The Italian's Christmas Housekeeper

by Sharon Kendrick

  But guilt was a futile emotion and she tried to make the best of things, the way she always did. The house seemed full of light and festivity—with the incomparable air of expectation which always defined the night before Christmas, no matter how much you tried to pretend it didn’t. A beautiful tree, laden with gifts, was glittering in one of the windows and she could detect delicious smells of cooking from elsewhere in the house.

  It was a long time since she’d been at the centre of a family and Molly found herself wondering what Robbie was doing tonight. She’d tried to ring him earlier that day but he hadn’t picked up. Please don’t let him be gambling, she prayed silently. Let him have realised that there’s more to life than debt and uncertainty and chasing impossible dreams. Staring down at the nativity set which stood on a small table next to the tree, she focussed on the helpless infant in the tiny crib and tried to imagine what her own baby would look like. Would he or she resemble Salvio, with those dark stern features and a mouth which rarely smiled, but which when it did was like no other smile she’d ever seen?

  She remembered the way he’d kissed her belly just before they’d made love and felt a stir of hope in her heart. He’d certainly never done that before—and surely that response hadn’t been faked? Because the fleeting tenderness she thought she’d detected had meant just as much as the sexual excitement which had followed. And wasn’t tenderness a good place to start building their relationship?

  Refusing champagne and sipping from a glass of fruit juice, Molly was laughing as she examined a photo of a fourteen-year-old Salvio holding aloft a shining silver trophy, when she felt a brief pain, low in her belly. Did she flinch? Was that why Salvio’s mother guided her towards a high-backed brocade chair and touched her gently on her shoulder?

  ‘Per piacere. Sit down, Molly. You must be tired after your travels—but soon we will eat. You are hungry, I hope?’

  Obediently, Molly took the chair she’d been offered, wondering why people were always telling her to sit down. Did she look permanently tired? Probably. Actually, she was a bit tired. She thought about the reason for her fatigue and her heart gave a little skip as she smiled at Salvio’s mother.

  ‘Very hungry,’ she said.

  ‘Here in Southern Italy we are proud of our culinary traditions,’ Rosa continued before directing a smile at her son. ‘For they represent the important times that families spend together.’

  Soon they were tucking into a feast of unbelievable proportions. Molly had never seen a meal so big, as dish followed dish. There was spaghetti with clams and then fried shellfish, before an eel-like fish was placed in the centre of the elegant dining table with something of a flourish.

  ‘Capitone!’ announced Rosa. ‘You know this fish, Molly? No? It is a Neapolitan tradition to eat it on Christmas Eve. In the old days, my mother used to buy it from the market while it was still alive, and then keep it in the bath until it was time to cook it. Do you remember the year it escaped, Salvio—and hid under your bed? And you were the only one brave enough to catch it?’

  As his parents laughed Molly sneaked a glance at Salvio and tried to imagine the billionaire tycoon as a little boy, capturing an elusive fish which had slithered underneath a bed. Just as she tried to imagine him cradling an infant in those powerful arms, but that was too big a stretch of the imagination. At times he was so cool and distant—it was only in bed that he seemed to let his guard down and show any real feeling. She stared at the small piece of capitone left on her plate, wondering how it was going to work when she had his baby. She’d already established that his London penthouse wasn’t particularly child-friendly—but where else would they live? He’d mentioned other houses in different countries but none of them had sounded like home, with the possible exception of his Cotswolds manor house.

  They finished the meal with hard little biscuits called rococo and afterwards Molly insisted on helping her hostess clear the table. Efficiently, she dealt with the left-over food and dishes in a way which was second nature to her, washing the crystal glasses by hand and carefully placing them on the draining board to dry, while asking her hostess questions about life in Naples. She was just taking off the apron she’d borrowed when she noticed Rosa standing in the doorway of the kitchen watching her, a soft smile on her face.

  ‘Thank you, Molly.’

  ‘It was my pleasure, Signora De Gennaro. Thank you for a delicious meal. You have a wonderful home and you’ve been very welcoming.’

  ‘Prego.’ Rosa gave a small nod of satisfaction. ‘I have been waiting many years for a daughter-in-law and I think you will be very good for my son.’

  Molly’s heart pounded as she hung the apron on a hook beside the door, hoping Rosa didn’t want to hear the romantic story of how she and her son had first met. Because there wasn’t one. She suspected the truth would shock this kindly woman but Molly couldn’t bear to tell her any lies. So concentrate on the things you can say, she told herself fiercely. On all the things you wish would happen.

  ‘Oh, I hope I will be,’ she said, her voice a little unsteady as she realised she meant every word. ‘I want to be the best wife I can.’

  Rosa nodded, her dark eyes intense and watchful. ‘You are not like his other girlfriends,’ she said slowly.

  Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Molly wondered. ‘Aren’t I?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Rosa hesitated. ‘Though he only ever brought one other to meet us.’

  Molly stilled, telling herself it would be foolish to ask any more questions. But she hadn’t factored in curiosity—and curiosity was a dangerous thing. Wasn’t it the key which turned the lock in an invisible door—exposing you to things you might be better not knowing? And the crazy thing was even though she knew that, it didn’t stop her from prying. ‘Oh?’ she questioned. Just one little word but that was all it took.

  ‘She was no good for him,’ said Rosa darkly, after a brief pause. ‘Sì, she was very beautiful but she cared only for his fame. She would never have helped with the dishes like this. She wanted to spend her Christmases in New York, or Monaco.’ She touched her fingertips to the small golden cross at her neck. ‘I give thanks that he never married her.’

  Married her? Molly’s heart constricted. Had Salvio been engaged to someone else? The man who had told her he didn’t ‘do’ emotion? The nebulous twist of pain in her stomach which she’d felt earlier now returned with all the ferocity of a hot spear, which Molly bore behind the sunniest smile in her repertoire. But she was relieved when Salvio phoned his driver to take them back to the hotel, and leaned back weakly against the car seat, closing her eyes and willing the pain to leave her.

  ‘Are you okay?’ questioned Salvio beside her.

  No, I’m not okay. I discovered tonight that you were going to marry someone else and you didn’t tell me. That even though I’m carrying your baby you don’t trust me enough to confide in me.

  But she couldn’t face a scene in the car, so she stuck to the positive. ‘I’m fine!’ she said brightly, still with that rictus smile in place. ‘Your parents are lovely,’ she added in a rush.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, and smiled. ‘They liked you.’

  But Molly thought he seemed lost in thought as he stared out at the festive lights of his city. Was he thinking about his other fiancée and comparing the two women? She found herself wondering why they had broken up and wondered if she would summon up the courage to ask him.

  But the cramps in her stomach were getting worse. Cramps which felt horribly familiar, but which she tried to dismiss as stress. The stress of meeting his parents for the first time, or maybe the stress of discovering that she wasn’t the only woman he’d asked to marry. She found herself breathing a sigh of relief when they arrived back in their penthouse suite and she unbuttoned her coat.

  ‘Would you mind if I checked on my emails?’ Salvio said as he removed the coat from her shoulders. ‘I just want to see i
f something has come in from Los Angeles, before everything shuts down for the holidays.’

  ‘No, of course I don’t mind,’ she said weakly, aware that he was already disappearing towards his computer.

  She slipped into the bathroom and locked the door behind her, when she felt a warm rush between her legs and the sudden unexpected sight of blood made Molly freeze. She began to tremble.

  It couldn’t be.

  Couldn’t be.

  But it was. Of course it was. On a deeper level she’d known all evening that this was about to happen, but the reality was harsher than she ever could have imagined. Her fingers clutched the cold rim of the bathtub as her vision shifted in and out of focus. She found herself wishing she were alone so that she could have given into the inexplicable tears which were welling up in her eyes. But she wasn’t alone. She dashed the tears away with the tips of her fingers and tried to compose herself. Out in that fancy hotel room on the night before Christmas was her fiancé...except that the reason he’d slid these diamonds on her finger no longer existed. He would be free now, she thought—as a silent scream of protest welled up inside her.

  She found her wash-bag, praying she might find what she needed—but there was no gratitude in her heart when she did, only the dull certainty of what she needed to say to Salvio. But she was loath to go out and face him. To utter the words he would probably be relieved to hear. She didn’t think she could face his joy—not when she was experiencing such strange and bitter heartache.

  Straightening up, she stared into the mirror, registering the pallor of her face, knowing that she couldn’t tell him now. Not tonight. Not when the bells of Naples were peeling out their triumphant Christmas chorus about the impending birth of a baby.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘SO WHEN...?’ THERE was a pause. ‘When exactly were you going to tell me, bedda mia?’

  The words left Salvio’s lips like icy bullets but he knew immediately that his aim had been accurate. He could tell by the way Molly froze as she came out of the bathroom, the white towelling robe swathing her curvy body like a soft suit of armour.

  ‘Tell you what?’ she questioned.

  Maybe if she’d come straight out and admitted it, he might have gone more easily on her but instead he felt the slow seep of anger in his veins as her guileless expression indicated nothing but a lie. A damned lie. His mouth hardened. ‘That you aren’t pregnant.’

  She didn’t deny it. She just stood in front of him, the colour leeching from her face so that her milky skin looked almost transparent. ‘How did you...?’ He saw the sudden flash of fear in her eyes. ‘How did you know?’

  Her confirmation only stoked the darkness which was building inside him. ‘You think I am devoid of all my senses?’ he demanded. ‘That I wouldn’t wonder why you turned away from me last night, then spent hours clinging to the other side of the mattress...pretending to be asleep?’ he finished with contempt.

  ‘So it’s because we didn’t have sex,’ she summarised dully.

  ‘No, not just because of that, nor even because of the way you disappeared into the bathroom when we got back from my parents’ house and refused to look me in the eye,’ he iced back. ‘I’m not stupid, Molly. Don’t you realise that a man can tell when a woman is menstruating? That she looks different. Smells different.’

  ‘How could I ever be expected to match your encyclopaedic knowledge of women?’ she questioned bitterly. ‘When you’re the first man I’ve ever slept with.’

  Salvio felt the pounding of a pulse at his temple. Was she using her innocence as a shield with which to defend herself? To deflect him from a far more disturbing possibility, but one he couldn’t seem to shake off no matter how hard he tried. ‘Or maybe you were never even pregnant in the first place,’ he accused silkily.

  She reacted by swaying and sinking down onto a nearby sofa, as if his accusation had taken away her ability to stand. ‘You think that?’ she breathed, her fingers spreading out over her throat as if she was in danger of choking.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I think that?’ he demanded. ‘I’ve never actually seen any proof, have I? Is that why you didn’t want to tell my parents about the baby—not because it was “too early” but because there was no baby?’

  ‘You really believe—’ she shook her damp hair in disbelief ‘—that I would lie to you about something as important as that?’

  ‘How should I know what you’d do if you were desperate enough? We both know you were having trouble paying off your brother’s debt and that marriage to me would mean the debt would be wiped out overnight.’ His gaze bored into her. ‘And I was careful that night, Molly. You know I was.’

  She was still staring at him as if he were the devil incarnate. ‘You’re saying that I...made it up? That the whole pregnancy was nothing but an invention?’

  ‘Why not? It’s not unheard of.’ He shrugged. ‘It happens less often these days but I understand in the past it was quite a common device, used by women keen to get a wedding ring on their finger.’ His mouth hardened. ‘Usually involving a wealthy man.’

  Her body tensed and Salvio saw the change in her. Saw the moment when her habitual compliance became rebellion. When outrage filled her soft features with an unfamiliar rage which she was directing solely at him. Her eyes flashing pewter sparks, she sprang to her feet, damp hair flying around her shoulders.

  ‘I was pregnant,’ she flared, her hands gesturing wildly through the empty air. ‘One hundred per cent pregnant. I did two tests, one after the other—and if you don’t believe me, then that’s your problem! And yes, I was waiting until this morning to tell you, because last night I just couldn’t face having the kind of discussion we’re having now. So if keeping the news to myself for less than twelve hours is harbouring some dark secret, then yes—I’m guilty of that. But I’m not the only one with secrets, am I, Salvio?’

  He heard the allegation in her voice as he met her furious gaze full on and braced himself for what was coming next.

  ‘When were you going to let me know you’d been engaged before?’ she continued, her voice still shaking with rage. ‘Or weren’t you going to bother?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘My mother told you?’

  ‘Of course your mother told me—how else would I know?’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Enough.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘I know the woman you were going to marry was rich and I’m not. I know she was beautiful and I’m not.’

  Something about the weariness in her tone made Salvio feel a sharp pang of guilt. He stared at her shadowed eyes. At the milky skin now tinged with the dull flush of fury. At the still-drying shiny hair and the voluptuous curves which had lured him like a siren’s call into her arms. And he felt an unexpected wave of contrition wash over him.

  ‘You are beautiful,’ he stressed.

  ‘Please. Don’t,’ she said, holding up her hand to silence him. ‘Don’t make things even worse by telling me lies!’

  Her dignified response surprised him. Had he been expecting gratitude for his throwaway compliment about her looks? Was he, in his own way, as guilty as Lady Avery had been of underestimating her? Of treating her like an object, rather than a person—as someone born to serve rather than to participate? Did he think he could behave exactly as he liked towards her and she would just take it?

  ‘You are beautiful,’ he affirmed, as repentance flowed through him. ‘And yes, I was engaged before. I didn’t tell you because...’

  ‘Because it’s too painful for you to remember, I suppose?’

  The pulse at Salvio’s temple now flickered. In a way, yes, very painful—though not in the way he suspected she meant. It was more about the betrayal he’d suffered than anything else because, like all Neapolitans, he had an instinctive loathing of treachery. It had come as a shock to realise that Lauren hadn’t loved him—only what he represented. He gave a bit
ter smile. Perhaps he should have had a little more empathy for Molly since he too had been treated like an object in his time. ‘It happened a long time ago,’ he said slowly. ‘And there seemed no reason to rake it up.’

  She looked at him in exasperation. ‘Don’t you know anything about women? On second thought, don’t answer that since we’ve already proved beyond any reasonable doubt that what you don’t know about women probably isn’t worth knowing. Except maybe you don’t know just how far you can push them before they finally snap.’ She tugged the towelling belt of her white robe a little tighter. ‘Who was she, Salvio?’

  Salvio scowled. Did he really have to tell her? Rake up the bitterness all over again? He expelled air from his flared nostrils, recognising from the unusually fierce expression on Molly’s face that he had to tell her. ‘Her name was Lauren Meyer,’ he said reluctantly. ‘I met her at an official function on a pre-season tour of America and brought her back here with me to Naples.’

  ‘And she was blonde, I suppose?’

  ‘Yes, she was blonde,’ he said, ignoring her sarcastic tone. ‘What else do you want to know, Molly? That she was an heiress and that she loved fame and fortune, in that order?’

  ‘Did she?’

  ‘She did. She met me when I had everything.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘And dumped me the moment I lost it all.’

  ‘So, what...happened?’ she said, into the silence which followed.

  Salvio’s lips tightened, because Lauren had been the catalyst. The reason he had kissed goodbye to emotion and battened up his heart. During his career there had been plenty of women who had lusted after his body and his bank account—but he’d made the mistake of thinking that Lauren was different.