Page 9 of ‘I Do’ for Revenge

Vito thanked him and tipped him and brought the first-aid kit into the bathroom, where Flora was still dutifully holding her injured finger under the water. He turned off the tap and dried her hand with a small towel, careful to be gentle.

He noticed her nails were short. Unvarnished. He took a plaster from the kit and placed it over the cut, saying, ‘It was deep.’

Flora said, ‘Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.’

Vittorio threw away the wrapping and closed up the box. ‘It was nothing.’

Impressed by his practicality, she asked, ‘Where did you learn to do that?’

He looked at her, amused. ‘Put on a plaster?’

She flushed. ‘Some people are squeamish.’ She remembered cutting her leg badly on barbed wire when she’d been smaller and going to her aunt. Her aunt had almost fainted on the spot, causing such a commotion that her uncle had had the house staff attend to her aunt before they’d even noticed that Flora was the one who required urgent attention. She’d ended up in hospital needing stitches.

She took her hand back, cradling it to her chest. It suddenly felt as if there were no air in the room. But before Flora could move or say something, Vittorio said, ‘My mother was ill, as I mentioned before. I nursed her for a time. Medical stuff doesn’t make me squeamish.’

Flora recalled what he’d told her about his parents. The reason for his revenge mission on her uncle. She could empathise.

Vittorio said, ‘The food is here. You should eat.’

Food.

Flora’s stomach rumbled faintly. It was the reason she’d stayed. Because she’d learned in the last few months not to look a gift horse in the mouth. She wasn’t too proud to accept food, especially when it wasn’t just her she had to think about.

She followed Vittorio back out to the suite. He’d taken off his jacket and his back was broad under the shirt, tapering down to slim hips. The trousers did little to hide the definition of his muscular buttocks.

He was standing at a trolley and lifting a silver domed lid from a plate. Flora’s eyes went wide. A toasted sandwich with fries. Sausages on the side. She’d never seen anything that looked so delicious.

Vittorio put the plate of food on the table and pulled out a chair. ‘Please, sit.’

Flora did. She picked up a chip and popped it into her mouth, almost closing her eyes at the salty tastiness. She noticed that there was no other food. ‘Aren’t you hungry too?’

Vittorio shook his head. ‘I’m fine.’

Flora picked up the sandwich and was about to take a big bite out of it when she stopped. ‘Can you not look at me? You’re making me feel like an animal in the zoo.’ In fairness, she conceded, he probably wasn’t used to the spectacle of women actually eating in front of him. Her aunt had eaten like a bird and only Flora and the staff had known of the midnight trips to the palazzo kitchen where she would binge periodically, out of sight.

Vittorio looked at his watch. ‘Actually, I need to speak to someone downstairs. I’ll let you eat in peace.’

Flora felt a surge of relief not to be pinned under that obsidian gaze for a minute. He started walking to the door and then stopped and turned back. ‘You’ll be here when I get back.’ It wasn’t really a question.

She said, ‘I do have to leave soon.’

‘I won’t be long, a few minutes. And then I can take you wherever you need to go.’

Flora immediately balked at the thought of him seeing where she was staying. ‘Oh, no, that’s fine, but I’ll wait until you come back.’

He left and Flora took advantage of the privacy to polish off the sandwich and fries. She drank the water. And carefully wrapped up the sausages in a napkin.

When she was finished she put her jacket back on so she’d be ready to go when Vittorio got back. She would thank him for his hospitality and leave and go back to a world where he didn’t exist. And hopefully she wouldn’t have any more unnerving encounters with him. He stirred up way too much inside her.

When Vito returned to the suite it was empty. He felt an instant sense of panic mixed with regret mixed with irritation.

Disappointment.

He hadn’t met many people he could trust and there was no reason why Flora Gavia would be any different.

But then he noticed that the French doors were open, leading out onto the balcony where a figure stood at the wall, and he felt exposed for his initial reaction. Why should he even care if Flora Gavia disappeared into the ether again?

Because he wanted to know what was going on.