The Secret Kept from the Italian

The truth was, she felt lonely. Six months, or now five and a half, felt like a very long time. If Antonio made more of an effort, let her in a little...but he didn’t. Maisie knew she shouldn’t care, because he wasn’t the sort of man to pin her dreams on. A ruthless playboy, no matter how devoted a father he seemed, was not a good bet.

She’d just put Ella down to sleep, the house full of shadows and pools of lamplight, when a knock sounded on the door. Surprised, Maisie went to answer it—then stared in shock at Antonio standing there.

‘I didn’t think you were coming today,’ she said. ‘And in any case, Ella is asleep.’

‘I didn’t come for Ella.’

A shiver of apprehension and excitement rippled through her. Maisie stepped back from the door to let him inside. Now that she was looking at him properly, she saw how restless and even angry he seemed, his fists loosely clenched, the buttons of his shirt undone. Stubble grazed his jaw and his hair was rumpled. Despite the tension emanating from him, he looked utterly appealing. She took another step back, reminding herself how easily she’d fallen for him once before.

‘What’s going on, Antonio?’

‘Do you have anything to drink?’

‘Sorry, I don’t.’ She folded her arms. ‘Why did you come here?’

He gave her a crooked smile as he strode into the living room and flung himself down on the sofa. ‘Because I couldn’t face being alone.’

Curiosity warred with compassion as Maisie perched on the sofa opposite him. ‘Why not?’

He tilted his head up to stare at the ceiling. ‘Do you know what day it is, Maisie?’

It took her a moment to realise, and then she did with a thud, a deep, sinking sensation inside her. ‘It’s the anniversary of your brother’s death,’ she said softly.

‘And Ella’s conception.’ He lowered his head to laser her with that piercing blue gaze. ‘Do you remember?’

Her mouth was dry, her heart thumping. ‘Of course I do, Antonio. But I thought you didn’t want to.’

‘Just because of that one time I pretended not to know you?’ His mouth quirked wryly.

‘Not just that,’ Maisie allowed. ‘Other things.’ She took a deep breath, her hands twisted together. ‘Sometimes it seems as if you enjoy being with me, and sometimes...not. Sometimes,’ she continued, her voice growing stronger, ‘it seems as if you don’t even like me.’

Antonio let out a hollow laugh. ‘I like you, Maisie. I like you too damn much.’

It shouldn’t thrill her, but it did. ‘Then why...?’

‘Do you think I’m a total bastard?’

The question made her blink. ‘No...’

‘Just somewhat of one?’

‘No. I don’t admire your business practices, but as a man...’ She trailed off uncertainly. This conversation felt as intimate as the one they’d shared exactly a year ago, when she’d wandered into that office, and, unknowingly, into her future.

Antonio looked at her again, heat and something deeper and sadder visible in his gaze. ‘As a man?’

‘I don’t know, Antonio. You haven’t given me a chance to know you.’

‘Because I don’t think you’d like what you discovered.’

‘Perhaps you should let me be the judge of that,’ Maisie said softly. ‘Because a lot of what I do see, I like and admire.’ Antonio made a scoffing noise, and she continued, her voice growing steadier and stronger as she realised how much she believed what she was saying. ‘You’re loving and gentle and tender with Ella. And you’re considerate and thoughtful with me, thinking of things I need before I even know I need them, and working to provide them.’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Money.’

‘Not just money. Time and effort and thought, as well. And you can be charming and funny—’

‘A veneer.’

‘A nice one, then. Why do you think so little of yourself, Antonio? What’s haunting you?’ Because something surely was, and Maisie longed to know what it was. To help and even free this man she’d come to care about, even if she hadn’t meant or wanted to. Even if he’d been keeping his distance and she had too, both of them protecting their hearts. Or was she merely being fanciful, hopeful...? ‘Is it your brother’s death?’ Maisie asked quietly.