The Secret Kept from the Italian

‘Oh, Antonio...it looks amazing.’ She stroked one hand over the quilt embroidered with lambs and ducks, and then touched the fleecy bunny tucked into one corner. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’ She laid Ella down in the cot, and the baby smiled as she blinked up at the spinning mobile.

‘And one more thing.’ He reached above her head to pull the string on the mobile, and a violin rendition of a Brahms lullaby began to play.

‘Oh...’ Tears sparkled in Maisie’s eyes as she listened to the soothing strains.

‘Perhaps you’ll play it to her yourself one day.’

‘That’s so thoughtful of you, Antonio. Really.’ She laid a hand on his arm, and just like that the tender feeling between them sparked into something else. Something hot and dangerous.

Her fingers flexed on his arm and Antonio drew a shuddering breath. The very air seemed to crackle between them, and his gaze fell to her parted lips as his body remembered the honeyed taste of them and longed to experience it again.

Maisie shifted towards him, her head angled so that it would be all too easy to close the small space between their mouths and swallow it up. Antonio didn’t think she even realised what she was doing, how open the invitation was...or how much he wanted to accept it.

Then Ella let out a little cry, and the effect of that single sound was as if a vat of iced water had been poured onto both of them. Maisie jumped a little and Antonio straightened, raking a hand through his hair. That had been a close call. Far, far too close.

‘The pasta is probably ready...’

‘I’ll take Ella.’ Maisie hurried out of the room while Antonio scooped up his daughter and breathed in her baby scent. What madness had possessed him just then? He couldn’t get involved with Maisie again. He couldn’t let her get close. He knew where that led, and it was nowhere good. She already knew too much about him. What would happen when she knew the full, terrible truth?

Slowly Antonio walked down the stairs. He set Ella back on her blanket as Maisie dished out the pasta onto two plates. Everything about the scene was warm, welcoming, and lovely.

Antonio stepped towards the door. At the sound of his footsteps, Maisie turned.

‘Antonio...?’ A frown crinkled her forehead.

‘I’m sorry, but I can’t stay after all.’ The words were terse, too terse. He saw hurt flash across Maisie’s face before she steeled herself, squaring her shoulders. ‘I have work,’ Antonio explained, knowing how lame it sounded. How lame it was. ‘At the office.’

Maisie folded her arms, pursed her lips. She wasn’t fooled. ‘Blowing hot and cold still,’ she said coolly, but her hurt and anger were betrayed by a tremble in her voice. ‘You know, Antonio, I’d rather you just stayed away rather than lurch about, unsure whether you want to be in our lives or not. Make up your mind.’

Stung, Antonio drew back. He knew she was right, but it still hurt. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you next week.’

And with that he strode out into the night.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE NEXT FEW weeks fell into a routine that felt, at different times, both pleasant and confusing. Maisie found she enjoyed making the villa a home, and every morning she’d take Ella out to browse the little shops and sit in the village square, sometimes ordering a coffee and drinking it in the sunshine.

She’d also found a mother-and-baby group that met locally, and, although the language barrier remained an issue, she was surprised at how well she could communicate with a combination of miming and broken English and Italian.

Ella seemed to have settled well, sleeping better at night and being less fretful during the day. Max had video-chatted with her several times and, although he remained concerned, Maisie couldn’t mistake the relief in his eyes and voice at knowing that she was okay and he was free. She didn’t blame him. He was young, upwardly mobile, and wanted to experience the best of life. She was happy for him, and she was enjoying life in Italy more than she had expected...except for one thing.

Antonio was the wild card in her life, the turbulent wave in an otherwise placid sea. After that first infuriating night when he’d left before eating dinner, he had returned a week later with a schedule of visits, which had seemed sensible but also rather cold and businesslike. He’d proposed visiting Ella every other day, in the evening, and also on Saturdays.

‘But if you require further help, a nanny or babysitter, you must let me know.’

‘Maybe I will at some point,’ Maisie had answered. She’d stared down at the schedule of visits and couldn’t keep from feeling disappointed and even hurt. She wanted them to be friends, but Antonio seemed determined to merely tolerate her for Ella’s sake. It hurt more than she knew it should.

Antonio had also engaged an Italian tutor for her, a smiling grandmother who bounced Ella on her lap while Maisie ran through conversational phrases. Maisie was starting to make progress with her Italian, but her daughter’s father felt as much a frustrating enigma as ever.

During his visits with Ella he could be charming and funny, interested and concerned. If she ever

had an issue with anything, whether it was a leaky tap or needing a car, Antonio solved it with alacrity. When he’d had an SUV delivered to the drive, she’d been speechless. He’d merely shrugged.

Despite the acts of generosity and concern, he remained intentionally and irritatingly remote, a shutter coming down over his eyes whenever Maisie asked anything personal. His life was still very much his own; he visited her, and not the other way around.

All in all, she reflected as she sat by the pool one afternoon two weeks after she’d arrived, despite the luxury and the sunshine and the few friends she’d made, she felt restless and discontented, as if she wanted something more. She just didn’t know what.

The sun was starting to sink beneath the fringe of plane trees, so Maisie scooped up Ella and headed inside. Antonio had stopped by yesterday for dinner, giving Ella her bath and singing to her before bedtime, so Maisie didn’t expect him today, a fact which made her heart sink a little.