Modern Romance Collection: April 2018 Books 5 - 8. Heidi Rice

the echoing hallway.

      Discovering that Harper had been a virgin had shocked him to the core. He had taken something from her that she would never get back. Something that he most certainly didn’t deserve. Now the shame of his action refused to go away. So when Harper had looked at him with those wide hazel eyes, piercing his protective armour, his guilt had made him lash out.

      But maybe she had brought it upon herself. Vieri allowed his twisted logic to kick in. Maybe it was her fault for insisting on searching for the goodness in him, looking for something that wasn’t there. Didn’t she realise there was no goodness to be had? For all his wealth and success, all his urbane charm and effortless good looks, he was nothing more than a fraud. An empty vessel, a hollow shell. The baby his parents hadn’t wanted, the boy no one had adopted, the misguided young lover who had been rejected, the father he was never allowed to be. He certainly didn’t deserve her kindness and compassion. Much less her virginity. Or her love. If he allowed her to get close to him now he would only end up dragging her down, ruining her life, and he would never let that happen. He had to set her free.

      Turning to go back into the office, he blinked against the tortured image of her face as he had delivered his spiteful words—the shock, hurt and pain, that awful pain that had stolen the light from her eyes.

      He had to be strong. Alfonso was dead; there was no longer any reason for them to be together. It was better to be cruel now and have a clean break than prolong this agony any longer.

      His phone buzzed in his pocket and he viciously swiped to accept the call from the funeral directors. ‘Si, pronto.’ Kicking the office door shut with his foot, he spoke in rapid Sicilian, instructing them to come and collect Alfonso’s body as soon as possible. No, he did not want them to leave his godfather at the castello for a period of mourning. He had no intention of prolonging this particular agony either. As painful as it was, he would say his goodbyes now, and that would be an end to it.

      * * *

      Standing outside Alfonso’s bedroom door, Vieri steeled himself for what was on the other side. Slowly turning the handle, he let himself in. The large, panelled room was dimly lit and a chilly breeze stirred the air. The shutters were closed against the bright daylight outside but one window was open behind them so that, in accordance with Sicilian tradition, the deceased soul could fly off to heaven.

      As his eyes adjusted, Vieri could make out the motionless shape in the bed. Alfonso, his dear padrino, really was dead. The harsh reality slammed into him again. He silently stepped forward and only then did he realise that there was someone else in the room. Harper. Sitting quietly by the bedside, her head bowed, her hand clasping one of Alfonso’s that lay stiffly outside the covers. But the second she saw Vieri she was on her feet.

      ‘Oh, it’s you,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘I’ll go.’

      ‘You don’t have to.’ His voice sounded gruff, unsteady.

      ‘Yes, yes, I must.’ She refused to look at him. ‘You will want to pay your respects in private.’

      He moved to stand beside her, inexorably drawn to her the way he always was. The masochist in him made him want to see her face and he reached to take hold of her chin, lifting it so that she had no alternative but to meet his stare. But what he saw shrivelled his very soul. Her eyes were red from crying, long eyelashes clumped together, the tears still damp on her cheeks. She looked so unutterably sad he simply couldn’t bear it.

      ‘What I said earlier, Harper.’ All his resolve had vanished at the sight of her misery and he slipped an arm around her shoulder to pull her against him. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘Not here, Vieri.’ She put a shaky hand to his chest, lightly pushing him away. Vieri could feel the heat from her palm warming his heart. ‘This is not the time or the place.’

      ‘No.’ Letting his arm drop, Vieri glanced down at his godfather. ‘Of course not.’

      For a moment she held his gaze, her eyes dark, unfathomable. Then, blinking, she turned away, bending to plant a soft kiss on Alfonso’s forehead.

      ‘I’m going now, Vieri.’ Straightening up, she tossed her hair over her shoulders, tucking it behind her ears, suddenly in control. But Vieri saw the pale column of her throat work with the effort of swallowing. ‘I have never seen the point of long goodbyes.’

      ‘No. I understand.’ He moved to let her pass. ‘The undertakers will be here soon anyway.’

      Giving him one last heart-rending look, Harper brushed past him and left the room.

      Vieri took the seat where she had been and picked up the hand that she had been holding. Old and gnarled, it felt cold to his touch. He raised it to his lips, letting his breath warm it, just for a minute, before replacing it carefully down on the coverlet. He gazed at his godfather’s face, so familiar, so much loved, and yet somehow already different. As if he was no longer there. As if his soul had already left his body.

      He would miss him so much, this man who had always been there for him, guided his path in life, steered him in the right direction, stopped him from making the worst mistake of his life. They had never discussed the whole Donatella debacle. Not once. Because that wasn’t Alfonso’s way. He knew how stubborn Vieri was, how proud. Instead he had cleverly manipulated him away from trouble, given him the means to start a whole new life.

      With a flash of long-overdue insight, Vieri realised that Alfonso had been manipulating him right up to the end. His marriage to Harper. He raised his eyes heavenward. Was it possible that the wise old goat had been right about that too? Certainly everything about last night had felt right, more than right. Amidst the shock and grief of Alfonso’s passing it didn’t seem appropriate to let his mind go there but if he did...then he knew that his body still thrummed with the high of it, yearned for more. He knew that no other sexual experience had come close, that making love to Harper had been on another level completely. It had touched him. It had meant something.

      I have never seen the point of long goodbyes. Suddenly Harper’s words came back to him and he knew, with a bone-chilling certainty, that she hadn’t just been talking about saying goodbye to Alfonso. She had been saying goodbye to him.

      He jumped to his feet, his heart racing in his chest, his first instinct to run and find her, to stop her, to beg her forgiveness. To ask her to stay. But dredging up a depth of willpower he scarcely knew he possessed, he forced himself to stop. He would not go after her. For her sake he had to let her go.

      There was a light knock on the door and Agnese, Alfonso’s housekeeper, appeared in the doorway. ‘Signore Romano, I thought you should know that the funeral directors are here.’

      ‘Si, grazie.’ With a heart laden with sadness, Vieri bent over his godfather to place one last kiss on his cheek. Then, straightening up, he took a deep breath and nodded. ‘Tell them I will be right there.’

      * * *

      The sun shone brightly on a thin scattering of snow that coated the rugged landscape as Harper neared her home on the Craigmore estate. Ahead of her Mount Craigmore, one of the Scottish Munros so beloved by serious climbers, stood tall and proud, its jagged white peak stark against the blue sky.

      It felt strange to be back, even though she’d only been away for a few weeks. Everything looked the same, but felt different, as if there had been some imperceptible change. With a twist of sadness Harper realised that she was the one who had changed. Irrevocably and for ever.

      Leaving Sicily, leaving Vieri, had all but torn her apart. But she had done it, somehow made the arrangements, taking the first flight she could from Palermo, and spending half the night at Amsterdam airport waiting for a connection rather than spending another moment on Sicilian soil.

      And despite the fact that she felt as if she had been passed through a grater, mercilessly shredded, a quick glance down revealed that she was still in one piece. Still breathing. Nobody died of a broken heart. She would get over this, be strong, carry on. Because that was who she was, what she did.

      The first test of her strength had been