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And she did not want anyone knowing she was in the loo vomiting, and setting off rumours.

Or whispers of truth?

Yes, she was on the pill, but, a little nagging voice reminded her, she hadn’t been meticulous with timing. It had been more to ensure she didn’t get her period for travelling rather than for contraception.

She heard whoever had come in leave and flushing the loo stepped out, then tidied herself up, trying not to look too closely at her scared, pale reflection.

She couldn’t be pregnant!

Not just because of her career, and that she was to be signed into the contract, but how could she possibly be pregnant to a man who didn’t want not just children, but a partner, or even happiness?

Who had openly admitted he was relieved that his grandfather had died.

A man who wanted to walk this earth alone.

She couldn’t be pregnant to Gabe, surely?

God wouldn’t be so cruel.

Chapter Nine

One year later

FIVE CANDLES…

Gabe’s concentration drifted from the meeting and his gaze shifted to the floor-to-ceiling windows and to the magnificent Duomo, Milan’s beautiful cathedral, where just last week he had lit five candles.

It felt as if it should be six.

That was how much he missed her.

It felt like grief.

And it killed him to know that Stella was in Sant Lavia now, for despite doing his best to avoid all details, of course he knew that filming had commenced.

‘Gabe?’

He heard the question in his senior analyst’s voice, and realised his own had faded out mid-sentence.

For a year he had been able, not to ignore, but to suppress any urge for contact by immersing himself in work—the markets were always open somewhere. He could never look up if he so chose.

And for a year he barely had.

His clients were the richer for the attention, but this morning his soul felt the poorer.

Stella was there, and he was here.

After Geo’s death, and before the film contracts had been signed, he’d immediately employed an estate manager and art consultant to take care of his, or rather the palazzo’s, best interests.

He wanted more dispassionate eyes for this, people who did not love every piece, or know the secrets in every wall, the gardens, the cliffs…

People who would deal with the many decisions clinically and not ache over every detail. Only the most vital questions had been left to him, and updates came in the form of thick files with a quick bullet point summary that merely needed his valuable signature.

Gabe did not want to know which portraits had been taken down, nor that personal photos had been replaced or what furniture had been carefully placed in storage. He just wanted it correctly done.

Occasionally he saw her name, or some initials, and always it jolted him…

SH, her initials.