The Secret Kept from the Italian

Antonio shrugged. ‘It’s the least I can do. You have the far greater burden of care.’

‘It’s no burden.’ Too late Maisie realised she sounded prickly, but the truth was, she didn’t know how to feel, when the realisation of how much she wanted Antonio, how much she hoped for, left her feeling flayed and raw. They’d shared an intense evening, but had it been real? Could she trust this man? Did she want to? She’d always had so much love to give, but she knew how much it hurt when you lost that love. Her parents’ death, Antonio’s previous rejection... She felt wary now, and that made her defensive.

‘I didn’t mean that.’ Antonio gazed at her appraisingly and Maisie tightened the sash of her dressing gown, battling too many different emotions.

‘I should go.’ The words were abrupt, firm. Maisie blinked in surprise. Somehow she hadn’t expected that, but why not? Despite the tenderness Antonio had just shown her, had he really changed? He was ruthless. A playboy. He made no bones about it. She’d had an epiphany tonight, but it didn’t mean he had.

‘Okay,’ she said at last, and something flickered across Antonio’s face before he turned away. Maisie watched him dress, uncertain as to what to say. Were they going to discuss what had happened, or just pretend it hadn’t? Which did she want?

Antonio finished dressing in silence and then headed downstairs. Maisie followed him, watching as he shrugged on his coat and jangled his keys.

‘When will you be back? To visit Ella, I mean,’ she clarified quickly, a flush rising to her face.

Antonio’s mouth twisted. ‘I know what you meant. I’ll come on Saturday, as I usually do.’

‘Shall we spend the day together?’ Maisie tried not to sound too hopeful. They’d spent the last few Saturdays together, exploring the countryside, but maybe things had changed now. Perhaps Antonio wanted them to change.

Antonio hesitated, his gaze moving over her face. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I took Ella out on her own.’

Maisie’s stomach plunged with disappointment. ‘But I’ll have to feed her.’

‘Couldn’t you make up a bottle?’

‘She hasn’t had a bottle yet.’

‘She’s over three months old. It seems sensible to start.’

Maisie opened her mouth to argue, What did Antonio know about babies and bottles? but then she closed it again. He was right; if he was going to take their daughter out on his own, Ella would need to get used to bottles. But Maisie didn’t like any of it, couldn’t help but feel hurt.

‘Fine,’ she said. Antonio nodded, and then he opened the door and was gone. Maisie sagged against the wall, her body and heart both aching. How had that gone so disastrously wrong? And what had she been expecting or at least hoping to happen, really?

She stayed there for a few minutes, her head spinning, the house quiet and dark all around her. Then slowly she went upstairs; the bed was still rumpled and the sheets smelled of him. Maisie dragged in a quick, hitched breath and willed herself not to cry.

It was better this way. She knew what it was like to love and lose. The months and even years after her parents’ sudden death had left her with gaping wounds inside, wounds that had only just begun to heal. Could she even contemplate caring for someone else, and having those wounds ripped open?

Antonio was right to keep their relationship briskly businesslike. Tonight had been an aberration. A wonderful and devastating one.

Maisie climbed into bed and pulled the duvet right up over her head. For a few hours she wanted to block out the world. If only she could do the same with her memories. As it was, she lay in bed, her eyes scrunched shut, everything in her aching, as sleep refused to come.

* * *

‘Antonio!’

Maisie’s smile of surprised delight sucker-punched Antonio right in the gut. He smiled back, trying to maintain his slightly remote composure. Yes, he was here a day early, but it didn’t have to mean anything.

‘I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow,’ Maisie said as Antonio dropped his suit jacket and stretched out next to her and Ella on the blanket spread on the sun-dappled grass. The water of the pool sparkled in the sunlight and the smell of orange blossom wafted on the gentle breeze. It was a beautiful day, peaceful and pleasant, and a far cry from the grimy hustle and bustle of Milan’s business district.

‘I know you weren’t, but I ended up with some free time and I wanted to see Ella.’ Maisie’s face fell but she quickly reassembled her cheerful expression, giving him a smile.

‘I’m glad, and she is too, obviously.’

Antonio smiled down at his daughter and tickled her bare feet, earning a delighted grin and a little baby gurgle of laughter, the sound of simple joy wrapping around his heart and squeezing. Hard.

The truth was, he couldn’t have kept away if he’d tried, which he hadn’t. He’d wanted to be here, under the fig tree, in the sunlight, with Ella and Maisie. His family. The word wrapped around his heart with another breathless squeeze. How could he be thinking such a thing, never mind actually hoping for it? Was he crazy? Hadn’t he learned?

‘The other reason I’m here,’ he said, still gazing down at Ella, ‘is that a client of mine had tickets to see an opera at La Scala tonight and I thought you might like to go.’

‘To the opera?’ He glanced up to see Maisie goggling at him.