Page 160 of A Diamond Deal
Just as letting her go had been his mistake to make, according to Amelia.
He drummed his fingers against his knee, torn between what he knew was right and what she was asking of him. Torn, even when he knew he’d have to do as she asked. Because Amelia was right. This was her life, and he’d more or less opted out of it.
Except, he hadn’t.
There was no one on earth he was more invested in. No one on earth he cared for more. It was simply that his caring had to be from a distance. He wanted to know she was safe, comfortable, and achieving her dreams, even when he would never be a part of any of it. It was impossible to explain, or rationalise, but, from the sidelines, he knew he’d always be her biggest champion. Or he would have been, if she’d let him.
It was the worst month of Amelia’s life—which was saying a lot. She’d been through so much in her twenty-four years, and somehow, walking out on her husband, knowing he would rather keep his head in the sand and be alone than admit he loved her, too, was a special form of torment.
She stayed at the hotel, uncaring for the cost. He’d given her a small fortune, but she’d chosen a modest room, and it was a little off the tourist track, so it was quiet. She kept to herself. It was one of the reasons the guards weren’t needed.
Weeks passed, in which she didn’t leave her room, except once, to see her grandparents. When they asked about Massimiliano, she smiled a brittle smile and forced herself to lie. They were overjoyed, and shocked because Massimiliano had taken over their business affairs, and promised to make everything better. Her heart twisted at that. It was just as he’d promised.
When they asked her and Massimiliano to join them for a celebratory dinner, she demurred. She couldn’t face being in the same room with him. But after a month, and several invitations, when they insisted on both Massimiliano and her joining them for a charity gala, she knew she had to see them at some point.
‘I don’t know if Massimiliano can make it,’ she said. ‘But I’ll come with you, if you don’t mind me third-wheeling.’
They didn’t understand the expression and she was too tired to explain it to them. She was fatigued all over. Exhausted, body and soul. It took her for ever to get ready for the event. She’d been hermiting away in her hotel room for so long, her nails were bare, her hair lank, her skin pale. But she set about glamming herself up as best she was able, styling her hair, applying make-up carefully, choosing a dress she’d adored when she’d tried it on back in London, in what felt like another life.
It was only when she pulled the dress on that she realised how much weight she’d lost. Where once it had fitted her like a glove, it was now loose all over. She frowned, studying her reflection, and deciding it still looked passably elegant. She chose a pair of sky-high stilettos and a matching clutch, then made her way to the door of her room.
But when she touched the handle to leave, she was hit by a wave of panic. Exhaustion. Dread.
She couldn’t do this.
She couldn’t go out and see people, pretend she was fine, act as though everything were normal. Her gaze dropped to her ring, the copycat version she’d had him make, rather than wear the stunning Moretti diamond. Fake. Just like them.
But her heart quivered at even the thought of that, because they werenotfake. He’d been so wrong that night. When she’d left his stunning penthouse, she’d been spitting-chips mad, but she’d still harboured some hopes that he’d come to his senses. That a few days apart would make him realise what he’d had—and lost. But the next day, he’d rubbed salt in the wound by sending her clothes over. She’d wanted to torch them all, but had kept them partly out of necessity, partly out of sentimentality. On the few times she’d left the hotel, trying to act normal, to convince herself she’d be okay—just as she had after her dad’s death—she’d seen his bloody security guards and wanted to snap something.
She didn’t need his damn overprotective concern. She needed him.
The security guards had gone, finally, but Amelia had barely left her room.
And even now, with her grandparents expecting to meet her at this ritzy event, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t open the door, let alone step through it.
She sobbed, pressing her back against the wall, dropping her head into her hands and giving into the grief. Letting it overtake her completely, before shuffling back to bed and lying down. She typed out a quick apology message to her grandparents, before curling up in the foetal position and doing her best to blot out the world.
At first, he told himself he was glad she’d left. Glad she’d listened to him, finally, and let him send her away. He hadn’t been able to give her love, but at least he’d given her freedom. True freedom—including financial. And the hope of a future with someone better.
Only, he couldn’t think of that. He couldn’t think of another man in her life, touching her, kissing her, listening to her laugh, hearing her stories, watching her succeed, as Massimiliano knew she would. Because Amelia Redgrave was a rare diamond. A gem more valuable than any other in existence.
So why couldn’t he do what she’d asked, and try this? Why couldn’t he try to make this work? The pain in her features, etched there by his rejection, had been unbearable to see. He’d wanted to pull her into his arms and give heranythingin that moment.
But he knew himself.
It would never work.
His past had shaped him. In many ways, it had made him strong. Unbreakable. But only because he refused to rely on anyone. He was his own person, with impenetrable walls around every part of himself—most vitally, his heart.
It had been his approach to all things, for almost as long as he could remember. At nineteen, his entire world had splintered into shards around him, piercing him with the shock of rejection, the suspicion of his involvement, the shame of his father, the scandal, accepting that his father had knowingly thrown him into this life, and apparently not cared.
Every day since, his father’s absence had been like a blade in his chest. He’d learned to live with that, to walk side by side with the pain, but that wasn’t the same thing as not feeling it. His father was likely still out there, living his life, as though he hadn’t left a father and son behind to clean up the mess. To face the consequences.
It had taken ruthless determination and unfailing strength of mind to do what Massimiliano had. To rebuild their fortune, repay his father’s debts, and then to turn their modest family empire into what it was today: a world leader in so many industries.
That had always been enough for him. This life of his, independent of all people, of feeling, of caring about anyone besides his grandfather, had been his solace. He had everything he needed. Sex when he wanted it had always been easy enough to obtain, and to walk away from. So while he felt, at present, as though a part of him had been ripped out with Amelia’s departure a month earlier, he also knew it would eventually pass. At his core, Massimiliano was heartless—he’d let his heart fade to nothing many years ago, and he told himself he was still glad. Or he would be, when he stopped thinking of Amelia so damned much, and missing her like hell.
The call came through while he was still at his desk. Bleary-eyed, he reached for his phone, checking the time displayed on his laptop screen with a scowl. Nine o’clock. He’d been at his office since…he couldn’t remember. Days? He glanced down at his suit, rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw, before swiping the call to answer. He pinned the phone between his ear and shoulder as he extended his hand for a glass of Scotch.
