Sophia was extremely pale. Although she was making a valiant effort to hold herself together, she started to twitch. His heart burned.
“I, um, I need to leave. I have to get out of here, get away from her. Please,” she looked beseechingly at him, “please, can we go home?”
“Yes, of course.” He rose and helped her out of her chair. Her whole body was shaking now and he kept his arm around her for support. “Come to the car. Someone will collect our things tomorrow.”
Within minutes, Sophia sat in the passenger seat of the Maserati, cocooned in a blanket he’d pulled out of the back. He stole quick glances at her as he wove through the streets of the town, noting that she was still pale. At least the trembling had stopped. Once they were on the motorway, he stepped on the accelerator and the powerful car hungrily ate up the miles. Soon they were pulling through the gates of the villa and into the driveway.
His stepfather appeared at the top of the stairs, wearing only a burgundy dressing gown, as they entered the hallway. He held a phone in his hands.
“It is okay, Thierry,” Luca reassured the other man. “It is just us, no need to call the police.”
Thierry took one look at Sophia’s distressed expression and didn’t inquire the reason for their unexpected return. “Sure, call up if you need us,” he replied before returning to the bedroom.
“Come into the snug; it is more comfortable,” Luca said. He gently steered Sophia toward the room at the back of the house. “I will get you a brandy to help calm your nerves.”
He poured the drinks while he struggled to come up with some way to comfort his wife. Should he encourage her to talk or simply hold her so she knew he was there for her? He wasn’t equipped to deal with such deep emotional trauma. This wasn’t something that could be fixed with a hammer and nails or a bridging loan. Being a businessman now wasn’t going to help. He needed to be a husband.
Glancing at her reflection in the mirror over the fireplace, he could almost see Sophia shrinking back within herself. Was her independence a protection, a way to shield herself from further hurt? Maybe it wasn’t that she didn’t want him in her life. Perhaps she was afraid to let him in because she’d been hurt by someone close to her before. Any progress they’d made in their relationship, the understanding, the partnership would all disappear if he failed her now. He took a deep breath and got ready to fight for their future.
• • •
Sophia sank into the overstuffed sofa, breathing a little easier now that she was home. Taking the brandy snifter Luca offered her, she motioned for him to sit next to her. She wanted his arms around her, to feel the safety of his embrace. As if sensing her need, he pulled her against him, rubbing her arm up and down.
The amber liquid burned as it went down her throat before settling in her stomach. Comforting warmth infused her whole body. After a couple of sips, she felt able to unclench her fist without her body starting to shake again.
“I’m so sorry I spoiled our honeymoon,” she said at last, her voice hesitant and unsteady.
“I am not worried about that,” Luca replied. “I am worried about you. Can you tell me what happened?”
Her heart beat faster. He’d left the beautiful hotel without any questions, not even asking why. Not considering her a fool for getting upset so easily.
“I think I’d better start at the beginning … with my family,” she began. She’d tried so hard to distance herself from her past, yet it always caught up with her. Even 900 kilometers away it found her, threatening to destroy her current life. She took a deep breath.
“My parents, Charlie and Janice, married young. My dad worked as a bricklayer and my mum had come down from Manchester to pursue her dreams of being an actress in the theater. They met at a football match. They were cheering for opposite teams but were seated next to each other. By the end of the game, they were madly in love and Dad for once didn’t care that his team lost.
“Neither of their families were particularly pleased with the marriage, and I don’t remember ever seeing my grandparents. My parents didn’t have much, only their dreams. Mum was still auditioning for parts in various productions and Dad had ideas of running his own construction company.” If she told her story as though it had happened to someone else, she could keep it together. Some days, especially since she started living in Italy, it almost felt like it was someone else’s life. She paused, trying to put her jumbled thoughts in order.
“After a few years, my brother Ben came along, followed within a year by my second brother, Paul. Shortly after Paul was born, my dad had an accident at work. He fell off some scaffolding and broke his hips and both legs. For a while they weren’t sure he’d be able to walk again. He managed that, but couldn’t work anymore as a brickie. I guess it was then that Mum realized she would never be an actress and now she had to support her family. With no real training or experience, so took whatever jobs she could get.
“I was born when Paul was three years old. By this time the family was living mostly on social benefit. My dad practically lived at the pub or at football matches. He always found money to attend the games. Sometimes he would do some work to make a little extra to go to the away matches, all the while collecting the dole. My mum worked part time at the local grocery store and did a few cleaning jobs.
“When I was three, my sister Sarah was born and two years later James came along. We were five children living in a three-bed council flat in north London. The lift always smelled of pee, and the stairwell was the location of daily drug deals.” She rubbed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the images in her head. Taking another sip of the brandy, she hoped its warmth would burn away the emptiness inside.
“By the time James was born, my dad had almost completely opted out of family life. When he was home he was watching the telly, or more usually fast asleep in front of it. As soon as Mum came home from work, he was off to the pub. I used to lie awake at night, waiting to hear the door open and close, to know he was home safe before I could fall asleep. Dad never shouted; he never hit us. He just ignored our existence—quite a feat in a small flat with five children.
“Mum tried to be a good parent, but she was always tired. And looking back now, I realize, drained by disappointment. She’d make us tea—fish fingers and chips or something out of a can. Mum didn’t really cook, which is why I never learned. As soon as Ben was old enough to look after us, she, too, went out most evenings, over to her sister’s house a few streets away, coming home in time to tuck us into bed, most nights.”