‘That sounds ominous but go ahead.’
‘First of all, when I say I want to work, the money would have nothing to do with it. It would be about mental stimulation. I would be very happy to get involved with some kind of volunteer work. And it would never be a full-time occupation. I would always put our child first and foremost. I know that there would be a nanny of sorts and, as long as I get to say who that nanny is and what their duties are, then that’s fine.’
‘That sounds reasonable enough,’ Rocco murmured.
‘Something else. Can I ask what sort of woman you envisaged yourself marrying? Or rather, let me rephrase that, was there already someone lined up for you in true “marriage of convenience” style?’
The silence stretched and Ella’s mouth tightened because that silence spoke volumes. ‘Forget I asked that.’
‘What do you want me to say? I never imagined I would end up with an Ella but, while we’re going down this road, not that there’s a point to it, didyouthink you would end up with a guy like me? Someone who made you feel as though you were on a roller-coaster ride?’
‘I guess not.’ But Ella thought that roller-coaster rides, however terrifying, could also be exhilarating. And addictive. And all sorts of things when one got used to it and started concluding that life without the roller-coaster ride was unthinkable.
She wished she hadn’t asked the question of him because she wouldn’t want to hear it confirmed in stark terms that someone like her would never have been on his wish list. She didn’t like to be reminded why, exactly, she was sitting on a private jet next to him because, cravenly, she wanted to hold onto the belief that they were destined to be together.
She’d invested in her dreams and her hopes and she stubbornly refused to let go. Was she being a blind fool? Was her optimism misplaced? But no. He hadn’t tried to force her hand. He’d respected her decision to turn down his marriage proposal and had allowed her the space to make up her mind. He’d been the decent guy who had more than compensated for the cardboard cut-out creep she’d thought he was when she’d discovered the truth about him.
‘I guess we can fine-tune the details,’ she said, voice raised over the sound of the jet engine, ‘In the next few days. Meanwhile, tell me about your house. What can I expect?’ She hid her frown under a smile and banished unwelcome thoughts.
Nothing could have prepared Ella for what confronted her when Rocco’s chauffeur finally pulled through a pair of imposing wrought-iron gates that led into sprawling gardens with manicured lawns, fountains and statues. The sort of place where a person could be forgiven for getting out their purse because they might have to pay to get inside and look around.
When she lost count of the windows, she decided it was no longer a house, it was a palace—which she should have expected, given everything he’d said, but which she discovered she really hadn’t at all.
Tall arches and a series of marble columns were emblazoned with intricate stone carvings, and everything drew the eye to the magnificent double-door entrance. The grand windows werefronted with iron balconies, all as intricate as the stone carvings, lacy in their details. There were rows and rows of them, perfectly proportioned and as precise as an architectural drawing.
She stopped and stared. Her heart was beating fast and her mouth was dry. She was glad for the steadying grasp of Rocco’s hand as he linked his fingers through hers.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said with more hope than expectation. ‘It’s going to be fine.’
‘Have you described me to your parents?’
‘Why would I have done that?’
‘They might be in for a shock.’
‘They’ll handle it.’ Rocco shrugged. ‘They’ve dealt with shocks before.’ But he could feel the nervous shakiness of her hand in his. What could he say? It was a necessary hurdle and they wouldn’t be there for very long.
‘How can you be so cool and collected at a time like this?’
Rocco didn’t say anything. Instead, he pressed the doorbell and heard it reverberate. One of the many servants, who did everything from clean to cook to tend the vast acreage of maintained lawns, would answer the door. Sure enough, his favourite, Jorge, did so and bowed deferentially.
His parents were in the casual sitting room having drinks, he was told, and would expect them both to join them at seven sharp. Only then, message delivered, did Jorge smile broadly at Rocco, ushering him in, and then greeting Ella with even more deference when she was introduced.
When Rocco glanced at Ella, he could see that she was shocked at the lack of ebullient welcome.
‘My parents,’ he murmured, leaning into her, ‘Are slightly different to your father.’
‘Are they excited to have you here for a couple of days at Christmas?’
‘Come on,’ was his non-committal response. ‘I’ll be in my usual suite of rooms. We can freshen up and then join them for pre-dinner drinks.’
If the boutiques with the fawning saleswomen, the chauffeur-driven cars and the private jet told a tale of wealth, then thispalaceand non-appearing parents told an even starker story of the differences between Rocco and her.
She gazed around her as he ushered her away from the front door. The hall was vast, with high ceilings and a massive chandelier that cast a mellow glow over highly polished marble floors. It should have been breathtaking but it felt like a mausoleum.
Ahead was a sweeping double staircase and, to the side, an over-sized Christmas tree, professionally decorated and there to impress. It was as coldly beautiful as the rest of what she saw. The perfect tree, branches dense and full, stretched up, up, up towards the ornate ceiling and decorated in a thousand delicate, hand-blown glass baubles in shades of red, gold and ivory. The thousands of golden lights twined around the tree reflected off the polished floors and crystal chandeliers above.
‘I can’t believe you grew up here,’ she whispered.
