The Secret Kept from the Italian Page 10

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ Maisie said, and he saw that flicker of uncertainty in her eyes that he’d seen before, and felt in himself. Images of the two of them on a picnic blanket, Ella lying between them and the lake sparkling in the spring sunshine, flitted through his mind. Happy families, but that wasn’t what was going on here. It couldn’t be, because what did he know about happy families? He only knew how to destroy them. Maisie had been right when she’d called him the ruthless destroyer, but she had no idea...and Antonio wasn’t going to enlighten her. He’d told her enough on that one regrettable and wonderful night.

  ‘It’s getting late,’ he said, his voice a little rough. ‘We should sleep.’

  Maisie nodded, and they both settled down into the comfortable seats that extended nearly horizontally to form a bed. As tired as he was, too many thoughts and feelings were flying around in his head for him to settle. A deep and primal satisfaction that he had Maisie and Ella with him warred with a creeping unease and fear that he was doing the wrong thing. A dangerous thing...for all three of them.

  As sleep started to invade the fringes of his mind, his guard relaxed and he fell into one of his old, torturous dreams. Paolo was glaring at him, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

  Why did you let me? You should have known better.

  Of course, Paolo had never said those words. He’d never had the chance. But his mother and father had both said them, before they’d stopped speaking to Antonio completely. Before he’d destroyed his own family.

  I’m sorry, Paolo. So sorry.

  In the dream Antonio never seemed to be able to get the words out; they crowded in his mouth like marbles and he choked on them. Because words meant nothing. They certainly weren’t enough, and they didn’t make a difference now. Paolo was dead, and it was entirely Antonio’s fault.

  ‘Antonio... Antonio!’ A soft hand gently shook his shoulder, and Antonio blinked up into Maisie’s concerned face. ‘You were thrashing about in your sleep... Are you okay?’

  Thrashing about? He jerked up to a sitting position, running his hand through his hair as he took a slow, steadying breath. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘You didn’t seem fine,’ Maisie said quietly. ‘Was it a bad dream?’

  She made him sound like a child. Antonio shook his head, irritable now, because that was better than being desperate. ‘I’m fine.’

  Ella let out a startled cry, and he grimaced. He must have woken her up with his angry tone. Maisie reached for her. ‘She’s probably hungry again. I’ll feed her.’

  Antonio nodded, trying to get his flayed emotions back under wraps as Maisie nursed their baby, a blanket draped over her shoulder. Even after a feed Ella wouldn’t settle, and Maisie threw Antonio an exasperated look. ‘She’s fretful at night sometimes.’

  ‘Why don’t I walk her up and down the plane? You said movement helped.’

  Maisie looked surprised. ‘Only if you want to...’

  ‘Of course I want to.’ Antonio took Ella, cradling her in his arms, amazed at the soft, sleepy feel of her. She nestled into him, and his heart swelled with both love and fear. She was so very precious.

  Maisie watched them, her expression softening, and Antonio gave her a quick smile. ‘We’ll be fine.’ He hoped.

  He strolled up and down the aisle, bouncing her gently and humming under his breath—one of the lullabies from his childhood. Eventually Ella stopped squirming and squawking and Antonio watched as her eyes shut, her breath coming out in milky sighs. He stroked her downy hair, her head fitting perfectly into his palm. She was tiny and fragile and beautiful, and already he loved her. Already he knew he would do anything for her, sacrifice everything for her safety and happiness. The feeling was deep, instinctive, and overwhelming.

  This time he wouldn’t mess up. He wouldn’t ruin everything. This time he would get it right, for Ella’s sake as well as his own.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘WHAT DO YOU THINK?’

  Maisie gazed around the yawning foyer of the enormous villa on the outskirts of Milan, overwhelmed by the sheer grandiose luxury of the place.

  ‘It’s huge.’

  Antonio flicked a glance at the brochure. ‘Four thousand square feet. Hardly enormous.’

  ‘Maybe not by your standards.’ She jiggled Ella against her chest as she walked around the marble-paved hall, a double staircase leading to a balcony above. As they’d driven up, she’d seen that the circular driveway had a huge, ornate fountain. The place was a palace. ‘I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I’d feel like I was swimming in a place like this. Couldn’t we look at somewhere...smaller?’

  ‘You want somewhere smaller?’ Antonio sounded disbelieving.

  ‘Yes. Cosier.’

  ‘Very well.’ Antonio glanced at the realtor who was standing by the door. ‘Roberto?’

  ‘Bene, bene.’ Roberto smiled at them both. ‘I have such places. Small, but perfect.’

  Feeling guilty for not liking a place that was so opulent and enormous, Maisie followed them back out to the waiting limo. They’d arrived in Milan yesterday afternoon and started house-hunting today. Her head was still spinning, and not just with jet lag.

  She couldn’t figure Antonio out. One moment he was wining and dining her in First Class; the next he was shutting himself off, seemingly deliberately, everything about him closed and cold. He was gentle and loving with Ella, and then he blanked Maisie. She felt exhausted simply trying to decipher his moods and the reasons for them. And, worst of all, every time he acted cool or remote she started to doubt whether she should have come to Milan at all. Whether she could survive the emotional roller coaster Antonio put her on just by existing.

  Because the truth was, she cared for him in some small way. When she saw him with Ella, when he asked her about herself, she remembered the gentle and passionate and hurting man she’d met on that night nearly a year ago. She remembered him and wanted him, even if he wasn’t real—at least, not the real Antonio. The trouble was, wanting that man was a very dangerous and foolish thing to do.

  They’d barely spoken beyond the basics since they’d arrived in Italy; Maisie had been exhausted and Ella fretful, and she’d fallen asleep in a huge king-sized bed in the guest room of Antonio’s apartment, on the top floor of an elegant palazzo in the historic city centre.

  She’d woken to find Antonio immersed in his laptop, and she’d explored the apartment, only to realise it was the ultimate bachelor pad, from the media room to the rooftop gym, to the sleek, clearly unused kitchen. The surfaces were all hard, marble or steel, the furniture angular and uncompromising, the spiral staircase a stunning centrepiece as well as a death trap for a baby who would be crawling in a few months. The sooner she found her own place the better, and not just because of the silly stairs.

  Twenty-four hours into her sojourn in Italy, and Maisie realised how important it was going to be to make her own life...away from Antonio, his changeable moods and her own dangerous desires.

  She glanced at him now, his sharply angled jaw freshly shaven, his piercing blue eyes narrowed as he focused on the screen of his phone. He was dressed in an expertly tailored business suit of steel-grey. He looked devastatingly attractive, and as remote as ever. Maisie looked at him and her mind emptied out. Her heart started to pound. It was ridiculous.

  She turned back to Ella, pointing out cars and trees along the road, trying to distract herself in meaningless babble.

  Fifteen minutes later they pulled up to a far more modest yet still elegant house in a village on the outskirts of Milan. Maisie immediately liked the friendly-looking house, with its bright red shutters and wrought-iron railing trailing bougainvillea. Inside, dark wood beams crisscrossed a whitewashed ceiling; there was a living room with squashy sofas and a deep stone fireplace, and the dining room led into the open-plan kitchen, with French windows overlooking a terrace and garden, com
plete with a fenced-in pool. Upstairs there were three bedrooms—a master with a sumptuous en-suite bathroom, and two smaller bedrooms. Maisie stood in the last bedroom, by a stone-silled window overlooking the garden.

  ‘Is that a fig tree?’ she asked as Antonio came into the room.

  ‘It looks like it.’

  ‘This is perfect.’ She turned to him with a smile, Ella in her arms. ‘Cosy and friendly. It’s not too much?’ She still felt uncomfortable with the prospect of him paying for everything, but she didn’t have much choice. Besides, he had asked, or rather demanded, that she come here.

  ‘Too much?’ His eyebrows rose. ‘It’s a positive bargain, considering the other places I was thinking of. And fortunately it is available immediately.’

  ‘Great.’ She tried to keep her voice upbeat, battling a mixture of elation and fear. It would be lovely to have her own house, but she was being plopped in a small village in a foreign country, without speaking a word of the language. It was a little daunting, to say the least.

  ‘Obviously you will need some baby items here,’ Antonio continued. ‘If you make a list, I will make sure they arrive by this evening.’

  ‘This evening?’ She shook her head in amazement. ‘Do you have a magic wand?’

  ‘No, just a magic chequebook.’ He flashed her a brief smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘Just let me know what you need.’

  The next few hours were a blur of activity as they returned to Antonio’s apartment and packed up her and Ella’s things. She gave him her list, instinctively trying to keep the number of items down, but Antonio barely looked at it before pocketing it.

  ‘Let me know if you need anything else,’ he said. He’d given her a top-of-the-line smartphone and entered several numbers into its contacts—his office, his private line, his mobile. Despite the phone numbers, she didn’t feel he was particularly accessible, at least not in the way she wanted.

  And so, just a few hours after seeing the pretty villa, Maisie found herself standing in her new home, Ella in her arms, her suitcases by her feet as Antonio’s driver closed the door on her. Home sweet home. Here she was.

  Taking a deep breath, she told herself not to feel lonely or uncertain or afraid—basically all the things she was feeling—and to start making the villa feel like home.

  After feeding Ella, she put her down for a nap on the king-sized bed, surrounded by pillows. Thankfully Ella couldn’t roll over yet, and so Maisie was sure she’d be safe.

  While her daughter slept, she unpacked her belongings—two suitcases and her violin was all she had, so it didn’t take long. She pottered about in the kitchen and explored the garden, the air warm and dry, scented with flowers, the sun shining high above. Really, this was paradise. Right now, though, it was a bit lonely in paradise.

  When Ella woke up, Maisie took her out to the garden, laying her on a blanket underneath the fig tree she’d seen earlier from the window. She tilted her head up to the sun and closed her eyes as Ella gurgled beside her. Slowly, she felt herself start to relax. Life here could be good.

  Perhaps later she would put Ella in her stroller and explore the village, find out if there were any baby groups to join. She’d make friends; she’d figure out a way. She just had no idea what part, whether small or large, Antonio would play in her life...or what part she wanted him to have.

  The sound of a car pulling up in front of the villa had Maisie springing up from the blanket. Had Antonio come back? Why did that thought make her feel so hopeful, so excited?

  But it wasn’t Antonio; it was a delivery man bringing in package after package, the items arriving mere hours after she’d given Antonio the list.

  Maisie laid Ella on a blanket in the living room while she began to open the parcels and packages. It felt better than Christmas, a feast for the senses, as she opened a top-of-the-range cot along with pink flannel sheets and an embroidered duvet, a high chair, a bouncy chair, a car seat, a musical mobile and a whole host of toys, blankets and other baby accessories. Maisie felt overwhelmed.

  Ella was starting to fuss so she decided to leave all the toys and equipment and go for a walk. She hoped the village had a shop, because the house was empty of any food.

  The day was still warm even though it was late afternoon, and with Ella in her stroller Maisie spent a happy hour wandering the ancient, narrow streets of the little village. She happened upon a tiny shop that sold all sorts of delicious food and stocked up on mozzarella, tomatoes and basil, enjoying the scent and texture of the fresh fruits and vegetables and doing her best to mime her needs to the smiling, apple-cheeked woman behind the till. By the time she started back, Ella was ready for her next feed and the sky was starting to turn violet at the edges.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  The ringing, accusatory tone had Maisie freezing as she turned up the drive of the villa. Antonio stood by the front door, a chauffeur-driven limo parked in front. He looked thunderous and far too attractive, having shed his suit jacket, loosened his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt. Everything about him radiated power and authority as well as blatant sex appeal.

  ‘I went out for a walk,’ Maisie said, striving to sound cool rather than apologetic. ‘I didn’t realise I had to tell you all my movements.’

  ‘I’ve been waiting here for the better part of an hour. You didn’t think to take your phone?’

  ‘I didn’t realise it was meant to be a tracking device.’ Maisie slipped by Antonio and unlocked the front door as he dismissed his driver. She unbuckled Ella from her stroller and went inside. ‘She needs to be fed,’ she said shortly. Antonio watched, still looking annoyed, as Maisie settled herself in one of the squashy armchairs in the living room and started to feed Ella. She could feel the tension and anger simmering in him, and didn’t fully understand it. Did he expect her to be at his beck and call? Was that how this was going to be?

  ‘Why did you come by, anyway?’ she asked, and realised belatedly how ungracious she sounded, especially after all the things Antonio had arranged to be sent to the villa.

  ‘To see my daughter,’ Antonio said, his voice as short as hers had been. ‘And to help put the cot together.’

  ‘Oh.’ Now she felt guilty for being so hostile, but why had he been so hostile? ‘Thank you,’ she said after a pause. ‘But Antonio, I have to confess that you confuse me. At times you seem so kind and interested, and at other times...’ She gestured to the space between them, helpless to explain. ‘If this has any chance of working, we need to establish some kind of system or ground rules. A way to get along without everything turning into a battle. Otherwise I think I might go a little bit crazy.’

  * * *

  Antonio stared at Maisie, her expression one of open, sympathetic appeal, and tried to suppress the guilt and irritation coursing through him. The truth was, he hadn’t had a good reason to show up only hours after Maisie had settled into her new home, except that he knew he wanted to see her as well as Ella.

  But instead of the happy, cheerful scene he’d envisioned of his putting together the cot and maybe even staying for supper, everything had turned to tension and hostility and suspicion. Why should he even be surprised?

  ‘You’ve ruined this family, Antonio.’

  Even now he could see his mother’s grief-ravaged face and felt the familiar twist in his gut. But that was in the past, and this—Ella—was his future. He couldn’t give up on her. He wouldn’t.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘I don’t mean to be confusing. This is new for me, Maisie, just as it is for you. I’ve never...’ He paused, sifting through his words as well as his emotions. ‘I’ve never had a child before obviously, but neither have I had a serious relationship of any kind.’ He shrugged. ‘You know my history nearly as well as I do, I suspect.’

  Maisie gave a little grimace. ‘Only from those unfortunate tabloids.’

 
; ‘Well, then,’ he said lightly. ‘Don’t believe everything you read, but believe some of it.’

  ‘The general gist?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So why are you here, then, Antonio? If you really are the reckless, careless playboy those magazines make you out to be, why do you care so much about your daughter?’

  He flinched at her bluntness, even as he acknowledged she had a point. ‘My own family was a bit of a mess,’ he said, choosing each word with care. ‘And part of that, a large part, was my fault. I want to get it right this time.’

  ‘How was it your fault?’ She frowned. ‘You said something similar that night...’

  ‘There’s no point talking about what’s in the past.’ The last thing he needed was a reminder of all the weakness and vulnerability he’d spewed forth that night. He’d been drunk and desperate and pathetic. He didn’t want to live it all over again. ‘And I admit, I’ve been surprised by the strength of my feelings. I never thought I’d have children, but now that my daughter’s right here...’ He gestured to Ella nursing happily. ‘I love her,’ he said simply. ‘I want to do my best by her. I might not get a lot of the other stuff right, but I will try with Ella, I swear.’

  ‘I believe you,’ Maisie said softly. She sounded sad. ‘Why don’t you have a look at the cot? It would be great if she could sleep in it tonight.’

  Antonio nodded, accepting her suggestion as the dismissal he suspected it was. Better for the both of them, really. No need to spill secrets, or get close. No need at all.

  He spent the next hour squinting at the complicated directions for the cot, finally managing to put it together as darkness settled softly outside, over the fig tree.

  From downstairs he heard the sounds of Maisie moving around, and then some cooking smells—frying pancetta and garlic—that made his mouth water.

  With the cot assembled, he made it up with the new sheets and quilt, attached the mobile up above and snuggled a few soft toys in the corners. Then he went downstairs in search of Maisie and Ella.