Satin Lies Read online

  Dedication

  For Nan—who introduced me to “Love Books” and taught me that love will always find a way.

  Chapter One

  “Please, Mummy, wake up!”

  Faye didn’t want to. She wanted to drift back to the blankness, the nothingness. But the edge of panic in the young voice and the tremble of fear pulled her up…up…up…

  Her eyes felt heavy. Incredibly heavy. But she willed them open.

  “Mummy!”

  Slowly, the blur cleared and Faye looked into a child’s eyes. Dark and beautiful with fear glittering in their long-lashed depths.

  As Faye tried to shift, an arrow of heat shot down her spine and into her leg. Where was she? Who was this distressed little girl beside her bed?

  Mummy. The word echoed around Faye’s empty, throbbing head. Mummy…?

  She closed her eyes. What was happening? Where was she? She was supposed to be getting ready to go to university. She was studying… Oh God, what was she studying?

  The little girl sobbed again.

  Oh, please. What was happening? There had been some mistake. How could this child be hers? How could she have a daughter? She wasn’t even married…

  “Where…” Her voice was husky and it hurt to clear her throat. “Who…?”

  “Mummy, it’s me. Melita!”

  The wrenching sobs tugged at Faye’s heart, and instinct more than desire forced her eyes open again. She turned, that same instinct preparing to console, but pain leapt between her shoulder blades and forced her head back to the pillow.

  “It’s all right, little one.” A deep, headily familiar voice filled the room. “Your mama just needs to rest now.”

  Slowly and tentatively, Faye turned her head. Tears flowed down the child’s face, her button-nose red and running. Behind her stood the blurred outline of a man, his head tilted, his big hands resting on the child’s tiny shoulders. Recognition shot through Faye only to disappear before she could grab hold of it.

  A nurse hurried into the room as Faye’s brain spun violently. Flashes and colors, then a hazy fog. A million questions all demanding answers. But panic clawed at her throat, tore through her chest, and she couldn’t speak.

  “Welcome back, Mrs. Lavini.” The nurse’s steady hands checked tubes and bones. “We hoped a visit from your daughter would bring you around. You’ve given everyone quite a scare.”

  Mrs. Lavini? Her stomach hitched. Lavini? Your daughter? Something inside shifted, a glowing sun piercing through the shadows.

  Enrico. Oh, sweet, sweet heaven. Enrico.

  When the child’s head settled gently on her chest, Faye lifted her arm to stroke away the long strands of raven hair, damp with the little girl’s tears, as they fell across the white sheet.

  Mrs. Lavini… Mummy…

  Even the pain of moving her arm, the steely pierce that dug into her ribs, couldn’t stop the deep joy threatening to swamp her as she hugged the child close. Their child.

  Faye felt like her heart might burst. Through the fuzz of her brain, the discomfort of her aching body, all she knew, all she cared about, was that they had married and she was his wife. This was their child.

  A flurry of activity at the doorway brought a doctor into the room. “Mrs. Lavini, how are you feeling?” The doctor flashed light into her eyes. “You’ve been away from us for quite some time.”

  Faye blinked away the moisture triggered by the bright light. What was she doing in hospital? What on earth was happening to her?

  As the doctor moved away and out of her line of vision, Faye’s eyes refocused.

  It was then she had her first clear view of him. Standing behind the little girl, one reassuring hand still on her shoulder, he oozed that attractive but dangerous combination of formidability and breathtaking allure.

  Enrico Lavini. Tall, proud and arrogantly handsome. Powerful owner of the Lavini vineyards in the beautiful Tuscan hills. He’d started his own business straight out of university, determined not to become another “yes-man” in his domineering father’s banking conglomerate.

  Enrico. Her heart tumbled.

  Melita stayed close, her concentration fixed on the doctor who cradled Faye’s head and proceeded to move it from side to side. “Are you better now, Mummy? Does that hurt?”

  Watching the concern flash over her daughter’s face, Faye’s heart ached more than bone or muscle. “No, it doesn’t hurt,” she lied. “I’ll be all right.” Lord, how could she not remember this beautiful child? How could she not remember how this angel felt in her arms? How could she not remember being Enrico’s wife?

  Through the tears threatening to blur her view, she saw Enrico’s large hand engulf Melita’s tiny one, his aura of authority slicing through the sterile air. “Go with the nurse, carina. Your mama needs to rest now. You can come back tomorrow.” He waited while Melita plopped a wet kiss on Faye’s cheek, then guided her toward where the nurse waited at the door. When he returned to stand beside Faye’s bed, his hard charcoal gaze whipped over her face. But he said nothing.

  The doctor moved forward. “Do you remember the accident, Mrs. Lavini? Do you remember what happened?”

  Accident? No, she didn’t remember an accident. She shook her head, wincing when the movement sent pain into her neck and shoulders. “Was…was anyone hurt?” Her voice, though scratchy, was stronger now.

  “You’ve been in and out of consciousness for almost two days,” the doctor said, ignoring her question. “Do you remember anything?”

  “No.” Faye fought back the escalating fear and gnawing vulnerability. Why hadn’t Enrico touched her, kissed her, whispered words of comfort? Why hadn’t he even smiled at her?

  “Melita…?” Some innate protective instinct whispered through her and she tried to lift her head from the pillow. Had she caused this accident? Had her child been hurt in some way and she hadn’t noticed? Please God, no!

  “She’s fine.” The doctor pressed a hand to Faye’s forehead, easing her head gently back against the pillow. “Tell me how you feel.”

  “I’m okay.” Though her head felt like it might explode. “My back hurts a little and my chest feels tight.”

  “You have some heavy bruising to your back and chest but miraculously there’s no permanent damage. And you have a concussion, of course.”

  “W…what happened?”

  She saw the doctor glance anxiously across the bed to where Enrico stood, his expression grim as he watched her.

  Tiny pieces—flashes, glimpses—fired through her brain. Memories. Enrico. Somehow they all involved Enrico. But why hadn’t he touched her? Why hadn’t he kissed her? Her fingers ached with the need to touch him.

  “You were in a light aircraft traveling back to London and the plane experienced problems during landing.” The doctor lifted her eyelid and shone his pencil torch around the circumference of her eye. “Are you able to tell us what happened?”

  “No.” Faye whispered. “I don’t remember.”

  “Can you tell me the last thing you do remember?”

  Faye closed her eyes. There were those pieces again. Mere impressions really. Something about a wedding, a hotel, a room…she was with Enrico. They were together.

  “I…I’m not sure…” She opened her eyes and looked straight at Enrico. “I remember packing for university and then…then there was a wedding.”

  Enrico’s wide shoulders drew back, his jaw tightened, then a deep groove appeared between his eyebrows.

  “Faye?” He addressed her for the first time, his voice low and tight. “Do you remember you have a daughter? Or that you live in London?”

  No. She didn’t remember they had a daughter, she didn’t even remember they were married. How on earth would she have forgotten her child or that he was her husba
nd? He was the most important person in her life. She loved him. Had always loved him. First with the naïve crush of a schoolgirl and then with the passion of her teenage heart. And why were they living in London? Enrico hated London.

  She shook her head, noticing that the pain had eased a fraction. Most likely the result of the injection the doctor had administered. “I don’t remember.”

  “Now, I don’t want you to worry,” the doctor assured her. “This is a common enough occurrence after a traumatic experience. You just rest, let the memories return in their own good time.”

  “I don’t want to rest.” Faye turned to Enrico, reached out her hand. “Tell me what happened. Rico, please tell me what happened.” And tell me why you won’t touch me, she pleaded silently when he looked down at her outstretched hand. Tell me what I’ve done to make you treat me with such indifference.

  When at last his fingers curled around hers, she almost wept with relief.

  “The doctor is right, cara. You should rest now.” He gave her hand a light squeeze. “When I bring Melita to see you tomorrow we will make plans to take you home.”

  “Yes,” she gripped his hand like the lifeline he was. Or tried to grip. She didn’t seem to have the strength, and her lids felt heavy again. “Yes, Rico,” she managed, as his handsome face faded. “Take…me…home…”

  “She’s lost about eight years.” Enrico pushed back his jacket, and slipped his hands into the trouser pockets of an immaculately cut suit. He stood looking out over the London skyline glittering in the late spring sunshine. The specialist’s office was on the top floor of a prestigious Mayfair clinic where Enrico had arranged Faye’s immediate transfer upon hearing of the accident. He’d flown straight over from Tuscany, taken Melita out of the crummy excuse for a flat she shared with her mother and moved her into the penthouse apartment he kept for his compulsory business trips to London—and when the time was right he’d investigate just what the hell was going on.

  “She’ll remember more every day,” the specialist assured him. “We’ll perform more tests, of course, but there seems no indication of any permanent damage as a result of the concussion. There’s no reason to suggest her memory loss will be permanent.”

  Enrico turned from the window. He rolled his shoulders, trying to dislodge the ache that had settled there during the past two days. “She has to be told. I do not want her finding out from some tabloid or a well-meaning remark from one of your nurses. The shock might set any recovery back. I need to be with her when she finds out, when she has to tell Melita.”

  The specialist, a world-authority on retrograde amnesia, sat back in his chair. “I agree. Do you want her to attend the funeral?”

  Pain stabbed at Enrico’s heart. “That is her decision to make.” Not that he doubted what that decision would be. Whatever the circumstances surrounding Matteo’s death, he knew Faye would want to say goodbye—and, God forgive him, if acknowledging that didn’t deepen his own grief.

  But he had no right to these feelings. He’d given up that right long ago. Now his only claim was as protector. Technically, in his role as head of the Lavini family, she was his responsibility. He might have forgotten that once, but he would never do so again. Faye was his duty and responsibility. Anything he once felt for her had to finally be buried…along with his brother.

  Chapter Two

  Faye sat at the small window table in her hospital room, surrounded by colored pencils and paper. Melita was tucked into her side as both of them drew pictures.

  “And this is our house.” The seven-year old drew the standard box house with the equally standard front path and trees. “And this is Blaster and this—”

  “Blaster!” Faye laid her hand over her daughter’s, currently outlining a shape in green. “Blaster’s our cat.”

  Two enthusiastic arms shot around her waist. “Oh, Mummy, you remember!” Then she pulled back, face crumpled with concern as Faye winced. “Does it still hurt very much?”

  Faye drew her daughter back into her arms, despite the fact her ribcage felt like it had gone a few rounds with a steamroller. It had taken only a heartbeat to fall in love with the child who chatted constantly about school and dancing classes. Had brought in virtually every book she owned to read to Faye. Drew pictures relentlessly trying to spark memories.

  “No, it doesn’t hurt very much,” Faye assured her daughter. “And I do remember Blaster. He’s black and has green eyes with two white rings around them. Teo bought him for you.” Something inside her twisted. Some remote yet important memory, although why it should involve Matteo…

  Dear Teo. He had helped her pack for university. She was upset and they had shared too much wine and—

  “Time to go, little one.” Enrico stood in the doorway, his shoulders almost as wide. Faye’s stomach gave one long unsteady roll. She hadn’t forgotten that underneath the crisp Italian suit his muscles were long, lean and hard. His body had always been a source of fascination for her. Ever since she had snuck a look one summer when, believing he was alone, he’d stripped off and gone swimming in the lake near the Lavini’s Tuscan villa.

  He’d always protected her, sometimes making her feel like his younger sister. But there was nothing sisterly in the way she felt about him. And if they were now married and had a child together, he obviously no longer felt that way either. If he was cool with her, if he was distant, then it was most likely because he felt as anxious and uncertain as she did. She might be getting snatches of her memory back, but it was fragmented, patchy. Only natural they were skirting around each other like strangers.

  Melita gathered up her things and with a tug at Faye’s heart, left with her temporary nanny.

  Enrico pulled up a chair and sat opposite Faye. Her pulse tripped as his knees bumped hers, the blood flowing warm in her veins when he leaned forward. This was the first time they had been alone together since she awoke from the accident. Maybe now it would be different. Enrico wasn’t a man given to public displays of affection, in fact, he often found it hard to show affection even in private. Which was why she shouldn’t be surprised at his reserve now. The characteristic was integral to the man he was. Even as youngsters, while she and his half-brother Matteo had whooped and jostled around the lush gardens of the Lavini villa, Enrico had distanced himself from their antics. As if it was beneath his dignity to indulge in such behavior. As if the natural birthright of childhood games and adventures were never his to claim.

  “I have something to tell you and you must be strong.” His grim expression matched the steel in his eyes. “The accident happened when you were flying back from a trip to Edinburgh, do you remember?”

  Faye shook her head, the growing sense of foreboding only marginally diminished as Enrico took her hands in his.

  He stared down at their clasped fingers as if gathering himself. “Matteo was piloting the aircraft.” He looked up, held her gaze. “He was killed, Faye.”

  She stared at him, long and hard. Part of her expecting him to laugh, to say he’d been playing a cruel joke. But this was Enrico. He was tough, uncompromising. But never cruel.

  “Faye…?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut. What? What had he said? Matteo? Matteo dead?

  From a long way off she heard a door open, then close. When she opened her eyes she fastened them on Enrico, saw the deep grooves cut into his forehead. Vaguely, as she struggled to process what he’d said, she was aware of someone sitting beside her.

  “He died instantly, Mrs. Lavini.” The doctor’s voice came to her through a fog. “Your husband would not have suffered.”

  Husband? What was he talking about? Enrico was her husband. He was sitting here. Right here in front of her.

  She squeezed her fingers around Enrico’s tightening grip, her gaze locked to his as if to reassure herself he was indeed living…breathing. Then she snatched her hands away. “Just what exactly is going on?” she demanded. “What’s this all about? Teo is…” Her head was spinning, but something wasn’t
right. There was something not right. She hadn’t thought she wanted to cry, but tears spilled down her cheeks before she could stop them. “It’s not true. Teo and I weren’t—”

  “You were married for almost eight years, Faye.” Enrico spoke with quiet force. “You had a daughter together.”

  “No.” Faye moved her head slowly from side to side, as if the movement would jog her brain back into gear and allow all her memories to come tripping back. “It’s not possible.” But something in the grim seriousness of Enrico’s expression assured her it was.

  “I’ve made arrangements to—”

  “No!” Faye’s head thumped, her mind reeling. What sort of nightmare was this? “This is all some hideous mistake. It’s not true. There’s no way Teo…”

  Enrico grabbed for her hands, held on tight when she would have pulled them away again. “Faye, you must be strong, for Melita’s sake as well as your own.”

  Faye stared at him. At the short hair framing that ridiculously handsome face, the formidable jaw, the charcoal eyes softly shadowed with his own grief.

  How could this be? Teo dead? Her husband? She would never have married Matteo. She loved him dearly, but like a brother, a beloved friend. Not as a husband. For her there was only one man…just one. And he sat opposite her now, watching her with such grim intensity as he attended to her grief while ignoring his own.

  “Oh, Rico.” She sobbed it out, her shoulders slumping as she gripped his hands in return. “I don’t understand what’s going on. Please tell me this isn’t true.”

  He watched her for long moments, then swallowed. “You are not to worry about anything, cara. You and Melita will be taken care of. I promise you.”

  Somehow Faye knew that being taken care of was the least of her problems. Enrico had always looked out for her…and for Teo. Enrico was always the strong back supporting the Lavini family. He had lost so many people he loved. First his mother when he was a mere toddler, then his beloved grandfather, now his younger half-brother. The brother he had always shielded and guarded.