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‘Consider it done. What is it?’ Brandon said, falling neatly into his trap.
‘I need contact details for your sister-in-law in Genoa.’
Brandon frowned, the stubborn expression back with a vengeance. ‘I’m not about to tell you that. Milly is vulnerable, and you hurt her. A lot.’
Roman struggled not to wince.Fair.
‘She doesn’t need you to drop back into her life and sweep her—’ Brandon continued.
‘Save it, bro.’ Roman cut off the lecture. ‘I’m not asking for your permission to date her. That’s her decision. But, FYI, she’s perfectly capable of telling me to take a hike herself.’
Or at least he hoped she was, because if he’d hurt her to that extent, he’d never forgive himself.
‘Why,exactly, do you want to contact her?’ Brandon asked, driving a hard bargain. But it only made Roman admire the man more. His family was important to him. And while Roman knew nothing about that kind of loyalty, the fierce need to protect Milly was something he understood. Even if it was him she needed protecting from.
‘Because I need to grovel. A lot,’ he said, forced to come clean about his intentions, but debasing himself in front of Brandon seemed like good practice for what he might have to do when he found Milly. ‘And the sooner I get started with that,’ he added, ‘the sooner I can get round to begging her to take me back.’
Brandon still didn’t look convinced, though. ‘It’s nice that you care about her, but I’m not giving you her address.’
‘Why the—?’
‘Because we need to ask my wife first,’ Brandon interrupted, neatly cutting off Roman’s temper tantrum.
‘Do you have to get your wife’s permission for everything?’ Roman goaded, realising the grovel quotient was about to go up exponentially if he had to prostrate himself in front of Lacey Cade now, too.
He didn’t have time for this. He wanted to get to Milly before she let what he’d done to her in that gazebo—intentionally humiliating her with her own quickfire response to his touch—fester any more than it had already.
‘Have you ever had a long-term committed relationship, Roman, with a woman you love and respect?’ Brandon replied, doing that really aggravating thing of answering a question with another question.
‘No, but I’d like to try for one... With Milly,’ he muttered, surprised the fear didn’t kick him in the gut all over again when he admitted the truth out loud.
‘Good answer.’ Brandon smiled, surprising him even more. Then he clapped a hand on Roman’s shoulder. ‘Consider thisyour first valuable lesson, then, in long-term-relationship etiquette. If you want to get Milly back, the very best way to convince her you care about her is to persuade her sister you do.’
‘But that doesn’t even make sense,’ Roman said, his head starting to explode again.
Brandon’s smile only widened. ‘Which brings me to valuable lesson number two. Which is that sense has sod-all to do with love, little bro.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Another week later...
‘PERFETTO,MASSIMO.’Milly managed a smile for the young assistant who had helped her hang the last of her art.
Her first ever showing was tonight, in two hours’ time. The historic building that housed the small but exclusive gallery near Genoa’s port was the perfect venue—full of light from the floor-to-ceiling windows—plus the curator had loved her work from Estiva and had a reputation for breaking new talent and championing artists who liked to work in a variety of mediums...
Milly should be ecstatic—this opportunity was something she’d dreamed of ever since she’d picked up her first piece of charcoal in her school art class, age fourteen. But as she walked through the gallery, checking each work to ensure the light hit each piece just right, she couldn’t seem to conjure up any excitement at all.
Had Roman robbed her of this, too? Not just her self-respect and her confidence in herself as a woman, but also her enthusiasm for her work?
The truth was, she’d struggled to even look at the compositions she had done on Estiva since returning to Genoa—and it was even harder to look at them now, so beautifully displayed in the cavernous, elegant space.
Because Roman, or the essence of him and how she felt about him, suffused every one of them. The joy and drama and excitement of her first love were vivid in every line, every brush stroke, every element of the work.
She finally stood in front of the acrylic and line drawing she had done of Roman and the Volcano, remembering that day fullof promise and possibility as they sat on the terrazzo discussing the parameters of their booty call... Except it had never been just that for her, she could see it so clearly now.
She rubbed her hand against her breastbone, to disperse the familiar ache, and blinked furiously to dispel the sting of yet more tears scalding the backs of her eyeballs.
You are not going to cry again, Mills. It’s not allowed. This is the best day of your life and you are not going to let him ruin this, too!
