An Inheritance of Shame

Maria nodded. Lucia knew her son had left Sicily for a life in Naples, and his sudden defection had broken his mother’s heart.

‘I’m sorry, Maria.’ She put her arm around the older woman. ‘Have you been in touch?’

‘He hasn’t even called.’ Maria pressed the tissue to her eyes. ‘How is a mother to live, not knowing if her son is healthy or not? Alive or not?’

‘He will call,’ Lucia murmured. ‘He loves you, you know. Even if he doesn’t always show it.’ She meant the words for Maria, yet she felt their mocking echo in herself. Hadn’t she told herself the same thing after Angelo had left? Hadn’t she tried to convince herself that he would call or write, reach her, even as the heaviness in her heart told her otherwise?

When she’d rolled over and seen the smooth expanse of empty sheet next to her she’d known Angelo wasn’t coming back. Wasn’t writing, calling or keeping in touch in any way…no matter how desperately she tried to believe otherwise.

Maria blew her nose. ‘He was such a good boy. Why did he have to leave?’

Lucia just shook her head and squeezed the woman’s shoulders. She had no answers, no real comfort to give besides her own understanding and sympathy. She’d lived too long and experienced too much heartache to offer anyone pat answers. There were none.

She heard the sound of someone striding down the hall, someone walking with purpose and determination. Instinctively she stiffened, and then shock iced through as an all too familiar face appeared around the door of the little supply cupboard.

‘Lucia.’

She straightened and Maria lurched upright, dabbing her face frantically. ‘Scusi, scusi, Signor Corretti…’

Angelo waved a hand in quick dismissal of the other woman. His grey-green eyes blazed into Lucia’s. ‘I need to speak with you.’

‘Very well.’ Lucia hid her trembling hands in her apron. She hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, or even at all. She had no idea what he intended to say, but she knew she wasn’t ready for the conversation.

‘In my office.’ Angelo turned away, and Lucia glanced back at Maria, whose eyes had rounded in surprise. Maria was no gossip, but Lucia knew the news would still spread. Angelo Corretti had summoned her to his office for a private conversation. All the old memories and rumours would be raked up.

Closing her eyes briefly, she followed Angelo out into the corridor. They didn’t speak as they stepped into a lift that took them to the second-to-top floor that housed the hotel’s corporate offices, yet Lucia was all too achingly aware of the man next to her, the suppressed tension in every taut line of his lean body, the anger apparent in the tightness of his square jaw. She tried not to look at him, because if she looked at him she’d drink him in and she knew her need and want would be visible in her eyes, all too obvious to him.

Still. Still she felt that welling up of longing for him, a hopeless yearning that had her almost swaying towards him. It infuriated her, that her body and even her heart could want a man who had so little regard for her. At least her mind was strong. She straightened, lifted her chin. Angelo would never know how much he’d hurt her.

The lift doors pinged open and Lucia felt her cheeks warm as Angelo strode past a receptionist whose jaw dropped when she saw Lucia in her standard grey maid’s uniform, complete with frilly apron and ridiculous cap, follow him into his office like a scolded schoolgirl…or a summoned mistress.

No, she wouldn’t think like that. Couldn’t, even if everyone else would. Again.

Angelo strode towards the floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of Palermo’s harbour, one hand braced against the glass, his back to her. Lucia waited, her heart pounding even as her hungry gaze swept over him, the long, muscular stretch of back, the narrow hips, the powerful legs. The elegant, expensive suit that reminded her just how out of her league he was now.

Angelo swung around suddenly to face her, his eyes narrowed. ‘Why did you start working at this hotel?’

Lucia blinked. ‘Because I needed a job.’

‘Surely you could have found a suitable position somewhere else.’

She drew herself up even though she felt like curling into a protective ball, hiding her hurts. How could he be angry about her job? ‘Are you still angry that I broke my promise, Angelo?’ she asked, an edge to her voice. ‘That seems rather hypocritical.’

‘I didn’t make any promises,’ he said flatly, and she drew in one short, sharp breath. Felt the truth of his words cut her as if he were wielding a sword.

‘I know that.’

‘So why did you?’

She gritted her teeth, forced herself to sound calm. Strong. ‘I told you, I needed a job. Did you really call me up here to ask me that—’

‘Did you even think of that promise you made, Lucia?’ he cut her off harshly. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. ‘Did you think of me?’

Every day. She drew a painful breath into her lungs. ‘Did you think of me, Angelo?’ she asked quietly, knowingly, and he swung away again, his silence answer enough.

Lucia waited, her hands clenched in the folds of her apron. A minute ticked by in taut silence, and then another, and Angelo still didn’t speak.

‘Who was that woman you were with?’ he asked suddenly, and she blinked in surprise.

‘Her name is Maria Dibona. She works here, with me.’

‘I gathered that.’ Angelo turned towards her, but she couldn’t tell anything from his face besides the fact that he still seemed angry. But then Angelo had always seemed angry, except perhaps for when he’d been sad. And the few times he’d made her laugh, when they were children…precious memories she kept locked away, deep inside. Memories she couldn’t let herself think about now. ‘Why was she crying?’ he asked, and she shrugged.

‘Her son has left suddenly for Naples. She misses him.’

Angelo said nothing for a moment, but his eyes blazed into hers and his mouth twisted downwards. ‘And you were comforting her?’

Where was this going? ‘Trying to. Sometimes there’s very little comfort to be had.’

He didn’t answer, but she saw a flash of recognition in his eyes and she knew he thought she’d been talking about them. What little them there was. And had she? Perhaps. Perhaps she wasn’t above such a sly implication.

‘You still live in Caltarione,’ he said suddenly, a statement, and she raised her eyebrows.

‘Obviously you must know that, since you’ve looked at my employee file. What is this about, Angelo? Why have you brought me up here?’

She saw, to her surprise, a faint flush touch his cheekbones. He glanced down at some papers on his desk. ‘We were friends once, weren’t we?’

Once, not now. His meaning was clear. ‘As children, yes,’ she said flatly.

‘I want to know what has happened to you in these past years.’

‘Oh, really? Funny, then, that you never called or wrote. Not a postcard or email or anything. If you wanted to catch up on old times, Angelo, I’m sure you could have found a way other than summoning me to your office like some scolded schoolgirl.’ His blush deepened, and his eyes glittered. ‘I didn’t—’

‘Didn’t think of me once in the past seven years while you were away becoming a billionaire? How surprising. And yet you’re angry because I took a job working for the Correttis.’ She shook her head. ‘You may not have made any promises, but you’re still a hypocrite.’

‘You’re angry with me,’ he said, and she forced herself to laugh, the sound hard and humourless.

‘Angry? That takes too much effort. I was angry, yes, and I’m annoyed you think you can order me around now. But if you think I’m hurt because you stole from my bed—’ She stopped suddenly, her breath catching in her chest, and swallowed hard. She knew she couldn’t continue, couldn’t maintain the charade that what had happened seven years ago hadn’t utterly broken her.

So she simply stared, her chin tilted at a determinedly haughty angle, everything in her willing Angelo to believe that she didn’t care about him. That he hadn’t hurt her. Let him believe she was only angry; at least it hid the agony of grief she couldn’t bear to have exposed.

‘I’m sorry, Lucia,’ Angelo said abruptly, and Lucia could only stare. He didn’t sound sorry.

‘For what?’ she asked after a taut moment when neither of them spoke.

‘For…’ He paused, a muscle flickering in his jaw, his eyes shadowed with some dark emotion. ‘For leaving you like that.’ Lucia let out a shuddering breath. She’d never expected an apology, even one so grudgingly given. She didn’t speak. Angelo stared.

‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ he finally demanded.