, and single, when she graduated from her degree, and began treating patients.
She brushed her finger over the engraving as the helicopter flew across Rome, and towards the south. She didn’t know if it was because she wanted to erase it, or to commit the name to memory, to remind herself of who she really was. For all that she’d come to feel like Massimiliano’s wife, it wasn’t real. None of this was.
Her heart slammed against her ribs when she disembarked from the helicopter and saw what he’d done. She had no idea where she was—a winery, somewhere, going by the rows of vines she could see from the clearing. But here, there was a large patch of lawn, and in the middle of it, with a view of the gently rolling hills, was a large tent. And candles. Candles everywhere, far enough from where the helicopter had set down that the rotor blades hadn’t affected their flickering, glowing warmth. There was also, just a few metres away, Massimiliano Moretti. Her husband in name only. Her husband, in her heart.
She knew it as soon as she saw him. It was the stethoscope that had done it. The beautiful gift, so thoughtful, that was everything she might have wanted, were it not for the engraving. Reminding her of who she would be, after this. Who she’d been before him.
She didn’t want to be Amelia Redgrave again. She wanted to be Amelia Moretti, for as long as they both should live.
She wanted this to be real.
She wanted, in short, the impossible. Because no matter what had happened between them, Massimiliano had been perfectly clear, all the way along. He didn’t want marriage. He didn’t want children. This was temporary for him. Never mind that it was great. That they worked. They worked because they each respected the other’s needs.
Her emotions were a painful jumble, pulling her from one direction to the other.
Because a part of her couldn’t help wondering: what if he’d changed, too? What if he wanted more, too? This evening, after all, wasnotthe act of a business partner, or faux husband.
Pulse thumping, she walked quickly away from the helicopter, towards Massimiliano.
‘Doctor,’ he murmured as he pulled her close.
‘Nowhere near yet,’ she said, the words more clipped than she’d intended, so she forced an over-bright smile. ‘This is amazing.’ The praise was drawn from deep within.
‘I’m very grateful you shared your birthday tradition with me last night, but I thought, tonight, you might like to partake in the real thing.’
Her heart turned over. The real thing. Not fake. Not a dupe, like her ring, and their marriage, but genuine, everlasting love. She could no longer deny it: that was what she desperately wanted. More than anything in the world. More than the career she’d always thought she wanted, that now felt so much less urgent, more than the life she’d planned for, more than anything. She would give it all up, if it meant she could stay here, with Massimiliano.
Heaven help her, she was completely lost.
Chapter Thirteen
