Celebration: Italian Boss, Ruthless RevengeOne Magical ChristmasHired: The Italian’s Convenient Mistress

by Carol Marinelli

  His head on the pillow, he was staring up at the ceiling, seemingly not listening. But he was. Racked with indecision, he lay there—he could feel the rise and fall of Guido’s chest against his arm. His sister’s most treasured possession. One she had entrusted him to take care of, to do his best for. And every fibre of his being told him to keep Guido by his side, that two minutes in the Castellas’ company was two minutes too long. Yet his instinct had told him Ainslie wasn’t a thief, intuition had told him he could trust her—and here she was, without agenda, telling him to let Guido go to the enemy, that everything would be okay …

  Snapping his face to hers, Elijah surprised her with a smile as he finished her sentence for her.

  ‘I look bitter?’ he offered. ‘Paranoid, even?’

  ‘Just a bit.’ Ainslie grinned. Suddenly he didn’t look either of the two. The man smiling back looked ten years younger than the one she had first met. ‘Do you want me to put Guido back in his cot?’

  ‘Why?’ Elijah asked, lids closing on his blue eyes, pulling his nephew into the crook of his arm and toying with Ainslie’s hair.

  She watched as he drifted off, watched for the first time this suspicious, mistrusting man actually relax. Only now it was Ainslie who couldn’t.

  He had listened to her.

  The two men who had suddenly become so vital in her life both trusted her.

  She just hoped she was saying the right thing.

  ‘They’ve been gone too long.’

  ‘It’s only six …’ Ainslie glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece for, oh, maybe the hundredth time. They’d had a busy day—first going to the undertakers, where Elijah had grimly gone through the difficult task of making the final preparations for tomorrow, then, taking a welcome pause from frantic last-minute Christmas shopping, Elijah had suggested somewhere nice for a late lunch.

  ‘We’ll never get a table there,’ Ainslie had warned. ‘Not at this time of year!’

  Elijah had just frowned and pulled out his phone, and whatever the abracadabra word was that conjured up a table out of nowhere for the rich and the beautiful, somewhere in Italy his PA must have uttered it, because they had bypassed the grumbling queue, hadn’t even been led to the bar! The beaming maître d’had greeted them by name and led them to a secluded table where a leisurely lunch had been taken.

  Then they had parted for a couple of hours and hit the mad crowds. As busy and as crazy as the crowds had been, it felt like Christmas, carols blasting from record shops and brass bands adding to the seasonal feel.

  Ainslie still found it hard to fathom that the sun set so early in England, but she was so glad it did. The gloomy afternoon had been giving way to dusk and the whole of Oxford Street was a canopy of lights, more magical and extravagant than she could have imagined, as she’d met up with Elijah and they’d jumped in a black taxi to head for home.

  Only now it wasn’t just the light of the day that had faded fast, but Elijah’s easy mood as he waited for his nephew to return. ‘I will ring Enid….’ He was pulling his phone out of his pocket when the car pulled up. But the tension that had abated only slightly with their arrival returned as Guido, grizzling and miserable, entered the house. Enid was tight-lipped as she took off her coat, while Ainslie did the same for Guido.

  ‘It’s been a long day for him,’ Enid said. ‘I’ll go and get him some dinner.’

  ‘It’s after six,’ Elijah pointed out. ‘Did they not give him any dinner?’

  ‘They eat late.’ Enid answered carefully, but Elijah was having none of it, and demanded to know what the problem was.

  Enid remained tight-lipped. ‘I don’t want to make things any worse than they are.’ Enid glanced to Ainslie for support. ‘Nothing actually happened. They just weren’t as friendly with him this time …’

  ‘When your sister wasn’t present,’ Elijah pointed out.

  ‘They don’t know she’s my sister …’ Enid started, then her voice trailed off. ‘It was just a difficult day. They were talking in Italian, and I didn’t feel very welcome, that’s all. Not that I’m complaining—it’s important Guido sees his family …’

  ‘Where was Tony?’

  ‘Waiting outside in the car,’ Enid huffed. ‘They never even took him out a drink.’

  ‘He comes in with you next time,’ Elijah said. ‘And if they have any problems with that, they can discuss it with me.’

  ‘It’s not necessary.’ Enid shook her head. ‘They were no doubt just upset—they’re burying one of their family tomorrow too. It’s a tense time for everyone.’ She handed him an envelope. ‘They asked me to give you this.’

  Elijah face was black as thunder as he opened it. ‘Their accommodation bill.’ His lip sneered in distaste. ‘It is clear they are after his money. You tell your sister—’

  ‘I don’t gossip to my sister about work.’ Enid fixed him with a stern glare. ‘If the Social Services department formally asks me, then of course I’ll give my opinion. But I won’t be running to my sister with every bit of gossip about the Castellas the same way I wouldn’t discuss your dealings—you’re my employer. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to give Guido his supper.’

  ‘Where does that leave me?’ Elijah asked once they were alone. ‘Even if she did put it in a formal report, Social Services would just disregard it.’

  ‘There’s nothing to put in a formal report,’ Ainslie pointed out. ‘Elijah, they’re allowed to be upset and distracted today—they didn’t do anything wrong.’

  ‘Why would you be on their side?’ His eyes flashed angrily. ‘Guido comes home upset, having been ignored all day, and they send me the bill for their accommodation with a note saying that was it not for me they wouldn’t be here … Zingareschi!’ From the murderous look on Elijah’s face as he tossed the note across the room, he hadn’t just uttered a compliment! ‘The peasants can’t even spell in their own language.’

  ‘Elijah, who is this helping?’ Ainslie just wouldn’t have it—refused to lose what they had found that morning. Walking over, she stood before him, stared up at his face, twisted and bitter with hate, and placed her hand on his cheek. ‘You have to be the reasonable one here, for Guido’s sake. Maybe they genuinely can’t afford the accommodation …’

  ‘So they expect me to pay? What is reasonable about that?’

  ‘They’re Guido’s family—and if you can help now, who knows …?’ She was loath to suggest it, but brave enough to do so. ‘Elijah, what if they do end up with custody? Or what if you end up with shared care …?’

  ‘No! I won’t let it happen.’

  ‘But it might!’ Ainslie insisted. ‘And anything you can do to forge a relationship with them now can surely only help Guido.’

  ‘Even if it goes against everything I believe?’

  He didn’t get it, but she could see him struggling, could feel him wrestle with a hatred that was inbred, for the sake of his nephew.

  There was nothing more honourable than what he did, this proud, strong man, after a moment’s deep thought, nodded, actually backing down. ‘I will try,’ Elijah said. ‘Tomorrow—I will try.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  NOT on Christmas Eve.

  Standing in the cemetery, for a crazy second Ainslie wanted to shout it out. Tell the priest to stop.

  Because someone somewhere had surely got it wrong?

  Christmas was about love and laughter and magic. Not this—never this.

  The coroner had released the bodies, and, as Elijah had wearily conceded, it was either today or wait till after the festivities—delay the agony a while longer.

  She couldn’t fathom his pain.

  Couldn’t fathom it because even though she’d never met them, as she watched two coffins being lowered into the ground, saw the dark mound of earth that would cover them rising out of the snow, heard Guido innocently sing and chatter to the shell-shocked gathering, Ainslie was overwhelmed with the horror of it all.

  She understood exactly what Elijah had sai
d—it was as if a terrible mistake had been made, as if the universe had, on this occasion, got it terribly, terribly wrong.

  Yet somehow he held it together—as he had over the last few days, as he had during the service—his deep low voice breaking just once as he’d delivered the eulogy. Returning to her side afterwards he’d sat rigid, staring ahead, somehow doing what had to be done, getting through this most vile of days.

  And she wanted to comfort, to offer support, but he neither sought nor accepted it. The hand that she had slipped into his when he came back to his seat had been quickly returned to her own lap unheld—and now, seemingly together but utterly apart, they stood at the graveside as the burial was concluded.

  ‘I will talk to them now.’ Holding Guido, instructing her to wait there, he made his way over to the Castellas—to the people he hadn’t seen in years but had hated from a distance.

  Ainslie’s heart was in her mouth.

  ‘How are things?’ Ms Anderson was watching too.

  ‘Difficult,’ Ainslie admitted. ‘But Elijah is making an effort.’

  ‘As he should,’ she said tartly. ‘The Castellas are Guido’s family too.’

  But Elijah wasn’t up to performing for the cameras, or rather for Ms Anderson. After the briefest of conversations he turned away, his black coat like a cloak billowing behind as he quickly marched. His face was a mask of rigid muscles as he reached Ainslie and Ms Anderson.

  ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘You’re supposed to—’ Ainslie started, but he was already gone.

  The undertaker was forming relatives into a line, on the premise that the mourners could shake their hands, or kiss as was the Italian way, and offer their condolences, but Elijah was having none of it.

  ‘Come on!’ he called over his shoulder.

  ‘We can’t …’ He was in no mood to be argued with, but Ainslie tried. ‘You’re expected to line up—people want to see Guido.’

  ‘They’ve seen enough!’ Elijah retorted, stalking off. ‘He’s seen enough! I do not need their condolences!’

  ‘That must have been extremely hard for you!’ Speaking in her best social worker voice, but slightly breathless, Ms Anderson caught up with them as they reached the car. But Elijah clearly had more on his mind than winning favour with the social worker, because he didn’t even deign to give a response. ‘The Castellas are looking forward to spending some time with Guido back at the hotel.’

  ‘He won’t be there,’ Elijah growled, his jaw tightening as the Castellas came over—and for the first time Ainslie saw the two families together, felt the simmering hatred.

  ‘Mr Vanaldi isn’t bringing Guido back to the hotel.’ Ms Anderson’s clipped voice was in stark contrast to the emotive protests of the Castellas.

  ‘Voglio passare tempo con Guido.’ Marco Castella put out his hands to his nephew, who clung tighter to Elijah.

  ‘Non potere,’Elijah answered tightly.

  ‘Voglio specialmente oggi essere con lui.’

  ‘Would you mind telling me what’s being said.’

  Less than impressed, Ms Anderson confronted Elijah. Very much less than intimidated, he gave a surly translation.

  ‘They say they want to spend some time with Guido. I tell them they can’t.’

  ‘Today—specialmente …’ Marco’s English was broken, his voice too as he pleaded to Ms Anderson for some time with his nephew. ‘We are family.’

  And no matter the bad blood between them, no matter that it was Elijah’s side she should be on, Ainslie thought that Marco was right—a lavish spread had been put on at a luxury hotel. Surely it was right that Guido go along.

  ‘Maybe we should bring him for a short while …’

  Ainslie’s suggestion was met with the filthiest of glares.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Ms Anderson flared. ‘Mr Vanaldi—you have been granted temporary access only. Now, I shouldn’t have to point out—’

  ‘Then don’t,’ Elijah broke in, his eyes flashing angrily. ‘Over and over you tell me that the best interests of the child are to be considered, that Guido must come first.’

  ‘Of course!’

  ‘You are the expert,’ Elijah spat the words at the woman. ‘So tell me, Ms Anderson, how Guido’s interests are best to be served? My sister refused morphine in order to be able to tell me that he sleeps at two p.m. each afternoon. My nephew is recovering from a serious ear infection and croup, and his whole world has been turned around. How is it better that he goes to a hotel, where people will be drinking, where people will be emotional? Please—tell me now how it would be in his best interests to attend?’

  She couldn’t. Just stood rigid as Elijah awaited her response. But Guido was on his uncle’s side, managing a timely croupy cough that broke the appalling silence.

  ‘Quite!’ Elijah said tartly. ‘I will take my nephew home now—I will give him his antibiotic and settle him for his afternoon sleep. And when he is settled, my housekeeper—with childcare qualifications—will watch him for a couple of hours while my fiancée and I attend this circus.’ He nodded to Tony, who opened the car door, and despite his anger, despite his palpable fury, Elijah was supremely gentle as he placed Guido in his car seat. Once they were all in, he wound down the window, his breath white as he hissed out his parting shot, pulling out an envelope from the glove box and thrusting it to Ms Anderson. ‘The Castellas want their accommodation bill settled—I trust your department will take care of that?’

  ‘You’re right.’ As Tony sped them home, it was Ainslie who finally spoke.

  ‘I’m always right.’

  ‘But …’ Ainslie chewed her lip for a moment before continuing. ‘If you want to appear the better option for Guido, surely it’s better that you don’t put Ms Anderson off side? I mean, perhaps you should try …’

  ‘I am the better option, compared to them,’ Elijah retorted. ‘I do not need to try for anyone.’

  ‘Then why am I here?’ Ainslie snapped back. ‘Appearances do matter!’ She snapped her mouth closed, remembering that Tony was present, realising that this conversation couldn’t take place here. But it would seem Elijah was past caring, all pretences dropped as he glared back at her and spat out his response.

  ‘You are here because without a rapid fiancée I would not have been able to prevent them from taking him. Now I have time to properly sort out this mess—and I will sort it out! You are paid to appear supportive—remember that next time you contradict me in front of the social worker.’

  If he didn’t care that Tony was present, then neither did she. ‘Am I paid to sleep with you too?’

  ‘No—that’s a privilege!’

  If he hadn’t been right in what he’d said to Ms Anderson, she’d have told Tony to stop the car so she could get out. If it hadn’t been his sister’s funeral today, and if Guido hadn’t been present, she’d have slapped his cheek. She had to settle for words instead.

  ‘You bastard!’

  ‘Consider it a perk of your job!’ Elijah reiterated as they pulled up at the house.

  Just in case she hadn’t got the point. Just in case he hadn’t humiliated her enough.

  ‘How was it?’ Enid’s kind concern went unanswered as Elijah marched through the hall, the massive house a shrunken vacuum as tension consumed it.

  Ainslie sat on the edge of the sofa, too stunned, too angry, too shocked to even think about acting normal.

  But it seemed Elijah still could. He took the lunch Enid had prepared for Guido and fed the little boy, the vileness that had been on his lips absent as he spoke gently to his nephew. He shook his head at the cup of tea Enid proffered, while still Ainslie sat—ready to leave. Because how, how, after that, could she possibly stay?

  ‘Let me put him to bed for you,’ Enid offered.

  ‘I’ll manage,’ Elijah answered, almost in a growl.

  ‘This must be so hard for him …’ Enid said as she sat on the couch beside Ainslie. ‘For you too.’

  And for a second Ainslie felt guilty
. Enid’s sympathy was utterly unmerited, given the charade they’d created, but tears stung the back of her eyes. The pain the day had inflicted was so raw, his words had been so acutely painful, it was enough to propel her from the sofa, to make a stand, to leave. But, hearing the slam of the bathroom door, hearing Elijah retch, hearing the spasms of pain that engulfed him, hearing some of the hell he held inside, she was overwhelmed too. Her own stomach tightened—doubling over, she sat back down, tears spilling out as she heard the depth of his grief—knowing, knowing at some level the pain he’d inflicted hadn’t been aimed at her—yet he’d been too angry, too raw, just too detestable to pardon.

  ‘We should go.’ Grey, remote, and utterly not meeting her eyes, Elijah came into the lounge. ‘Enid, you are to call if there is a problem.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Come!’ He summoned her, heading for the door, clearly expecting Ainslie to follow—only she couldn’t. Couldn’t just get up and meekly follow, no matter how much he was paying her.

  ‘You really expect me to stand there and play—?’

  ‘Would you excuse us, please, Enid?’ he interrupted. ‘It would seem my fiancée has something she wants to get off her chest.’

  ‘Why bother?’ Ainslie said when the door had closed behind her. ‘Why get rid of Enid when we know Tony’s going to tell her? There’s no point pretending any more.’

  ‘Tony won’t tell her.’

  ‘Of course he will!’ Ainslie scorned.

  ‘I employ Tony—he knows what is expected from him. I pay for his discretion!’

  ‘Pay for him to sit quiet while you dare to speak to me like that?’ Ainslie spat. ‘Well, even a fake fiancée doesn’t have to put up with that.’ She was pulling at his ring. The sudden heat of the house after the cold outside made it hard to get it off, giving Elijah the second it took to cross the room and close his hands around hers—only it wasn’t in apology.