She could live without all those other painful memories, but as anguished as her night with him in Charleston had started, she couldn’t regret it. Even in light of his hostility last night, and the likelihood that he’d only been using her in Charleston to curb his grief, she was grateful and happy they’d made love.
He wasn’t.
She had replayed last night in her head until she’d been ready to drink herself into oblivion, letting each inflection and livid glance score her again and again. He hated her for making him betray Ryan, and no wonder. As early as that first time she’d met the two of them, she’d seen a truly remarkable friendship, one born when they’d been children attending international schools where Ryan had been an army brat and Paolo the son of an investment banker.
On the surface it had all been playful one-upmanship. They’d competed for grades and saved each other’s lives countless times while risking their own in foolhardy cliff dives and motorbike races, but she could see there had been a foundation of unequivocal trust between them. Ryan might have forgiven Paolo for his moment of weakness at their wedding, accepting Paolo’s word that he was drunk and upset about his own marriage falling apart, believing Paolo’s vow that it would never happen again, but Paolo would never forgive himself.
Last night, Lauren had almost told Paolo that Ryan had cheated on her, but she knew from the one time she’d suggested it that Paolo wouldn’t believe her. And what kind of person spoke ill of the dead, especially to his best friend? Nevertheless, she couldn’t help thinking that Paolo might take a different view of their transgression in Charleston if he understood. She hated knowing he hated her.
But she hadn’t taken the chance to set the record straight and now she’d never see him again.
That realization, studiously avoided through the long night, suddenly impacted her strained, overtired emotions with blunt force, filling her with a swell of pain very much like grief. Hot tears gathered in her eyes and she dropped her face into her hands, edging toward a breakdown in an airport full of strangers a million miles from anything familiar.
“Signora?” A concerned male voice pulled her face from her hands.
As she jerked her head up, she saw her luggage go by. She reflexively stepped forward, trying to grab it before it went around again. The man, a conservative middle-aged Italian in a nondescript suit, retrieved it for her.
It was such an unexpectedly gallant thing to do it yanked her out of her maudlin self-pity and put a fresh smile on her face. He insisted on helping her all the way out the doors of the airport. By then she’d learned he was only in Milan for the day on business, returning to his family in New York for Christmas.#p#????#e#
“Oh, signore,” she said as he guided her toward the curb. “The hired limos seem to be that direction—”
“Grazie, Bruno.” Paolo came around from the driver’s side of a virile black sports car. His eyes were hidden behind aviator glasses despite the drizzling sky.
Lauren’s insides took flight and her mouth went dry with shock.
Paolo stole her bag off her cart and stowed it where she thought the engine ought to be. Her new friend slid her other small bags alongside it and slammed the lid as Paolo opened the passenger door.
“Rapidamente, per favore,” Paolo prompted her. “I’m parked illegally.”
“But how—?” What was he doing here? She began to tremble, struck by shock and the irrepressible excitement she had thought she’d never feel again. It was so invigorating!
An official blew a sharp whistle and shouted something.
“I have your luggage,” Paolo reminded, pointing to the seat where he wanted her.
“That’s extortion,” she argued, but regressed into her compliant old self and ducked into the car, glancing back to thank Bruno. Paolo shut the door in her face.
She couldn’t make sense of this turn of events. Despite her pride in traveling alone, she was enormously relieved. She wanted to hug Paolo and had to restrain herself as he slid behind the wheel and zipped away from the curb, pressing her into her seat.
“Buckle up,” he ordered.
“How did you know I was—” Bruno. She looked for the man as she reached for her belt, but he was gone. “How did you know that man’s name?” she demanded, putting two and two together and coming up with fraud.
“He’s my head of security.” Paolo settled himself with a lift of his long back and a rock of his wide shoulders. One confident hand remained on the wheel as he tuned the radio from news to classical, switched gears, adjusted the rearview mirror, and zigzagged through traffic, passing sedans and shuttle buses. “I put him on your flight last night.”