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“After I shower,” she answered, saw the flare of heat rise in his eyes. He probably liked the idea of her naked in the shower. Would probably invite himself to join her if she didn’t watch it. Deciding it best to deter him for the moment, she stood, ready to make a dash for the main house’s doors. “How about we meet at the house for lunch? Hopefully I’ll have something to report to you.”
“Wait a minute.” He snagged hold of her hand, stopping her from fleeing. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” She smiled, her voice sounding false and she wanted to kick herself. “Really, I am.”
“Stasia…”
“Meet me for lunch, twelve-thirty or so, yes? I’ll have Renzo let you know if there are any changes.” She tugged her hand from his grip and headed toward the house, keeping her head held high. Wanting Gavin to know he didn’t affect her at all.
“You can’t run and hide from me, you know. Not here,” he called after her. But she ignored him.
It was easier that way.
Stasia rapped determinedly on the door yet again. If she had to beat on this door until her knuckles were raw and bloody, she’d do it. She was like a woman possessed. Demanding someone open the door after fifteen minutes of incessant knocking did that to a person.
There was still no reply.
Slumping against the door, she thumped her forehead against it once. Then once again for good measure. Maybe it would bash some sense into her, or maybe it would bash all the sense out of her head and she could stand there for the next hour banging against the door.
God. Her mother was being so damn selfish. She rapped on the door once, as hard as she could and decided to hell with it. She was going to scream.
“Why won’t you open the door?” She grabbed hold of the handle and rattled it, frustrated to find it locked when she shouldn’t have been. Her mother wasn’t so stupid as to leave the door unlocked. She wanted to keep everyone out at all costs.
Even her daughter.
“Go away.” The softly spoken words were hard to hear through the thick wood and Stasia paused, pressed her ear against the door.
“Mama?”
“Go away, Anastasia. I don’t want to talk to you.”
Her heart dropped into her toes. At least her mother acknowledged her, but not quite the way she was hoping for. “That doesn’t matter. I want to talk to you. We need to discuss what happened.”
“No.”
Stasia growled in frustration. “You can’t avoid it forever, you know. I need to know the truth. I need to know what happened and why Father did this to me. You can’t leave me hanging like this.”
She heard a lot of sniffling coming from within the room but nothing else.
“I have no one else. I’ve been disinherited. I have no job, no family. I don’t have you and you’re my mother. Please talk to me.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she was hardly aware of them. “Please. I can’t go on like this.”
Something heavy settled against the other side of the door and Stasia backed away, startled by the movement. Slowly the door cracked open, and she caught sight of her mother peeking through. “You’ll hate me,” Claudia whispered hoarsely.
“I won’t. I swear it.” Stasia grabbed hold of the door and pushed, her mother stepping out of the way with a squeal. She shoved her way into the bedroom and shut the door behind her, turning the lock. “Oh, Mama,” she whispered when she got a good look at the woman who’d given birth to her.
She was painfully thin, with thick, dark circles heavy beneath her eyes and her skin deathly pale. Her hair was disheveled, she appeared as if she hadn’t taken a bath in days and she wore a large, pale green satin robe that hung off one too-slim shoulder, revealing the bones of her chest. “Don’t look at me like that,” she snapped, full of fire. Sounding like her old self, though Claudia Renaldi had changed plenty since her husband’s death. She was a shell of a person, a ghost.
It sent a ripple of worry through Stasia, so strong she wavered on her feet. “When was the last time you ate?”
“Bah. You sound like Renzo. That old man is nothing but a mother hen.” She paced the room, her bare feet kicking at the overly long hem of her silky robe as she walked. “So I’m a little thin. Giorgio always said I had a tendency to turn to fat.”
Stasia sighed. “You were never fat. Not that I can remember.”
“You don’t remember much, do you?” Claudia sent her a faint smile. “Your father was very hard on me. He wanted me to look a certain way.”
“You were always beautiful. You still are.”
“Don’t lie, child. You’re terrible at it.” She waved a hand, draped herself across a pale yellow settee that sat close to an open window that overlooked the ocean. “You are here with many questions. I’m not sure if I can answer them all.”
