The Secret Kept from the Italian

by Kate Hewitt

  ‘You couldn’t have realised—’

  ‘No, but I should have. I should have known. I should have been careful instead of reckless. Should have thought of him rather than seeking my own stupid adrenaline rush.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Maisie asked quietly.

  ‘It started to rain. He wanted to stop. I insisted we keep going—racing down an empty street in the middle of the night.’ He shook his head, regret lancing through him yet again. ‘It was crazy. So crazy. It was as if I couldn’t think. Couldn’t see sense. And because I was his big brother, he did what I said. He put his foot on the accelerator and jumped ahead of me.’ He closed his eyes again, the images flashing against his lids, impossible to erase. ‘The car spun out of control. I watched it happen. Saw it crash into a barrier, and then burst into flames.’ He stopped, unable to go on even though he knew he had to. He’d never spoken to anyone about what he’d seen. Doing it now felt like an exorcism. ‘Stood and did nothing as my brother burned to death.’

  ‘Oh, Antonio.’ Her voice was full of sorrow instead of judgement and for some inexplicable reason that made Antonio angry.

  He shook off her palm and glared at her. ‘Don’t you understand?’ he demanded. ‘I as good as killed him.’

  Maisie regarded him steadily, unfazed by his sneering fury. ‘I know you feel as if you did,’ she said quietly, her gaze still on him, ‘but you didn’t.’

  ‘You can’t say that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He shifted restlessly where he sat, her questions both infuriating and unsettling him. ‘Because you weren’t there. You didn’t see. You don’t know—’

  ‘And you do? Why do you hate yourself so much, Antonio? Why can’t you forgive yourself? You didn’t know your brother was going to die. You never wanted to hurt him.’

  ‘But I did.’

  ‘What happened after your brother died?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘To your family.’

  Her perception took his breath away. ‘I ruined my family,’ he said flatly. ‘Ruined it.’

  ‘Based on what you said about your parents fighting and your father’s depression, it seems it already had its problems.’

  ‘I made it a thousand times worse.’

  ‘Your brother’s death made it a thousand times worse,’ Maisie corrected. ‘But it’s been eleven years, Antonio. The grief never goes away, I know that, but you heal.’ She reached for him again, her fingertips brushing his cheek. ‘Why haven’t you healed?’

  The question blindsided him. No one had ever asked him before. No one had ever known to ask. He realised in that moment just how broken he was inside, and how Maisie saw it. She’d seen it since the night she’d first met him, and he’d hated that, but in this moment it almost felt freeing. She saw him, and she was still here.

  ‘I don’t know why I haven’t,’ he admitted in a jagged voice, his eyes closed. ‘I just know it’s true.’

  ‘Healing only comes with forgiveness. You have to forgive yourself, Antonio. Even if there are people in your life who won’t.’

  ‘My parents hate me. They won’t speak to me.’ He tried to speak matter-of-factly and failed. ‘They haven’t spoken to me since Paolo’s funeral.’

  ‘That’s not your fault.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘No.’

  He opened his eyes, touched by the sincerity in her tone, and comforted by the sureness. ‘How can you be such a good person, Maisie Dobson?’ he asked quietly as he stared into her face, which was full of compassion and sorrow. ‘You’ve endured so much hardship. How can you still be kind? How can you still believe that good things happen?’

  ‘Because the alternative is too terrible,’ she answered quietly. ‘There would be no reason for living, no hope if I didn’t believe that there was a purpose to the pain, hope amidst the suffering.’

  ‘You’re too good for me.’ As soon as he said the words he knew how true they were. She was far too good for him. He’d corrupt her, ruin her, just as he had ruined his family. That was why he had stayed away.

  Except he wasn’t staying away now. No, he was leaning forward, taking her hands in his, needing to ground himself in the wonderful reality of her touch, her acceptance.

  Maisie’s eyes widened but she didn’t move away, didn’t drop his hands. She waited.

  Everything felt suspended in that moment, taut with expectancy and even hope, something he hadn’t felt in far too long.

  ‘Maisie,’ Antonio said, and it was both question and answer. Her lips parted but no sound came out, and then Antonio leaned forward and kissed her.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE BRUSH OF Antonio’s lips across hers felt like coming home. Maisie knew she wasn’t the first person to think such a thing, but it was true. So true, in this moment when all her doubts and uncertainties were swept away by the honesty of Antonio’s pain and the promise of his kiss.

  He brought his hands up to cradle her face, the touch so tender it made Maisie ache, as they kissed and kissed, a communication of their souls. This felt so much deeper and more intimate than when they’d come together before, so much more profound, and yet it was only a kiss. Except it wasn’t just a kiss; it was life-giving and receiving, on and on.

  Eventually Antonio tore his mouth from hers, his hand still framing her face as he looked into her eyes. ‘Maisie...’

  ‘I want this, Antonio.’ She pressed her hand to his cheek, feeling utterly sure. ‘I want this so much.’

  He didn’t need to be told twice. He rose from the sofa and, taking her by the hand, led her upstairs. The house was dark and quiet all around them, everything hushed and expectant. In her bedroom, Antonio dropped her hand and Maisie turned to him, waiting, ready and sure.

  Antonio drew her to him and kissed her softly, tenderly. Maisie closed her eyes. Everything about this felt different from before, when things between them had been urgent, desperate, and more than a little sad.

  Now, amidst the burgeoning passion and need, Maisie felt an unfurling of hope, of happiness, and she thought Antonio felt it too. Surely he couldn’t kiss her this way, so reverently, if he didn’t.

  He was kissing her with such tenderness and sweet passion that Maisie’s heart flipped over and melted, everything in her straining and yearning as she pressed her body against his and offered him everything.

  Clothes slipped off seemingly by themselves; a whisper of cloth, the snick of a button or zip. Antonio’s body was beautiful, burnished by moonlight, the lambent light catching his perfectly sculpted muscles.

  He pulled back the duvet and then reached for her hand; they lay down in a splayed tangle of limbs, hands and mouths seeking each other as the rest of the world dropped away.

  Maisie arched and writhed under Antonio’s knowing yet tender touch, marvelling at how well he knew her, how he discovered her secret places and brought her to glittering precipices of pleasure over and over again until she finally fell among the shards, crying out as her body convulsed under his.

  He rolled on top of her, reaching for a condom from the pocket of his trousers as Maisie gave a throaty laugh.

  ‘You came prepared.’

  ‘It never hurts.’

  Seconds later he sank inside her, and Maisie closed her eyes as he filled her right up, and they began to move in exquisite, joined rhythm, climbing towards those dazzling heights yet again.

  Afterwards, Antonio wrapped his arms around her as he rolled onto his back, taking her with him. She felt cocooned by his embrace, safe and protected in a way she couldn’t remember feeling for such a long time. She wasn’t in charge. She didn’t need to cling to her control. She could just be held.

  Neither of them spoke, but then Maisie didn’t think they needed to say anything. At some point she fell into a sated doze, only to startle awake when she heard Ella’s
plaintive cry.

  ‘I’ll get her,’ Antonio murmured in her ear, and carefully he disentangled himself from her. Still sleepy, Maisie curled up in the warm space left in the bed as Antonio pulled on his boxers and went in search of their daughter.

  She dozed again, only to wake at the low, thrumming sound of Antonio singing. Holding her breath, Maisie listened for a few moments before she grabbed her dressing gown and belted it around her waist, then tiptoed down the corridor to Ella’s room.

  Antonio held his daughter in one powerful arm, rocking her gently as he sang a lullaby in Italian, his baritone caressing the musical syllables. Ella blinked up at him, transfixed, and Maisie’s heart swelled with both love and gratitude. She wouldn’t trade this moment for the world. She just wished she could hold on to it.

  Antonio swayed slightly as he sang, and Maisie watched as Ella’s eyelids began to droop. Another few moments and then her daughter was asleep, and Antonio laid her gently in the cot.

  He caught Maisie’s eye as he straightened, and smiled. Maisie smiled back, feeling yet another welling-up of love and thankfulness, almost painful in its intensity. It was scary to feel this much. To want this much.

  Because in that moment she wanted Antonio. Not just as a lover or a friend, but as a partner. A soulmate. The realisation jolted her, a bolt of terror lancing right through her, and the smile dropped from her face.

  Antonio frowned, catching the change in mood, and in silence they walked back to her bedroom.

  ‘Thank you,’ Maisie began haltingly. ‘For...for rocking her to sleep.’

  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.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘With...with you?’

  ‘Yes, with me.’ Antonio managed a wry smile. The truth was, a client hadn’t given him the tickets. He’d bought them himself, because he thought Maisie would enjoy attending, and he’d wanted to go with her. Be with her. That impulse, that need, had trumped every other precaution or concern or doubt. For now.

  ‘I’d love to go, but...’ Maisie bit her lip. ‘What about Ella?’

  ‘I can arrange a babysitter for her. We can leave after she’s fallen asleep.’ He smiled, cocking his head. ‘You have to do it some time, you know.’

  ‘I know. And I did try with a bottle this morning and it was fine...’

  ‘There you are, then.’

  Her face lit up, and then immediately fell. ‘I have nothing to wear.’

  ‘That,’ Antonio assured her, ‘is easily remedied. And in any case, you don’t need to dress in a particularly fancy way. Doing so will only make you l
ook like a tourist.’

  Maisie laughed as she brushed a curly strand of hair from her eyes. ‘Heavens, we wouldn’t want that!’

  ‘No, indeed.’

  Just a few hours later they were settled in a limo, driving to see La Traviata at La Scala in Milan. The babysitter, the grandmotherly woman who had been teaching Maisie Italian, was entirely at ease with Ella—allowing Maisie to relax. Antonio saw the sparkle in her eyes as she strained to catch a glimpse of the iconic building.

  She wore a dress of soft black jersey that clung to her womanly curves and made Antonio ache to touch her. All afternoon and evening he’d battled with himself, caught between wanting to be careful and simply wanting Maisie. To be with her, to talk to her, to touch her. It was more than a matter of craving; it was his soul’s need. And he wasn’t going to examine it farther than that. Not tonight, at least.

  ‘Wow,’ Maisie breathed as they took their seats in a private box in the theatre, with its plush red velvet and ornate gold decoration. ‘Antonio, this is amazing.’

  ‘I’m glad you think so.’ He loved watching her take it all in, the pleasure that lit her from within. He was glad he’d bought the tickets, glad he’d come here. Glad, so glad, he was with her.

  The lights dimmed and the first notes of the opera swelled. Maisie gave him an excited little smile. Antonio returned the grin, then settled back to watch the opera...and Maisie.

  As the opera continued, Antonio found he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was enchanting and so very lovely, enraptured by every note and movement, talking non-stop during the intermission as they sipped champagne in the elegant foyer.

  ‘Sorry, sorry,’ she said with a laugh when she paused to take a breath. ‘I’m rabbiting on...’

  ‘No,’ Antonio assured her. ‘I love listening to you.’

  A small, surprised smile stole across her face and Antonio smiled back, determined not to give in to his fears. Wanting to be different.

  Several hours later they walked out into the starry night, to his limo waiting at the kerb.