by Joanne Walsh
“Lorenzo!” the older woman cried and greeted him with a three-cheek kiss. The younger one followed suit.
“This is Sister Anna, and this is Sister Sophia,” he said, putting his arm around Ashlynne. “They are youth workers with the project.” He said something to them in rapid Italian, which Ashlynne didn’t quite catch, after which both ladies stepped forward to hug her.
At that moment, a small boy of about five appeared and went up Lorenzo, clutching a toy truck. He tugged at Lorenzo’s coat and proudly held the vehicle out for inspection. Ashlynne melted as Lorenzo squatted down to the boy’s eye-level and began discussing the toy in great detail.
“Lorenzo arranged for every child to have a gift to open today,” Sister Anna explained in good English, her kind eyes beaming. “And for the food for the Christmas feast. In fact, he is our biggest benefactor here. If it weren’t for him, we wouldn’t have half the things we do, or be able to fund new initiatives. He really understands the challenges the kids have around here.”
More children of all ages filed into the hall, holding their Christmas presents and gathering around Lorenzo, wanting to excitedly show him what they’d got and thank him.
“He comes here at least twice a week when he’s in Venice,” volunteered Sister Sophia. “The kids adore him.”
Ashlynne just nodded and smiled. She was too overwhelmed to speak. Just then, she knew for sure that this man had changed. He had most definitely changed and opened his heart.
*
Back at the apartment, she set about putting the lamb joint on to roast, and to prepare all the vegetables and trimmings for their meal, while Lorenzo started building a fire in the main salon’s fireplace. She could hear him swearing to himself every now and then. It clearly wasn’t going quite as well as he’d hoped. Finally, he came into the kitchen looking pleased with himself.
“Been having trouble?” she asked him mildly, trying to suppress a smile.
“No, not really. There’s an art to building a good fire, you know. The logs and the kindling need to be placed in a certain way, and the draught down the chimney has to be just right. It takes time.”
“Oh-kay,” she replied. “But you got it going?”
“It’s roaring away now.” He poked around at the foodstuffs she had laid out on the counter. “Did you find the rosemary to go with those potatoes?”
“Yes, chef, got it here, along with the salt, flour, garlic and olive oil, ready for roasting. Perhaps you’d like to do the coating for the potatoes?”
“Okay, but I’m going to open a bottle of wine first.”
“Sounds good.” As she finished peeling the veg, she watched him as he went about the kitchen, seeking out glasses and one of the bottles of Valpolicella. His sky-blue cashmere sweatshirt hugged his muscled torso very nicely over a long-sleeved T-shirt, and his tightly-fitting denims stretched out over his long legs and tight butt. And now, his hair was sexily mussed and he had an adorable smudge of charcoal on his cheek from his labors with the fire.
She fluttered a little inside, remembering how that taut body had covered hers when he’d made love to her last night. But he’d also looked a little tired and drained since they’d got back from their outing, probably because it had been so emotional. She still felt raw at what he’d revealed to her about his terrible childhood. It had been so different to hers, growing up on a pleasant south London suburban street with two loving parents and two older brothers. She ached for the little boy who’d lived in that loveless, chaotic world in Cannaregio, who’d had nobody to care for or comfort him. She also felt hugely proud of him for his fight to overcome it all, and for achieving what he had. His support and work for the Bambini project was incredible.
But now, she understood: he’d grown up not knowing the meanings of love, or loyalty or permanence. No wonder their marriage had failed.
She wondered what was going on in his head about them now. Was he thinking about where she and he stood? He hadn’t said anything yet about it, or what his expectations were. Maybe he didn’t have any. Perhaps he was happy with the physical revival of their relationship, but would be content to let her go in the next day or two. Perhaps, because of the way things had been for him, he didn’t really care as much as she did. Possibly, today had been about letting her know he was damaged and would never be able to. Was she prepared to do the loving for both of them? The thought chilled her heart. Was that what it was really all about?
She felt her courage draining from her as so many realizations came flooding in, and she grasped the concept of loving a man who might never be able to love her back as much as she needed or wanted him to.
She tried hard to remind herself of all the good things this Christmas interlude had revealed; of all the good things she’d discovered about him. Finding that he had cared about their baby had been a release from the sadness and anger she’d carried around with her, like a great sack on her back.
If only she could exist on her love for him, on their passionate love-making. But, she reminded herself, that was what had swept her along when she’d married him. Time and events had proved she couldn’t and it wasn’t. And anyway, Claudia still loomed like a dark shadow; what was the use of love based on a lie that could never be disproved?
She had to face it: at some point very soon, she was going to have to leave and put him behind her once more. When she thought about that, her heart felt heavy with longing and sadness.
She forced her whirling thoughts to stop. What was the point of agonizing about something that could never be? She had to concentrate on enjoying what was left of her time with Lorenzo and their Christmas celebration.
They tucked into their Christmas dinner of roast lamb with a red wine and cranberry sauce, green beans, baked fennel, chestnut puree and rosemary potatoes, followed by the Bramble House plum pudding cake served with cream.
“This cowboy cake is almost as good as having sex with you, tesoro,” Lorenzo pronounced dryly, leaning across the table to help himself to another slice.
“I’m glad you said almost,” she retorted, “otherwise there might not be second helpings of either for you.”
“Ah, I know you can’t resist me, ciccia.”
She laughed, but underneath, an undertow of sadness was dragging her down because she knew that was the truth.
After dinner, they settled on the couch in front of the crackling fire, sipping wine and nibbling on what was left of Nonna’s cookies. The lights on the ceppo in the window winked and sparkled. Lorenzo talked about his plans for Bambini, including a scheme to offer training to the teenagers in hotel management, and Ashlynne was struck by an idea.
“You’ve made me think of something. The Curly Bird salon could offer an underprivileged kid an apprenticeship. If it went well, I could think about making it an annual thing.”
“Go for it, tesoro. I’d be happy to help sponsor it.”
“You would?” She surveyed him over the rim of her wineglass. “Does that mean you’re thinking of staying in touch when I go back to London?”
“I was thinking of more than that.” He took her glass out of her hands, placed on the table in front of them, then turned and laced his fingers around hers. He met her eyes. “I was thinking of asking you to marry me again.”
For a few stunned seconds, she struggled to find her voice. “Marry me again?” she echoed in disbelief.
Chapter Nine
‡
He reached out to tenderly stroke her hair. “Is the thought of remarrying me so awful?” he asked gently.
She took a deep breath to steady herself. “I just wasn’t expecting it. I’d got the impression that you were enjoying the time we’re spending together . . . but that you’ll be happy to let me go when the weather improves.”
He looked puzzled. “What gave you that impression? I don’t recall saying anything to you about that.”
She looked away from him, biting her lip. “That’s just it. You didn’t say anything and I just . . . assumed
you would be wanting to say goodbye when the time came.” She shook her head. “And, anyway, it just wouldn’t be a good idea for me to stay. Look what happened when we married the last time.”
He played thoughtfully with a curl, but his gaze became intense. “Do you remember why we married the first time, Ash? How it was for us then?”
She hesitated, still working to get her breathing under control and staring into the flames leaping and flickering in the fireplace. “Yes, I remember,” she answered.
“I’ll never forget the first time I saw you in Sergio’s salon. I couldn’t believe how beautiful you were, couldn’t take my eyes off you. I kept on turning around to look at you, and Sergio had to yank my head back round to make me face the mirror.”
Her mouth curved upwards as a tide of warm and pleasant memories swept over her and she recalled their first meeting. Actually, it hadn’t been the first; she’d seen him in the salon before that, but had been so intimidated by his charisma and looks that she’d kept a low profile. She turned back to face him, not able to keep a grin from her lips. “You came back after your appointment was done with a bunch of beautiful flowers for me and you asked me out to dinner in front of everybody!”
“I didn’t want to give you the opportunity to turn me down.”
She looked at him shyly and her curl fell from his fingers. “You know, I was so nervous before that dinner date, my flatmate had to get me dressed and apply my makeup for me because I was trembling so much. I just couldn’t believe that someone like you would want to date an ordinary girl like me. I thought that when I turned up, you’d take one look at me and think better of it.”
“But I didn’t, cara. I think I fell in love with you there and then. You were far from ordinary; you were so fresh to me and exquisitely beautiful. You still are,” he added.
She looked up at him from under her lashes. “I think I fell in love with you too that night. It was like a wonderful dream. You swept me off my feet, treated me like a princess and we were engaged to be married in weeks.” She paused and frowned. “Though with hindsight, maybe we should have spent longer getting to know one another before getting hitched.”
He sighed. “Maybe. We were so caught up with one another that we didn’t really talk or think about practical things. I often regretted uprooting you like that and bringing you here to Venice. You were young, and it must have been very hard on you, leaving your friends and family, and your career, behind.”
She nodded. “It was. It’s a wonderful city, but I knew nobody here and I didn’t speak the language, save for the few words Sergio had taught me. And I didn’t realize how much you would be away or how much you worked. I was too much in awe of you to have an honest conversation, and too in love with love to let you know what I really wanted.” She reached for her wine and took a sip of the ruby liquid, then turned back to gaze reflectively into the firelight again. “It was hard being here alone for a good deal of my pregnancy . . . ” Lorenzo caught her chin and gently pulled her back to face him.
“But it’s different now, cara. You are older and so much stronger and more independent. You can handle a man like me now.”
She gave him a small smile. “Yes, I do believe I am stronger.” She stopped and bit her lip, then closed her eyes and she squeezed out what she had to say. “I’m not sure, though, that I could ever handle you on a long-term basis, Lorenzo. Today showed me what an extraordinary, brave and tenacious man you are; what you’ve done with your life, and what you’re doing at Bambini is wonderful. These last two days have showed me again the essence of the man I fell in love with, the man who I married: somebody who can be kind, considerate, fun, passionate and sexy.
“But I can’t forget the darker side: the man who shut down on me, closed his mind to what I was saying, who couldn’t love me when I needed him to, who might have cheated on me. Having found out what I did today makes me understand why it’s like that, but it doesn’t restore the trust that was lost between us. I can’t be sure that the bad stuff won’t happen again. I just can’t take that risk. I love you, I really do, but I’m not sure it’s enough to get us through. I just don’t trust you enough to marry you again.”
Her eyes sprang open and she saw the bleakness in his expression. She felt horrible.
His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. “It’s okay, cara. I get what you are saying. You don’t believe I’ve changed enough, that I have enough love for you.” He shook his head and looked down. “I believe I have changed and that I can learn to be loving. But I can’t change what happened in the past. I can only undo myself. I guess that’s not enough for you. And you are right: we cannot be happy if you can’t trust me.”
*
Lorenzo lay in the darkness, in the emptiness of his bed. Ash had retired for the night in the guest room next door. How did he feel? Familiarly numb. It was like he was in a time-warp; emotionally, he’d withdrawn, curled up and put his hands over his head as that feeling of there’s nothing I can do had settled on him. These past couple of days had made him believe that they could still be good together. Believe that he’d proved to her the man he was now, and that he still loved her. But it wasn’t enough for her.
His stream of thought was interrupted when his bedroom door creaked. He looked over and saw Ash standing there in the doorway in just her pajamas.
“I’m cold,” she said in a small voice. “Can I come in with you?”
It didn’t cross his mind to reject her. He just threw back the duvet and moved over so that she had room to get into the bed.
She came over and stood by him, then reached for the hem of her pajama top and pulled it up and off over her head. His throat dried as he watched her voluptuous breasts rise and fall with the movement, and he noticed how prominent and erect her nipples were. Then, she dropped her pajama pants and stood naked, her body gently curving, her skin pearly-white. He felt himself go stiff.
Wordlessly, she climbed into bed beside him and arranged herself in his arms. They lay like that for a few minutes, until she broke the silence, saying, “I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be here with you, but while I still am, let’s enjoy our Christmas affair.”
He didn’t need any further prompting. His head went to her breasts, cupping their fullness and teasing the nipples with grazes from his teeth. She inhaled sharply. Then, he rolled her over and pushed her up onto her knees. He ran his hands greedily backwards and forwards over her behind then, parted her legs. He pushed himself into her slowly from behind. He heard her moan of pleasure and started thrusting, his head going back. He wanted to lose himself in her body, but any attempt at emotional connection was over . . .
When he awoke the next morning, she was gone from his bed. He could hear the shower going next door. He picked up his watch from the bedside table: it was gone eight o’clock. He couldn’t remember when he’d last slept this late. Sun was streaming in from under the window blind; it seemed like the bad weather wasn’t coming back.
He got up, showered and dressed, and then went in search of her. She was sat on the bed in the guest room with her tablet on her lap.
“Hi,” she said as she looked up at him as he entered. “I’ve logged on and got a travel update. Marco Polo is going to be opened at one p.m.” She paused and grimaced apologetically. “I’ve got myself a seat on the first plane out to London, which leaves at three-thirty.”
“I see,” he replied tonelessly. “So you really are hell-bent on going?”
“Yes,” she responded firmly. “I’ve got to check in by one-thirty, so I thought I’d leave here just before midday.”
“Okay. I’ll book us a water taxi to take us over to the airport.”
“That’s really sweet of you, but I’d prefer to go on my own. If you could just help me with my luggage on the way down to St. Mark’s Basin, that would be great.”
He thought about saying something to persuade her otherwise but held his tongue. He paused for a moment to let the punch of sadness that had just jolted
his body subside and be replaced by his trusty cloak of unfeeling. The numbness began coursing through his veins like a painkiller. “Yes, of course, cara. But let me take you out for breakfast first?” he offered.
Her face lit up in a smile, as though she was relieved. “Yes, I’d like that. Perhaps we can have a short walk too.”
They went to a café situated in a side street just off St. Mark’s Square where he recalled they’d occasionally breakfasted when they were married and he’d been at home. Fortified by brioche, biscotti and caffé latte, they then set off for a stroll around central Venice. The temperature was still cold, but a good few degrees higher than the previous day, and in the bright sunshine, the snow and ice was beginning to thaw a little. Light streamed onto the palazzi overlooking the Grand Canal, making them seem as they were burnished with gold. The citizens of the city were out and about, celebrating the feast of San Stefano.
He was surprised when she stopped suddenly and clasped his hands in hers. “You know, I’ve had the best time. One of the nicest Christmases I’ve ever experienced. I’ve learned to love it again. Thank you for making it so special.”
“You’re welcome, cara. I think I owed it to you.”
She didn’t respond to his self-deprecation verbally, just stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. Then she hooked her arm through his and they carried on walking.
“So what’s waiting for you back in London?” he asked.
“Well, today’s a public holiday, Boxing Day—”
“Tell me, why it’s called Boxing Day. I never understood.”
“In the olden days, on the twenty-sixth of December, servants and tradesmen would receive gifts, known as a ‘Christmas box,’ from the Lord of the manor.”
“How very British.”
“Isn’t it?” she grinned. “Anyway, I hope to get home about seven and, weather willing, I might be able to surprise the family by dropping in on them. They’ll be having their traditional Boxing Day meal of cold cuts and pickles. And then, it’s back to work tomorrow. The period between Christmas and New Year is incredibly busy as lots of people take time off work and shop online looking for sales bargains, so my little warehouse will be working at full stretch. The salon will be very busy too, as everyone wants their hair done for Christmas and New Year’s parties.”
