The Secret Kept from the Italian

‘And what about Ella?’ Max asked, making Maisie jerk up.

‘What about her?’

‘You don’t want her to get hurt, either,’ Max said seriously. ‘If Antonio isn’t in it for the long haul, Maisie...’

‘Maybe he is.’ Her heart had started thumping uncomfortably. She didn’t like what Max was saying, but she couldn’t really blame him for saying it. She knew he had her best interests at heart. He was only saying what she’d tried not to think about herself.

Max looked so sceptical that Maisie wished she could laugh, but she couldn’t. It mattered too much. It hurt too deeply. ‘Maisie,’ her brother said. ‘The man is a known playboy. One internet search was all I needed to do. Do you know how many women he’s dated? Supermodels and actresses and all the rest? None of them has lasted more than a week, usually less. A lot less.’

‘I know that.’ Maisie’s chest felt tight as she sought to keep her voice steady. ‘I know his reputation, Max.’ Even if she tried not to dwell on it.

‘So why do you think he’s changed?’ Max’s hazel eyes were full of compassion and, Maisie feared, pity. ‘Why do you think he’s different with you?’

What a question. How on earth could she answer it? Because it felt different? Because she wanted it to be different, so, so badly? ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered. Her throat was starting to thicken and she blinked rapidly. ‘He just is, Max. At least... I hope he is. With me.’ Which said it all, really. Sometimes that felt like all she had...hope.

Max was silent for a long moment, and Maisie could hardly look at him. She’d had three of the happiest months of her life, and yet here she was, still in a welter of fear and uncertainty. But was that her fault...or Antonio’s? They were both broken, scarred people, in different ways.

‘I’m just worried for you, Maise,’ Max said quietly. ‘That’s all. I want you to be happy. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Yes, of course I know that.’ Maisie managed a watery smile. ‘Thank you, Max.’

‘You’ve done so much for me,’ he persisted. ‘And it’s the least I can do to give you a bit of a warning. It might seem like tough love, but you gave me that over the years, didn’t you?’ His smile was wobbly and wry. ‘Remember when I went to that party when I was seventeen and came back drunk?’

‘I might,’ Maisie said with a little answering smile. ‘I held the bucket while you were sick into it.’

‘Yeah.’ Max’s smile turned sheepish and apologetic. ‘Sorry about that. But my point is, you grounded me for two weeks. I was annoyed and angry at the time, but I know now you were right to do it. You did the hard stuff because you loved me.’

‘And this is you doing the hard stuff?’ Maisie brushed at her eyes. ‘Well, thanks. I do appreciate it, Max. I know you’re looking out for me.’

‘And you know if it all goes wrong or ends badly, you’ve got a home with me? No matter what?’

Maisie suppressed a shudder at the thought of it ending badly. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘I mean that.’

After she’d said goodbye, Maisie buckled Ella into her stroller and went for a walk, mainly to clear her head of her endlessly circling thoughts and fears. After living there for three months, the narrow, winding streets had become familiar to her, as had the central square with its fountain and square for bocce. As she sat on a bench and watched the men bowl, the sun warm on her arms and face, she tried to let the worries die down.

So Antonio hadn’t said he loved her yet. She knew he was trying, and she thought he was happy. It should be okay. Saying three little words wasn’t insurance for anything, anyway. Her parents had told her they’d loved her plenty of times, and look how that had ended.

Sudden tears filled her eyes. Was she always going to be haunted by the ghosts of her past, the old hurts and griefs, just as Antonio was? She’d thought she’d healed, or at least as much as you could from losing people you loved, but loving Antonio showed her how afraid she still was. Not of him dying the way her parents had, necessarily, but of losing him all the same.

Ella was beginning to fuss and so, with a heavy heart, Maisie rose from the bench and started back towards the villa. She told herself she had so much to be thankful for—a beautiful home, a healthy baby, a kind and compassionate man in her life, new friends and, more recently, the opportunity to teach violin. She was really very blessed. Why couldn’t she be happy with what she had? Why did she have to constantly worry about losing it, and all the while wanting more?

Her mobile trilled as she came into the house, and a glance at the screen told her it was Antonio.

‘Where are you?’ he asked as she unbuckled Ella from her stroller, the phone cradled between her neck and ear.

‘I’m at home. Why?’

‘I’m sending a car for you. I’ve got an engagement tonight and I need you there.’

‘You do?’ She hadn’t been to a social event since that first charity gala, and now she found herself both excited and slightly annoyed by the possibility. ‘Antonio, it’s already four o’clock and Ella hasn’t even been fed—’

‘You can bring her as well. I’ll hire a babysitter.’

Maisie took a deep breath, determined not to find fault unnecessarily. The truth was, it would be fun to go out, and Ella was taking bottles easily now. ‘All right,’ she said. ‘I’ll get her ready.’

* * *

Antonio paced the living area of the penthouse as Maisie got ready in his bedroom. They’d spent very little time together in his apartment; in fact, she hadn’t been there since the night of the charity gala, when he’d felt as if his very soul were being blown apart and then reformed as something new and fragile. He had, Antonio reflected, compartmentalised his life quite neatly. Maisie and Ella tucked away in their villa, and his bachelor life in the city. Not that he’d taken advantage of the separation; he couldn’t begin to imagine being with another woman when he had Maisie in his life. But he’d done it unconsciously, as a way to keep that little bit of distance that felt so necessary and that he knew, deep down, could be so destructive.