The Consequences of That Night

again. I’ll leave you alone to live the life you want. I give you my word.” She held out her hand as if they were strangers. “Goodbye, Cesare.”
    His lips tightened, but he shook her hand.
    “ Arrivederci, Signorina Hayes. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
    Her green eyes shimmered, and she turned away without a word. Gathering her suitcase, her coat and her bag, Emma left the tidy bedroom. Cesare listened to her suitcase thump, thump, thump down his stairs. He listened to the front door open—and then latch closed.
    She’d really gone. He couldn’t believe it.
    Going to the window, he looked down and watched her walk away, down the sidewalk toward Kensington High Street, in the drizzling rain of London’s gray morning. He watched her small, forlorn figure with an old suitcase and a beige mackintosh, and felt a strange twist in his chest.
    It’s better this way, he told himself fiercely. Better for her to go, before the small hole in his heart had a chance to grow any larger. He watched her get smaller and smaller.
    “Go,” Cesare said aloud in the empty room. “You mean nothing to me.”
    But still, his hands tightened at his sides. She’ll be back, he thought suddenly. No woman he wanted had ever been able to resist for long. And the sex had been too good between them. Emma wouldn’t be able to stay away.
    She’d soon be back, begging to negotiate the terms of her surrender. He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. He allowed himself a smile. She’d be back. He knew it.
    Within the week, if not the day.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Ten months later
    C ESARE LOOKED OUT the window as his driver pulled the Rolls-Royce smoothly through the traffic of the Quai Branly, past the Pont de l’Alma. The September sun was sparkling like diamonds on the Seine.
    Paris was not Cesare’s favorite city. Yes, the city was justly famous for its beauty, but it was also aloof and proud. Like a coquette. Like a cold, distant star. Like his late wife, Angélique, who was born here—and took her lover here, a scant year after their marriage.
    Sì. He had reason to dislike Paris. Since his wife’s death over a decade before, he’d avoided the city. But now he was building a Falconeri Hotel here, upon the demand of his shareholders.
    But Paris had changed since his last visit, he realized. The city felt...different.
    Cesare looked up at the elegant classical architecture of cream-colored buildings. Through the vivid yellows and reds of the trees, the golden sun was bright in the blue sky. The city had a new warmth and charm he’d never felt before.
    Because we finished the business deal, he told himself. After months of mind-numbing negotiations, his team had finally completed the purchase of an old, family-run hotel on the Avenue Montaigne, which—after it was exhaustively remodeled—would become the first Falconeri Hotel in France. I’m just pleased about the deal.
    But he shifted in his leather seat. Even he didn’t buy that.
    Closing his eyes, he felt the sun on his skin. Against his will, he thought of her, and his body flashed with heat that had nothing to do with sunlight.
    Emma lived in Paris.
    You don’t know that, he told himself fiercely. It had been almost a year since she’d left him in London that dreary November morning. For all he knew, she’d moved on to another job, another city. For all he knew, she’d changed her mind and never taken a job in Paris at all. For all he knew, she’d found another lover, a man who would love and marry her and be willing to have a child with her, just as she’d wanted.
    For all he knew, she was already his wife. Pregnant with his child.
    Cesare’s hands tightened involuntarily.
    For ten months, he’d made a point of not knowing where Emma was or whom she was with. He’d told himself he didn’t care. At first, he’d been sure she’d soon return. It had taken him months to finally accept she wasn’t coming back. Cesare knew she’d wanted him, as he wanted her. He’d been surprised to discover she’d wanted her dreams even more.
    He’d been furious, hurt; and yet he’d respected her the more for it. She was the one who’d gotten away. The one he couldn’t have. But she’d made the right choice. They wanted different things in life. Emma wanted a love, a home, a husband and a family of her own.
    Cesare wanted—
    What was it he wanted?
    He tapped his fingers on the leather armrest as he stared out at the sparkling river. More, he supposed. More money.