The Italian's Token Wife

‘Let us be happy for ever,’ he said softly, and kissed her quietly, lovingly, with all his heart.

There was a tug at his leg.

‘Pick up!’ demanded a little voice.

Rafaello stooped and scooped up the little boy and hugged him close. And the three of them stood there, in the pouring rain, in the gusting wind, beside the cold grey sea, their arms around each other.

My family, thought Magda, and her heart turned over.

Rafaello hefted Benji onto his shoulders. The little boy squealed with glee and clutched his bearer’s hair.

‘Ouch!’ said Rafaello. ‘Benji—don’t pull Papà’s hair. Now you are my son you must be nice to me.’

He started to walk towards the shore.

‘Come on,’ he called to Magda. ‘We have a flight to catch. My father is desperate to make amends to you, Maria and my aunt are desperate to get Benji to themselves again, and I—I am just desperate for you!’

With the crunch of shingle under her feet she hurried after them, her husband and her son. Her heart was singing, and it was a song that would never end.