by Dani Collins
His expression darkened, his mouth tightening.
The very opposite of the woman I married...
His eyes shadowed. Was that the reason for Jenna Ayrton’s appeal to him? And if it was, then—
For a moment...just a moment...he felt unease furrow his brow—then discarded it. Why recall his lawyer’s warnings? How could they possibly apply? Jenna Ayrton was Amelie’s teacher, here for the summer only, and if he found enjoyment in her company it was for the sake of her conversation, because of her natural interest in the little girl she was here to teach—the child who was now safe from the malign machinations of her mother. To give the slightest heed to his lawyer’s warning would be absurd.
Now, as he set a vigorous pace through the steep wooded hillside, he glanced back at the woman who was so unlike his toxic ex-wife—unlike, come to that, any of the woman he’d celebrated his freedom from Berenice with. She was a good few steps behind him, but not lagging.
‘When I was younger,’ he remarked, ‘I used to run through the trails here, and as a boy I had a treehouse, where I would hide out. I might get it rebuilt for Amelie. Would she like that, do you think?’
‘I’m sure she’d love it,’ Jenna replied. ‘Any child would.’
‘And you? Would you have loved a treehouse?’ he enquired, throwing another glance at her.
‘Oh, yes,’ was her answer.
It did not satisfy him. He paused in his stride, letting her catch up. ‘Is that all? You know I am not content with monosyllables.’
She looked away, through the cathedral of trees. ‘It would have been a good place to hide,’ she said. ‘My step-siblings resented my presence in their home, so I learnt to keep out of their way. A treehouse would have been ideal for that. As it was, I had to make do with cowering behind the garden shed, where it was full of brambles and nettles, hiding there for hours sometimes, frightened they would find me and delight in taunting and tormenting me.’
There was a bleakness in her face as she looked back into her miserable childhood—the kind of childhood she had feared Amelie might be similarly doomed to had he himself turned out to be cut from the same cloth her callous father obviously had been.
His mouth set. Well, Amelie’s childhood was safe now. There was no question—none—of anything else. But as for her teacher...
He had probed into her wretched childhood, confronted the misery she’d endured—the misery that had reaffirmed for him how absolutely essential it had been for him not to condemn Amelie to the custody of an unloving parent. But the misery still cast a pall over her. Haunting her. Blighting her.
Evandro rapidly marshalled the thoughts in his head, rearranging them in a way he had not seen, had not expected, shaping them into a new, fast-strengthening resolve.
His eyes went to her. The dappled sunlight played on her light brown hair, loosened from its plait by the hard-paced walking and forming tendrils that softened her features. Her cheeks had become flushed by exertion, her hazel eyes were made green by the canopy of leaves overhead, and her slight breasts were lifted by her faster breathing after their hike. Into his head came, once again, the description he’d given her during that first dramatic encounter by the deadly rockfall.
A woodland sprite... A sylph of the forest...who might vanish away into the forest’s depths, unseen.
Invisible.
As invisible as her callous father had made her feel.
As invisible as she still thought herself.
Evandro’s eyes flashed with sudden intensity. Sudden decision.
I don’t want her to be invisible. Not any longer. Not to herself.
Nor to me.
The added thought came into his head unbidden, but he quickly banished it.
CHAPTER SIX
EVANDRO RESTED HIS elbow in relaxed fashion on the rim of the open driver’s window of the sleek, silver-grey saloon car which carried the three of them far more comfortably than the low-slung supercar he’d arrived in. He was waiting for his passengers to emerge from the palazzo and he was looking forward to the day ahead.
Ostensibly the outing was to buy new, far more suitable clothes for Amelie, but there was something else he had every intention of achieving today.
His eyes glinted, satisfaction filling him.
His glance went to the front door, and he was rewarded by its opening and two figures coming out. Amelie—wearing a sequinned pink top and a yellow puffball skirt, thereby demonstrating to him the absolute necessity of a new wardrobe—ran forward as he got out to open the rear passenger door for her with a deliberate flourish, restricting his comments on her dire appearance to say only that she looked so dazzling he would need sunglasses.
She clambered in, settling herself on the booster seat, and he checked her safety belt was secure before turning back to Jenna.
She was looking, he noticed immediately, somehow less plain this morning. Perhaps because they were going out for the day.
The light blue shirt dress she was wearing looked surprisingly neat on her, with its narrow belt emphasising her small waist and its lapels—whether she was aware of it or not, and he suspected she was not—drawing attention to the discreet swell of her breasts beneath the prosaic cotton of her bodice.
And although, as usual, she had not a scrap of make-up on, there was a glow in her eyes, and in her complexion, that was also perhaps due to the prospect of the day out ahead.
Whatever the cause, he welcomed it.
Firmly, he closed the rear passenger door of the car. He had no intention of letting her sit beside Amelie in the back.
‘I want you here, beside me,’ he declared, gesturing to the front passenger seat, ‘so that I may point out the sights. You’ve been cooped up far too long, so we shall be combining shopping with sightseeing.’ He threw a glance at her as she complied with his wishes and settled herself in the front. ‘It’s time you saw something of the region.’
‘There really is no necessity to take me sightseeing—’ Jenna began, making a predictable objection to his plans, but he overrode it briskly.
‘We’ll also be including a visit to a nearby Roman villa—a notable archaeological site, which I’m sure will be sufficiently educational for Amelie, in case you have any reservations about her taking a day off.’ He gunned the engine. ‘And now...avanti!’
He swept off in a spray of gravel towards the narrow drive that dropped steeply down to the highway below. The memory of Jenna running into the path of his car to stop him hitting the rockfall sprang vivid in his head and he turned towards her.
His tone as he spoke was different from his earlier light-hearted pronouncement. Serious now...sombre. ‘I never thanked you for what you did back then—only yelled at you. You most likely saved my life.’
A sudden cold filled him.
If I’d died then—smashed myself to pieces—Amelie would have been returned to Berenice, doomed to grow up twisted and distorted like her mother, either to become as selfish and as narcissistic as she is, or else hurt and damaged beyond measure, forever craving a love the woman is incapable of.
It was a thought beyond bearing.
‘So, belatedly, I thank you now,’ he said.
Jenna’s eyes met his, and in that moment there was a sudden intensity, even if it lasted only a fraction of a second.
And as he pulled his focus back to the narrow road, the moment reverberated in his head.
* * *
‘Pasta for pranzo!’ Evandro declared as they settled themselves down at one of the outside tables of a trattoria in the piazza of the ancient medieval hilltop town where they’d stopped to eat lunch.
The day so far had been wonderful—Jenna had enjoyed it all. First, they’d gone to see the excavated Roman villa, where Amelie had admired the mosaics and her father had explained the hypocaust heating system to them both, and then they’d driven on thro
ugh the rolling countryside, past cornfields and vineyards, and stately cedars marching along the roads, with Evandro pointing out sights of historic and geographical interest, telling them about wine production and how people had lived in the past, and tales of famous and heroic figures.
Whether or not Amelie had taken it all in, Jenna wasn’t sure, but it was all part of her learning curve, and it brought to vivid life the lessons she’d had in the schoolroom.
As for herself, she couldn’t deny how enjoyable it was to see the wider countryside of this part of Italy—which she had never previously visited—and nor could she deny how enjoyable it was be included. Or how enjoyable it was to feel so comfortable as she did now with Evandro.
She replayed in her head the way he’d thanked her for stopping his car from crashing into the rockfall, his voice so sombre. The way he’d looked at her as he’d spoken had had something about it that had stilled her with its intensity. But then it had gone, and his attention had been on his driving again.
Her eyes went to him now, as he discussed the pasta options with Amelie, their heads bent together over a menu, one so dark and one so fair. A memory plucked at her of how she’d wondered from which side of her parentage Amelie had got her blond hair and fair colouring. But what did it matter? Her expression softened as she watched the two of them, so natural together now, so completely at ease with each other.
Her fears for Amelie had been completely eliminated.
She will never be the lonely outcast with no place to belong that I was.
She felt her throat tighten. Was that not still true for her? However lovely it was to be taken out like this, to be on such easy terms with the man who employed her, to be so fond of the little girl who was her pupil, to be so glad that the child and the father were building a close, mutually affectionate relationship, she herself was only an outsider—an observer.
I’ll be gone by the autumn and I’ll likely never see them again.
The thought was like a needle, piercing her, and the sharpness of it shocked her.
She seized a menu, making herself focus on the contents. Yes, her time in Italy would end—her time with Amelie at the beautiful palazzo and her time with Evandro.
But till then... Till then she would enjoy all that she had here.
* * *
‘Are we going shopping now?’
Amelie’s hopeful voice piped up as they got back into the car. After a leisurely lunch, they’d gone to look inside the church in the piazza—famed locally, Evandro had informed Jenna, for its quattrocento murals. Though Amelie had enjoyed lighting a candle to the Madonna and the Infant Jesus, she was keener on heading off to the shops for the promised shopping expedition.
‘Yes, you little magpie, we are!’ her father confirmed, and they set off, leaving the picturesque hilltop town and heading towards the largest town of the region, which had a sizeable shopping district, including a department store, where they parked.
Once in the children’s clothes section, Amelie ran gleefully forward.
‘And now,’ Evandro informed Jenna ruthlessly, ‘I shall leave you to it. Get her everything she needs. And make sure you include a couple of dressier pieces that are preferable alternatives to her current appalling collection,’ he finished grimly. ‘I’ll be back in an hour to pay.’
Then he was gone.
The hour, naturally enough, flashed by, and by dint of steering Amelie’s pleasurable indecision with her gently firm guidance, Jenna helped her select a sufficient number of suitable garments.
On the dot, her father reappeared.
‘Much better,’ he said approvingly of Amelie’s simple gingham sundress, promptly paying for it and all the other purchases with the flick of a very exclusive-looking credit card.
Then he hunkered down beside Amelie and spoke to her in a low, conspiratorial tone. Amelie’s eyes lit up, and she nodded vigorously.
Evandro straightened, hefting up the plentiful carrier bags. ‘Now it’s your turn,’ he said to Jenna.
She stared. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Amelie wants you to have a new dress,’ he informed her, his voice as smooth as butter. ‘To say thank you for all the maths lessons.’
Amelie tugged at Jenna’s hand. ‘It isn’t really for the maths lessons,’ she told her. ‘Because I don’t like maths and I would rather not have maths lessons, so Papà is only teasing. But it is to say thank you.’ She was gazing up at Jenna. ‘It’s a present from me,’ she said. Uncertainty hovered in her face suddenly. ‘If...if you want a present from me...’ Her little voice trailed off, her eyes anxious.
It was impossible to refuse—unthinkable.
Jenna caught Amelie’s other hand and squeezed both tightly. ‘I’d adore a present from you,’ she said warmly. ‘And a new dress would be absolutely lovely.’
How could she possibly reject the little girl? Even though she’d been ruthlessly—shamelessly—manoeuvred into this by Evandro, for whatever amusement that it might afford him. Though for the life of her she could not imagine why, unless it was an act of casual lordly benevolence... Or maybe—and more likely, she thought with her customary painful honesty—it was masculine revulsion at being seen out with a female who was so utterly unlike any kind of female he’d have chosen for companionship.
Amelie’s face had lit up at her fulsome reply and, consigning herself to her fate, Jenna let herself be led towards the womenswear department.
She’d fully expected her employer to disappear again, but he deposited himself in one of the large leather armchairs positioned for the convenience of those males haplessly corralled into clothes shopping, and availed himself of the several sporting magazines provided to lessen the grim ordeal.
Amelie, happily in her element again, marched Jenna up and down the racks of clothing until she found one that displayed what she was after.
‘These are like my dresses, but in your size,’ she told Jenna, starting to rifle through the display.
A shop assistant glided up and joined in enthusiastically.
Jenna gave in, defeated.
* * *
Evandro logged off his computer, all the work he’d intended to do today satisfactorily completed. His senior executive team was happy, his shareholders were happy, his clients were happy, his project managers were happy—and he was happy.
He sat for a moment, wondering at that. Wondering that he should be happy at all. It wasn’t an emotion he was used to. Not for years. Then, getting to his feet, he stopped wondering, and simply enjoyed the sensation.
He glanced at his watch—four o’clock. Time for afternoon tea. A very special afternoon tea—a tea party, in fact. With everyone looking the part.
Including Jenna Ayrton, who would be wearing the new dress he’d shamelessly manoeuvred her into accepting.
He’d done so quite deliberately.
As they’d walked through the woods that day he’d resolved not to let her be invisible any more. Not to let her be haunted by her miserable childhood. He didn’t want her endlessly hiding from the world, tucking herself away, out of sight, thinking so harshly of herself...
And now he would see what his scheming had achieved. He’d given Amelie strict instructions that morning—instructions that had made her eyes light up gleefully and enthusiastically—and now, as he strolled out of the library, his eyes went to the wide marble stairway descending into the hall.
And there they were. Amelie and Jenna. Coming down the stairs.
Amelie looked as pretty as a picture in one of the new dresses purchased the previous day, with her long golden hair held back by a floral Alice band that had a bow on it to match the yellow sash of her full-skirted dress with its delicate pattern of little yellow roses. She was beaming widely, sedately holding Jenna’s hand, and Evandro felt something clutch at him to see her smiling so trustingly at him, filling him with an
emotion that gripped him with an intensity he had never felt so fiercely.
She was safe here, with him to look after her as best he could. And he would keep her safe—for her sake and for his own. The child who had been deliberately kept from him, deliberately used as a weapon against him, was a stranger no longer.
He felt his heart clench with protectiveness...with love.
I may have no qualifications to be a father, and I may have had to feel my way, day by day, to win her confidence, her trust, but now...
In his head he heard the words that Jenna had spoken to him.
Every child should be valued, wanted...loved.
Emotion welled in him as Amelie, letting go of her teacher’s hand, ran up to him.
And she is all of those—all of them. Valued, wanted...and loved.
He stooped to hug her, feeling her little arms wind about his neck, feeling again that welling of emotion inside him. Then he stood up, his eyes going to Jenna.
Por Dio!
She was not invisible at all.
Like a woodland sprite...
The words popped into his head of their own accord as his gaze rested on her, unable to tear itself away. Her slender figure was as graceful as a dryad’s in the soft green of her ballerina-length, fifties-style dress, with its gathered skirt and the sweetheart neckline that ruched over her shoulders, left her arms bare, emphasised her tiny waist.
For the first time she was wearing her hair loose, in the same style as Amelie, held back softly from her face with a green velvet ribbon. As for her face... His eyes glinted. She was wearing make-up. Not much—a little mascara, some smoky eyeshadow to deepen her eyes, turned now to a forest-green like her dress, and a touch of lip gloss to bring a sheen to her curving mouth—but it was enough for him to see that her delicate features would draw the male eye as they had never drawn it before...making it want only to appreciate...to linger...
Then Amelie was speaking to him, her voice eager. ‘Do we look nice, Papà, Miss Jenna and me?’
