“So you divorced him, and that was it. No more Angus. No more me. Has there been anyone?”
Her cheeks drained of colour. “That’s definitely not your business.”
“Come on, Ava. Everything about you is and always will be my business. Don’t be so naïve.”
“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll detail my love life if you give me the same courtesy.”
“Excuse me?” He responded coolly.
“How many lovers since me? How many countries? How many women have you made love to beneath the stars, surrounded by vines, on the edge of a lake like this?” She swallowed as the memories threatened to burn her alive. “How many women have fallen in love with you as I did, only to realise that your view of love is temporary and transient, like your love for any new experience.”
His lips twisted in a cynical smile. “You understand me as little now as you did then.”
“You’re wrong,” she raised her chin and glared at him with defiant pride. “I understand you as perfectly as ever. You’re selfish, Cristiano. You always have been. You probably always will be. And though I loved you with all my heart, I have never doubted that I made the right decision.”
It was impossible to tell from his expression how her words affected him, if at all. “Loving you would never have been safe. You would have left me as soon as you bored of me. And you would have bored of me. That’s who you are.” Her voice was shaking; her arms felt numb. “And I would never let that be my life. That waiting. Wondering. Certain that soon it would all be over; waiting for you to cast me aside.”
He stared at her with a balance of pity and hatred. “You mean like your father cast your mother aside?”
She gasped at his callous words. She had revealed more to him than anyone else. She felt the inappropriateness of that confession now. “No,” she was driven to respond angrily. “I mean like you did cast me aside. I mean like you’ve undoubtedly cast dozens of other women aside since then. It’s what you do. And I’m not judging you for it.” She couldn’t help the ghost of a smile on her lips. “Well, not really. It’s who you are. But you and I are like oil and water. A terrible mix.”
“Perhaps,” he murmured, surprising her by hooking an arm around her waist and pulling her to his body. “Yet in some ways we mix damned beautifully, wouldn’t you agree?”
How could Ava sleep after what they’d shared? It was remarkable that she’d managed to go through the motions of a normal night with Milly, without tipping Marie and Jackson off with her distracted behaviour.
She could smell him on her skin. She could feel his hands on her body, as fully as if he were still touching her. She shuddered to remember his kisses, and the way she’d felt when he’d moved inside of her.
Ava couldn’t tell if it was regret or relief, but she was awash with feelings. She was, in fact, more alive than she’d been in years.
Her hands hovered over the keyboard. She thought of emailing her sisters. But what could she say? Her two closest confidantes – as much friends as sisters, the women she loved dearly, would be furious if they knew she’d jumped into Cristiano’s bed only hours after his return to the Valley.
Sophie and Olivia wouldn’t understand. After all, they had nursed her through the heartache when it had first happened. They had seen their strong, capable sister turned into a veritable mess. And they’d held Milly when Ava had barely been able to make a cup of tea for the soul-destroying grief and depression.
They loved Ava as surely as they hated Cristiano.
She couldn’t tell them.
Somewhere around four o’clock, she gave up on the idea of sleep. Instead, she pulled her slippers on and moved to the window. Her room was at the back of the house, and overlooked the vineyards. In the day, the view stretched for miles. Rows and rows of rolling vines that acted as a balm to her soul.
Now, they were bathed in milky moonlight and seemed to take on the appearance of gnarled, mystical creatures. Like mysterious monsters had dredged themselves from the swamp and moved in battlelines along the earth.
It was a warm night; she’d slept with the window open and a moth buzzed in now, flickering against the window frame. She watched as it jerked its wings furiously to stay aloft.
Just as she’d done.
Every day had felt like it might drown her. She’d tread water for so long that it had become habit. With a small sigh, she padded out of her room and into Milly’s. Their little girl was in a deep, happy sleep. Her lips were curled in a smile, and her arms were thrown over her head. The sight of her like that almost brought tears to Ava’s eyes.
Even in sleep, she was so like him.
Ava crept closer to the small bed and knelt beside it.
Milly had been a blessing. Though Ava had been a young mother, and had no real experience with children, she knew enough to know that she’d escaped many of the common curses people seemed to find difficult with young children. Milly had slept well almost from birth. She’d fed beautifully, taken to solids like a little champion, and had barely indulged a temper tantrum in her two years of life. Ava put a hand on her chest with the confidence of one who was unafraid of waking the child. Predictably, Milly simply let out a little sigh and continued to slumber.
The biggest conundrum that Milly had wrought in Ava’s life was being played out now. For how could she keep the existence of their child hidden from Cristiano when he was right there?
She gnawed on her lower lip, her eyes focussed on Milly’s thick black lashes and curling dark hair. A sliver of moonlight cut across the room, drawing lines on Milly’s chest and Ava’s hand. Ava’s smile was distracted as she stood and moved from the room.
Downstairs, in the reassuring solitude of the large country kitchen, she flicked the kettle and propped a hip against the bench, waiting for it to boil.
She had been so certain that she’d done the right thing in keeping Milly from Cris. He didn’t want to be tied down to anyone or anything. His wanderlust was inherent to his personality. He needed to travel, and Ava understood it. Oh, not personally. But Olivia was, and always had been, just the same! Her itchy feet were a running joke between the sisters. She picked up and moved as often as most people paid phone bills.
Cristiano could never have been the kind of father that he would have wanted to be. And yet he would have stayed out of a sense of honour and duty.
Nothing would have been worse to Ava than the idea of Cristiano being with her against his will.
She pulled a teabag from the canister and dropped it into a mug, then doused it in boiling water.
The colour changed instantly, in the same way life had a tendency to do. One tiny change could bleed alterations into every aspect of a person’s existence.
One minute, Meredith Henderson had been steering their ship – powerful, indomitable, strong Meredith Henderson. Their mother and friend, a woman who had seen her own life turned upside down by the unexpected arrival of triplets and the discovery of her lover’s faithlessness. She had conquered that grief and she had been a woman to admire and aspire to.
But Meredith had been taken from them, far too soon. At nineteen, the girls had faced the prospect of growing up fully, and without Meredith’s sage wisdom.
Ava was the natural heir to Meredith. She had always been sensible and mature, more so than the others, and Sophie and Olivia made a habit of deferring to her opinions. With Meredith gone, someone had needed to be strong. Ava had taken the mantle and steered them through their grief, only indulging her own soul-deep sadness in the middle of the night, when no one was around.
If Meredith hadn’t died, would she have become engaged to Angus?
Of course not. Ava made a grunt of frustration as she settled herself at the time-worn table. Angus, a dear friend from infancy, had only ever engendered platonic feelings in Ava. Only he had been all that was dependable and kind after the tragic loss of their mother. And when he’d proposed, Ava was so grateful she’d found herself accepting.
What a f
oolish moment of weakness! What an error in judgement!
She sipped her tea then slammed it back onto the table with more force than she’d intended. But her disappointment in herself knew no bounds.
She had cheated on Angus, and yet her heart had never been unfaithful. Her heart had belonged to Cris from the first moment they’d met. In the end, she’d loved him too well. She’d let him leave, rather than keep him by her side against his will, because she had loved him too much to contain him.
Guilt flooded her system. Was that just a convenient lie she told herself? After all, she’d gone to Rio with the intention of revealing the truth. If he’d seen her, she would have broken the news to him, and she would have welcomed him with open arms. Even though she would have always known that he had done the dutiful thing by her, rather than following his own life ambitions.
In refusing to see her, he’d saved them both a lot of pain.
Over time, Ava had come to accept that it was for the best.
He hadn’t loved her enough to stay. He hadn’t loved her enough to wonder why she’d flown halfway around the world to see him. And he certainly hadn’t loved her enough to be a part of her life.
But now?
Was her decision still the best one for him? And for her? How could she say? And what about Milly? Would Milly be better off having Cristiano in her life, even if he was unwillingly there? Or was it better to be raised by one parent who was filled with adoration and love, rather than two parents who had such emotional baggage?
And what about Ava?
Having seen Cristiano again, was she really strong enough to let him go for a second time?
4
“So you know the guy in the end cabin?” Marie could not have known, of course, how her simple question caused Ava’s heart to flutter.
She turned the page of Milly’s book with a determined effort to remain calm. “Sort of,” she said unevenly. “He was here a few years ago.”
“Yeah, I think I heard that. He did a vintage for the Berry family?”
Ava pointed to the bird and watched as Milly began to tweet. “Yeah.” Her word was a gravelly husk.
“He’s pretty gorgeous,” Marie continued good-naturedly, lifting clean sheets into a basket.
Ava shrugged. “I guess so. I hadn’t really noticed.”
“Are you blind or something?” Marie teased. “Jackson said he’s like a celebrity in the wine-making world. He’s quite awe-struck to have him here at Casa Celli.”
“Is he?” She murmured, wishing she could be anywhere and with just about anyone other than a curious Marie.
“Oh, yeah. Vintner magazine named him the No. 1 wine-maker to watch this year and last. Apparently everything he touches turns to gold. Maybe you should see if he wants to do a season here.”
Ava felt like her fingers were going to drop off, they were so tingly suddenly. “I don’t think he’d be interested,” she said quickly. “He’s too big for a place like this.”
“You never know. He might like the idea of a boutique winery. Though Jackson said his services cost a small fortune.”
Ava grimaced. They had even then – three years ago, when he’d been a little more up and coming than the full-blown success story he was now. “Is it true he crafted the Shiraz that won the Decanter award?”
Ava bit back the surly reply that had been on her lips: that Jackson would know. Marie and Jackson were passionate about wine. It was only natural that they would both fall under the wine-world star power of a player like Cristiano. “Yes. That’s how he knows the Berry family. He came to the Valley to do a season with them. And he and Tom became mates.”
“Best mates, according to the town rumour mill.”
“Yeah.” She turned the page again, unable to meet Marie’s eyes.
“Shame he’s with that woman in cabin six. Otherwise I’d be suggesting you invite him up for a drink, if you know what I mean.”
Ava fumbled the book and it dropped to the floor with a clunk. She busied herself lifting it back and finding the page they’d been up to, carefully keeping her face averted from Marie. “I’m not interested in a relationship with him or anyone.” Her words were sharp; her tone cross.
Marie, suitably chastened, lifted the basket onto her slim hip. “Suit yourself. I’m going to do the beds. I’ll be back soon.”
Ava nodded jerkily, but her heart wouldn’t calm down. There was no way Cris was with that woman. Sure, there’d obviously been a flirtation … but … they’d slept together! Fire burned her conscience. She had been engaged to another man when they’d first fell in love. What if this was Cristiano’s way of getting revenge?
Ava shut her eyes and tried to find an inner-well of strength. Marie had to have been mistaken. Didn’t she? Ava ran hot and cold. Marie, for all that she was sweet and kind, was a terrible gossip. She had the ear of the town, and the town had hers. She knew everything. Only the fact that Ava and Cris had been so careful, years earlier, to keep their relationship private, had kept it off the gossip radar.
Ava finished the book, but she was barely paying attention. She was completely wrapped up in thoughts of Cristiano. She got through the morning, and settled Milly for her nap, but her whole mind was absorbed by Cristiano. What was he doing? Was he thinking of her? Was he regretting the passionate time they’d shared the night before? Or was he hoping she’d come back to see him again?
The very thought made her chest swell with fevered anticipation.
But she couldn’t! Nothing about them had ever been simple, and now it was a disaster zone. Ava was staring at the computer screen, attempting to make sense of the bookings over Christmas, but the dates were swimming in front of her eyes. She selected one of the reservations for early February and made a note to contact the guests. She vaguely remembered the woman from a few months earlier. A beautiful English woman, lady someone or other, with startling blue eyes and a friendly, yet reserved nature. Ava had warmed to her instantly. Return guests were Ava’s favourite; it meant she was doing something right. And this one had booked out all of the cabins for her party, which meant she had really enjoyed herself. High praise, indeed.
The sound of the door opening had her lifting her eyes gratefully in its direction. Any distraction from Cristiano would be most welcome.
Except the man himself.
Cristiano stood, looking as perfectly stunning as if Ava had conjured him straight out of a fantasy. Dressed in a pair of casual faded jeans and a white shirt that showed off his even, bronzed tan, it was impossible for Ava to look at him without her heart breaking into a canter.
The silence stretched between them like a piece of elastic. His eyes bore into hers, and she was powerless to look away.
“We need to talk.”
That was it. No preamble. No gentle greeting to soften his arrival. Just a demand.
Ava blinked across at him, but the magnetic force was as strong as ever. Her eyes were locked to his face. His eyes. His mouth. That patrician nose. She swallowed.
She ran her fingers over the space bar, feeling its smoothness. “I … think we said everything we needed to last night.”
His smile was cynical and condemnatory. “Not by a damned long shot.”
She fluttered her eyes shut in an attempt to block him out. It didn’t work. “Come on, Cris. This is all … ancient history.”
“Is it?” His question was fierce. His eyes were serious. He moved a step closer to the desk, and she caught a hint of his masculine fragrance on the breeze that wafted in through the door.
Of course it wasn’t. If what they’d shared was so ancient, she wouldn’t have practically begged him to make love to her only hours earlier.
“What do you want to talk about?”
“Not here,” he shook his head. “Come outside with me. Let us walk.”
Ava thought of Milly, fast asleep in her room upstairs. “I can’t,” she demurred. “I have … stuff to do. If you want to talk, you’ll have to do it here.”
&nbs
p; He compressed his lips with disapproval. “You are deliberately avoiding me?”
“No,” she denied. Then she nodded. “Maybe. I don’t know.” Finally, she stood, and brought herself around to the other side of the desk. “I’m trying to make sense of everything.” She didn’t touch him. She didn’t dare. But they were close enough that she could have. “Last night was a mistake. It was just some kind of weird habit, or something. It shouldn’t have happened.”
He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t speak.
His silence unnerved her. As he’d no doubt intended. “I mean, I don’t know what happened. I must have been out of my mind.”
Still, he didn’t touch her, but she felt as though he was. Her skin was pricked with a million tiny little goosebumps. “What happened,” he said finally, his voice accented from emotion. “Is that we forgot how much time has passed.”
“Yes,” she said on a whoosh of relief. “That’s it. It’s been years, but having you back here … It felt just like it used to.”
He nodded slowly. “Except now there is no fiancé. No husband. No one that is relevant to us, except ourselves.”
Not strictly true, she thought, picturing Milly’s sweet face. “There is no us,” she said instead. “Not these days.”
Now, finally, he reached for her. His hand curled around her hip, and he stepped forward almost immediately afterwards, so that their bodies fused. His eyes were so much closer; she could see the flecks of gold and rust in them. “You are lying to me.”
She glared at him angrily. “You’re here for a week. Do you really think I’m going to fall back into your bed just to help you pass the time?”
“Yes,” he said, and his smile made her stomach flip-flop.
“No,” she demurred, tracing the outline of his lips with her eyes.
He noticed, and smiled, dropping his mouth to hers. He didn’t whisper, but against the corner of it, he said, “You want me. Possibly more now than then. You might want to hate me, but your body is mine.”