A Dark Sicilian Secret(16)

“To Joseph,” he agreed. “The son we made together.”

They drank.

She swallowed, the cold, slightly sweet, slightly tart champagne fizzing and warming all the way down.

She glanced down into her glass, watching tiny bubbles rise to the surface, admiring the champagne’s pale gold color against the cut crystal stemware. Champagne in crystal was almost magical. She’d once loved how a glass of fine champagne could make her feel elegant. Beautiful.

She’d confessed that to Vitt, too, and for one week he’d ordered her champagne every night before dinner.

Did he remember? Is that why he’d ordered champagne now?

Her head jerked up and she looked into his eyes. His expression was shuttered. She could see nothing there.

But once, even briefly, there had been something between them. Once they’d made love to each other as if their hearts had mattered.

“Feel beautiful now?” Vittorio asked lazily, watching her with those dark inscrutable eyes of his.

So he did remember. “Like a princess,” she answered.

“And we’re living a fairy tale,” he replied mockingly.

She looked away, focused on a point across the cabin. How could she not have seen who he was? How could she not have realized that behind his charm and his stunning good looks was a man of stunning power?

“Can I please go get Joe?” she said, fighting to keep her tone neutral. “We’re about to take off and I’d be more comfortable flying if he were here with me.”

“But he’s fine where he is. Maria is taking good care of him.”

Jillian drew a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. Had she heard Vitt right? Was he making decisions for her? Was he deciding how and when she was to see her own son?

She fought the wave of nausea rolling through her. “I miss him, Vitt. I haven’t spent much time with him today—”

“—because you left him. You regularly left him.”

Again her insides lurched. “I had to work.”

“You didn’t. You could have come to me. I would have supported you, made sure you could have stayed home with him.”

The floor vibrated beneath Jillian’s feet. “I wanted the best for Joe. I wanted him to have what I didn’t—security. Stability—”

“And you think running and hiding and living with false identities is the way to accomplish that?”

“Joe wouldn’t have a false identity.”

“He already did! You told Hannah that all of his medical records were listed as Michael Holliday. That when you enrolled him in preschool, he’d be called Mike.”

Jillian flushed and shifted in her seat. He was right, and it did sound awful when put like that. “It hadn’t happened yet,” she said softly, uncomfortably. “It was just a thought.”

“No. It wasn’t just a thought. It was your idea of a good plan.”

She flinched, stung by his mocking tone. He didn’t understand that to protect Joe she had to think like a survivor. She had to be aware of danger, had to consider all the different possibilities. “Perhaps I’ve made mistakes,” she said huskily, tears roughening her voice, but she wouldn’t cry. Not here, not now, not in front of her enemy. “But I only wanted the best for him.”

“And now he has it. His mother and father together under one roof. What a lucky little boy.”

God, he was awful and hateful, bent on making her suffer. She blinked and ground her jaw together until she knew she had her emotions under control. “So can our lucky boy join us? Can he sit with his mother and father as the plane takes off?”

Vitt studied her pale face and hard, tight jaw for a long moment before reaching out to smooth a pale blond strand of hair back from her face. She shied away from his touch but he didn’t comment on it. Instead he smiled at her almost kindly. “Our son is quite comfortable and sleeping soundly in an infant cot in the staff room. Maria will bring him to us when he wakes.”

The jet began to move, rolling forward on the tarmac. “Please, Vitt. Please let me have him. I want him. I need him with me.”

“Even though he’s sleeping in his cot?”

She’d had her life ripped apart by her father’s deceit. Her only sister had been killed in an accident the police termed “suspicious,” yet they’d never brought charges against anyone. Her mother, terrified of further reprisal, had broken off all contact. Jillian’s only anchor in life was Joe. He was the reason, and the only reason, she’d been able to survive so many blows. “Yes.”