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was permitted to attend a string of high-profile art schools in Italy.
    “How come you didn’t live with him?”
    “Because I went to a boarding school in Rome. And loved it.” No one depended on her. She’d been allowed to make her own decisions and choices based on what she wanted and needed. It had been the most liberating, peaceful time of her life. “You lived with your mother after the divorce, right?”
    “They never divorced,” Max informed her.
    “Really?” Max hadn’t mentioned that before, but then neither had Daniel. The Aries men certainly kept things close to their chests. “I could have sworn Daniel told me they divorced when you were in your early teens.”
    “He walked out when I was eleven. Literally went out for cigarettes and never came back. My mother cried a hell of a lot less with him out of the picture.”
    “You must’ve been devastated, too,” she said gently. Awful for any child, but she suspected particularly hard on a boy that age.
    “I barely noticed he was gone.”
    “Your mom died a couple of years ago, right?”
    He glanced at her with a small frown. “Yeah. How do you know?”
    “Daniel got very drunk the day he heard.” Max had sent a fax with the news. That was it. A fax to tell his father that the mother of Daniel’s child was dead. “Breast cancer, right?”
    “Yeah.”
    Was the breakup of his parents’ marriage what had turned Max from a conscientious student into a wild kid? Last year, after Max had left, Daniel had admitted that he was aware of his son’s wild lifestyle. Emily had immediately gone to see her doctor after her mentor had given her the gory details of his son’s sexcapades.
    She’d been furious—not at Daniel, who wouldn’t have imagined she’d fall into bed with his promiscuous son. But with herself for blindly doing the unthinkable with a man she knew nothing about. Because of her mother’s lifestyle, which included drugs, two unwanted pregnancies and who knew what else unpleasant, Emily was always so damned cautious before starting any relationship.
    Not with Max. They’d used condoms. Most of the time, but for months afterward she’d waited for the STD shoe to drop.
    That, coupled with the way she’d allowed herself to be seduced by him within hours of their first meeting, had left her with a tangle of unsorted emotions she still hadn’t resolved. She’d always had the option of saying no. She just hadn’t wanted to. Hardly his fault she’d succumbed to his considerable allure.
    Lots of men had tried, with considerably more charm and finesse, to get her into their beds. She’d hadn’t collapsed like a soufflé into their arms.
    Meeting Franco a few months later had gone a long way in helping her forget Max. Of course, even after four months of dating him, she hadn’t slept with Franco. She wanted to be sure. Or as sure as a woman could be before falling into bed with a man.
    Too bad she hadn’t been as smart and cautious before falling like a rock for Max. She’d toppled into bed with a man she knew she shouldn’t want, but just had to have. More fool her.
    She’d learned her lesson.
    For the millionth time, she wondered why Max had left her waiting for him at La Baraonda last March without a word. Alone she’d waited for him for three ridiculous hours sipping Chianti, looking at her watch, worrying that something terrible must’ve happened to keep him from her. She hadn’t been back to her favorite restaurant since, although Franco was dying to try it.
    What had kept Max from her that night? Why had he never called to offer an apology or, at a minimum, a lame excuse? The questions had stopped twirling around in her head after several months. She’d met Franco at the Uffizi. And she’d almost forgotten Max Aries, damn it. Now he and all the unanswered questions were back.
    “Why didn’t you return my calls in time to come to your father’s funeral, Max?” She’d girded herself to hear his voice again, but, in the