“I love you, Ross,” she said softly. It was not just how she felt, but a promise. Last night she had loved and felt loved in depths she hadn’t known possible, and it filled her with faith that there would be other such nights—a lifetime of such nights. Could it be so in real life? Were there really happily-ever-afters? Her story had the makings of a fairy tale. In fact hers was the oldest of love stories, the beautiful princess locked away in a castle rescued by a handsome knight. Change the names and a few other details and it was all there.

She had suffered the chill of indifference for too long. She felt guilt for loving a man who wasn’t her husband, yet this time it was quashed by her love for Ross. That and her newfound knowledge of just how much she had been deprived of for so long. Il bisogno non conosce legge. Need knows no law, the Italians said. You might as well condemn a starving man for stealing a loaf of bread.

Yet this was more than the satisfying of a hunger. There seemed to be something divine about it. This man had come from thousands of miles away, from a million indignities, to save her. Surely there was divinity in this. God is love, she had always believed, and this man had brought her love. Love and dignity and self-respect.

Finally she laughed at herself. She was as giddy as a lovesick schoolgirl, warm, wrapped up in love’s cozy blanket. She sighed happily at the thought as she walked back to her car.

Then, as she came around the wall of the villa, her heart froze. The only car in the gravel lot was Maurizio’s Alfa Romeo.

CHAPTER 33

“Non c’è rosa senza spine.” No rose without a thorn.

—Italian Proverb

Eliana stood outside her car for a moment. How could he be home? She paused again outside the courtyard gate, fearful to open the door and set in motion the events that would come about, as if a hurricane waited inside kept at bay only by the gate’s inch of wood.

Fear and guilt rose up within her, seeping up between the cracks of her conscience like groundwater.

She opened the courtyard door, fully expecting to see Maurizio standing there, cigarette in hand, waiting for her. But the courtyard was quiet. She crossed the stone pavement, and it seemed as if all sound were amplified. She was conscious of the click her heels made against the stone pavement, her own quick breaths.

Her throat was dry. She grasped the door handle but it was locked. She fumbled with her keys, tried the wrong one, then found the right one. As she inserted it, the door opened inward. Her keys fell to the ground, ringing against the stone porch as they hit. Maurizio stood in front of her, his eyes dark.

“Where have you been?” His voice was low and sharp-edged.