Before.

The weekend before it had happened.

The weekend before, when life had been so much easier.

When laughing had come so much more readily.

He’d kissed thousands of women he couldn’t recall. Funny that he remembered one that he hadn’t.

‘Why haven’t you applied for a position here—given your history with the place?’

It was a perfectly reasonable question, one that her family and colleagues regularly asked, but one she simply couldn’t answer—and especially not to Lazzaro.

How could she tell him that for more than two years he’d been on her mind, that the king-size crush that had hit her that night—despite her busy life, despite dancing and fun and boyfriends—still hadn’t faded?

That she really needed to get a life.

One away from Lazzaro Ranaldi and the stupid torch she carried for him.

Maybe if his brother hadn’t died…maybe if she hadn’t started work as a chambermaid…maybe if he hadn’t been linked with Roxanne and it hadn’t been on every news bulletin and in every paper or magazine Caitlyn had opened…then, after that initial meeting, she’d have moved quickly on, forgotten the feel of his eyes on hers, forgotten the thrill in her stomach as that dark, ruthless face had been softened by a rare smile. Only in the days after that meeting she’d seen the pain in those closed features screaming from the newspapers, had winced at the scurrilous gossip that had ensued, the blistering row between brothers that had preceded Luca Ranaldi’s sudden and tragic death. But still working in the hotel—instead of moving on—she had caught her breath whenever she’d gleaned an occasional glimpse of him striding through the hotel, blushing in her maid’s uniform as—naturally—he didn’t deign to give her a glance. Though Caitlyn did. That perfect face, marred since that tragic day by a livid scar along his cheek, with lines now fanning his dark eyes and his mouth permanently set on grim. She could see the tension he carried in his shoulders, and wanted somehow for him to smile again.

Just the way he once had.

She hadn’t spoken to him since that night—not even once. And thank goodness for that, Caitlyn realised, because despite more than two years between drinks, so to speak, still he absolutely moved her. Despite the angry scar on his cheek, despite the closed, much more guarded expression he wore now, despite the pain in his eyes—still he was absolutely beautiful.

‘I need a bit more variety…’ Caitlyn answered truthfully—because she did. She needed to sample a world that didn’t have his name on every sheet of paper, needed to check her bank balance and not see ‘Ranaldi’, needed to just get over him—for good.

‘You’ll find nowhere better than right here.’

‘You’re probably right…’ Caitlyn’s face twisted slightly at the unwitting irony of his statement. ‘But I really think it’s time for a change—so you see today really doesn’t matter. I was leaving soon anyway.’

‘But it does matter, Caitlyn. You have worked for this hotel for two years and one month.’ He gave a small swallow as her eyes narrowed, and he glanced again at her file, as if he’d gleaned the information from there. Only he hadn’t—the date was indelibly etched on his mind, but she didn’t need to know why…

It had nothing to do with her.

‘If anything untoward has happened, you have the same rights as any other staff member. Just because Malvolio is family…’

‘I hear your sister’s having a baby…’ She pulled a crumpled tissue out of her pocket and gave her nose a rather loud blow.

‘What does that have to do with this?’ Lazzaro’s voice was completely even, his face impassive, but he had to stop himself from drumming his fingers on the desk—actually had to remind himself to keep looking her in the eye as she voiced his very thoughts. How the hell would Antonia cope? She had just started to get her life back on track after Luca’s death, the new baby was due in just a few days, there was his niece, Marianna, just four years old—what the hell had Malvolio been thinking?

‘It has everything to do with this!’ Caitlyn gulped. ‘Look, I’m fine—I really am—and I don’t want any fuss. I just want to get my things and leave.’

And, though it must surely be the last thing she wanted after the day’s events, all he wanted to do was to walk around the desk and put his arms around her, this little spitfire who had marched into his office on his command and was about to walk out against it. And, yes, technically it would be so much easier to let her go. But it would be wrong, so very wrong, if he did.

‘Caitlyn—let’s just talk about this. It can be dealt with—you really do not have to leave.’

‘Oh, but I think I do,’ she countered. ‘As I said, I’ve got the Mancini interview…I can muddle through till then. Though…’ Her voice faded, her head shaking at the impossibility of explaining her problems to him.

‘What?’

‘It’s complicated.’

‘Probably not to me.’

She managed a wan smile, realising she had no choice but to tell him. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of overtime for the last two months. A lot of overtime,’ Caitlyn reiterated.

‘I will ensure that you’re paid.’

‘It’s just that…’ Caitlyn took a deep breath. ‘I’m applying for a mortgage, and I need three months of payslips to show my earnings.’ She scuffed the carpet with her foot. ‘I told the bank it was my regular wage.’

‘Without overtime?’ Lazzaro checked. ‘But wouldn’t that show up on your payslip?’

‘Quite!’ Caitlyn blushed.

‘So you lied to the bank?’

‘Not lied exactly.’ Caitlyn gulped. ‘Malvolio said it…’ She watched his eyes narrow, realised he must be thinking there was something more to their working relationship. There truly wasn’t. She had asked and he had agreed—it was as simple as that. ‘Oh, it doesn’t matter.’ Caitlyn shrugged. ‘I need three payslips anyway.’

‘Then stay.’

‘I don’t want to.’ She stood firm. ‘I’d rather not put Malvolio down as a reference. I know he deals with the domestic staff, and I know he usually would be the one, but I…’

‘You can put me—I can assure you I have more influence with Mancini than Malvolio does, and I will ensure it is extremely favourable.’

‘How?’ Caitlyn frowned. ‘How can you write my reference when you don’t know anything about me?’

‘Oh, but I think I do.’ Her words, only spoken through his lips now. He stared over at her—little, but strong and, unlike his brother-in-law, unlike the father of the baby, this stranger actually gave a damn about the woman who was carrying his child.

‘I will get the forms and have your pay made up. I will do it on Monday—that way, if you change your mind over the weekend—’

‘Could you get the forms now, please?’ She wasn’t looking at him now, instead staring out of his vast windows somewhere over his shoulder at the Melbourne city skyline. ‘I won’t be changing my mind.’

‘Just think about it.’

‘I’d like the forms now.’

This time she didn’t add please.

This time Lazzaro knew there was no persuading her otherwise.

‘Where’s Malvolio?’

Storming through the Admin corridors, Lazzaro caught everyone by surprise. Admin staff with bags over their shoulders, hoping to slope off a little early, suddenly sat back down and started tapping at blank screens; the raucous laughter coming from the boardroom that signalled end-of-week drinks that Lazzaro supplied for his team, which should start at five but in fact seemed to start around lunchtime, snapped off as if the power had been pulled as he stormed into rather unfamiliar territory. His suite was on the top floor, and he had a private lift that absolutely bypassed the usually well-oiled engines of Admin.

But come five p.m. on Friday, the wheels fell off somewhat!

‘He’s gone!’ Audrey Miller, Malvolio’s assistant, gave an anxious smile. ‘He had to dash off—Antonia rang and said she was having some cramps…’