by Annie O'Neil
“You know what Tico talked about the whole time?” Harriet began to shift the charts into three distinct piles before meeting his gaze. “You.”
“Que? Whatever for?”
“They love you, these kids. They know how much you do for them. And they want to give back, but...” She hesitated for a moment. “They aren’t sure how to show you how much they care.”
“What do you mean?”
“You give. You give so much to them, it’s easy enough to see. But I don’t think it’s as easy for you to receive the only thing they have to offer. Affection,” she added, unnecessarily.
“I don’t think psychoanalyzing me is going to help us get through these charts,” Matteo answered in a way that all but proved her point.
She wasn’t the first to have noticed but she was the first brave enough to say anything. But growing up in a house where emotion had been seen as weakness? Where everything had been sheathed in a veneer of false charm? He snapped shut the folder he’d just opened.
“Are you saying I’m not good with the children?”
“No! Not at all.” A light flush of pink began to creep along her cheeks. “It’s coming out wrong. I’m trying to say they adore you. Absolutely adore you—but they don’t seem clear on what it is you want from them.”
It could’ve been a leading question but he could tell it was just Harriet fighting for the children in her own inimitable way.
“I don’t want anything from them.”
“C’mon. You must have hopes for them. Aspirations. And to get to those, children love to have goals. Have expectations.”
“Like your family expected you to keep all the loose ends of their lives together?”
It was a low blow and unkind. She looked away and he didn’t blame her. How could she know she was unwittingly hitting all the points he...?
Oh, Dios. You had to laugh, didn’t you?
Harriet was hitting all the points he’d rather gloss over with a veneer of false charm. Push to the side rather than deal with.
He shoved back from his desk, the chair scraping along the floor as he did so and adding to the air of discord.
“These charts can wait. Come with me. I want to show you something.”
“Matteo, I need these figures if we’re going to present Casita Verde’s case to St. Nick’s board properly.”
He didn’t answer.
“Let me guess. This is another one of your ‘show naive little Harriet how life really is’ lessons.”
Matteo pressed his lips together.
Yes. In a way.
“Well, if it pleases his lordship, I’d rather just get on with this work, thanks.” She stood to give him a curtsey then looked him directly in the eye. “Just for the record, I think the one here who isn’t facing up to how things are is standing right in front of me.”
“Very possibly.”
He ground his teeth together, eyes linked with hers. She wanted to psychoanalyze him? See why he ticked the way he did? Fine. She’d be leaving in a few days anyway so why keep things hidden any more? “There’s an easy enough way to find out why I am the way I am.” He opened the door to the courtyard. “Come with me.”
“Okay.” She nodded. “I will if you do something for me first.”
“What’s that?”
“Give me a scan.”
“Is something wrong?” His chest constricted. To have a baby he was terrified to acknowledge was one thing. To have and to lose that same child? He’d been through that once as an uncle. He didn’t think he could survive it again. Especially as a father.
“I’m fine. I’ve had a bit of spotting since my run-in with Tico, but I’m sure everything is fine. More to the point, if you want me to learn one of your ‘life stinks’ lessons, then it’s only fair we both see what I’m going through. What makes me think life is amazing.” Her eyes dared him to deny her request.
Matteo felt like a cornered beast. Logic told him Harriet wasn’t questioning his good intentions, but all his sensibilities were being overridden with suffocating waves of frustration and anger.
He faced facts every day. He knew she was pregnant and it had been her decision to deal with it on her own. His teeth pressed together so tightly his jaw ached. But he hadn’t really given her much choice, had he? Hadn’t opened his heart to all she had to offer. But she was questioning the way he survived.
Did he wish he could wake up every morning like so many people did and close their eyes to the world’s problems? It would make life so much easier. He wouldn’t have to scrimp and divvy out help in the way their limited resources demanded. He wouldn’t have to turn away those in need to hospitals already sagging beneath the weight of their own overstretched budgets.
Did he wish he could just glide through life as if all the bad things in the world weren’t happening around them? His shoulders lifted as thoughts fought for precedence.
No. Of course he didn’t. He wouldn’t be doing what he did if he believed that. But something in him knew what he did was still fueled by fury, rage at his sister’s unnecessary death. How could he fully open himself up to love—to a future that included Harriet—if what kept him going every day was a ferocious grief at something he could never change?
He took her hand and without a backward glance set off across the courtyard. If she wanted a scan, she could have a scan. And then he’d show her why he had to stay adamantly, vigilantly the way he was.
Harriet stood as Matteo flicked on a series of switches. He had a face like thunder but something in her told her they were finally getting somewhere, hitting a breaking point in that cool veneer of his.
She pushed herself up onto the exam table after gulping down a couple of glasses of water, not saying a word as Matteo squirted an excess of lubricant onto the ultrasound wand. She didn’t know what had possessed her to make him do this. She could have done it herself, but something in her worried Matteo was denying himself the joy of fatherhood as some form of punishment. She wished she knew what compelled him to live in such a closed-off way when he clearly had a heart of gold. Perhaps the reason was what he was about to show her. And she had to admit she was frightened to know the truth. If he genuinely did not see himself loving someone, having children...
“It’ll feel a bit cold.”
He was using his doctor voice. The reserved one.
She hitched up her shirt and undid the side zip of her skirt, feeling foolishly embarrassed at having to bare her midriff to him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen everything before! Or touched it. Caressed her luxuriously as if she were a cherished possession. She squelched down the thought and faced the screen as Matteo ran the wand over her womb. She’d be about nine weeks now, by her count. Enough time to see the heartbeat. Her breath caught in her throat and she twisted her fingers into good luck charms. Please, please, please, let everything be all right.
She’d seen hundreds, if not thousands of scans herself and yet watching the matrix of gray and black lines comprising her muscles, vessels and internal organs take shape, revealing to her what was happening inside her body was suddenly overwhelming. She kept her hands cemented beneath her thighs, knowing that if she didn’t, her fingers would want to weave themselves through Matteo’s as they saw, for the first time, the miracle they’d created.
“I’m just looking for the amniotic sac...” Matteo paused as he shifted the wand this way and that before holding it steady, his voice softening. “Here’s the heartbeat— Oh! Do you see that?”
She nodded, too overawed to speak.
“Twins.” He spoke the word she hadn’t been able to. “Just like your sister.”
And I’ll be raising them on my own...just like my sister.
They sat for a moment, each of them absorbing the news, the only sound audible in the small exam room two tiny heartbeats
. Harriet watched silently as Matteo gently began pointing out their arms, the two tiny hearts, four little legs and then abruptly he stopped.
“All right!” He made swift work of cleaning up the scanning equipment and officiously tipped his head towards the door. “Ready?”
He was out the door before Harriet had had a chance to wipe the gel off her stomach, register the news she’d just received. Twins!
I’m having twins.
Her heart ached at Matteo’s response. What should have been an ecstatic moment between parents had been clinical and cursory. And yet there had been something there. A slight choke in his voice, a sheen on those beautiful green eyes of his. There had! Hadn’t there?
She refused to let herself cry, knowing she was the only one to blame for the scenario. If she hadn’t insisted he do the scan... Oh! Who was she kidding? She still would’ve wondered what his reaction would have been. Would’ve ached to know how he responded to the first sight of his own child—children! Well. Now she did. She tugged down her shirt, secured the fastener on her skirt and yanked open the clinic door, uncaring that it shut with a reverberant slam.
“Where are we going?” Harriet raced alongside Matteo, needing two or three steps to each of his single strides as he bashed out a text on his phone with his free hand. He should slow down. He should be compassionate. Hold her hand, swing an arm around her shoulder, pull her into his arms and kiss her with all of the love he held for her, but if he stopped now everything he’d worked towards would disintegrate.
He needed her to see. Needed her to understand why he couldn’t open his heart to those two perfectly formed children they had created. Why he couldn’t open his heart to her. There was only one place where she would be able to put together all the places. One place where the door to his heart had learned to stay solidly closed.
“Where are we going?” she repeated.
“My parents’.”
* * *
“You grew up here?”
Harriet thought of the modest two-up, two-down she and her sister had inherited from their parents. It was bigger than most nurses in central London could afford but it was no mansion. Three sets of twins would crowd the place out...but here? There was room for ten sets of twins! Maybe more.
If Harriet had thought the exterior of Casita Verde was impressive, she was entirely unprepared for the splendor of Matteo’s family home. She had a cloudy memory of him mentioning private jets but had chalked it up to Latin machismo. Oops.
The Torres family home could easily be mistaken for a boutique hotel or the embassy of one of the world’s richest countries. The towering edifice was composed of beautifully hewn stone, painted a brilliant white. A whiteness presently taking on the hues of the setting sun. A few steps led up to an impressive portico flanked by two intricately crafted wrought-iron gates. Matteo ascended the steps in seconds as if his body had memorized the fastest route in. Harriet had no doubt he could do it blindfolded.
“Why exactly are we here?”
“For supper.” He smiled at her with a charm she suddenly understood only a man who had grown up among so much privilege could perfect. Quite a shift from the stony-faced mute man who she’d given silent speeches to throughout the deathly quiet taxi drive.
How on earth she could have fallen in love with someone so prone to stormy moods was...
The thought shivered through her as she reached his side.
Love. Yup! That old chestnut was still setting off light displays in her heart! Annoyingly. This whole scenario would be about a thousand million times easier if she just...didn’t...care. Or enjoy staring at his backside so much.
As she ascended each step she realized it wasn’t just the pregnancy that had changed her life. It was her love for Matteo—as frustratingly one-sided as it was. From the moment she’d arrived in Buenos Aires she had really lived. And it had changed her. She’d been seeing new things, learning new things, thriving in an environment that wasn’t dependent upon her—one she hadn’t been obliged to feel needed in. It felt like gaining access to a whole new world she hadn’t realized existed before.
She glanced across at Matteo, who was pushing open the broad front door without knocking. She was grateful for the gift, the gift of confidence. The door opened into an impressive foyer—and that confidence all but slithered away. It was like entering a different world, one miles away from the hectic hustle and bustle of the massive city, from the mayhem of the casita. A uniformed housekeeper was rushing to the door as Matteo pushed it open. He smiled broadly, kissed her cheeks and held the gray-haired woman at arm’s length, hands on her shoulders as he asked a handful of questions, his voice warm with affection.
He introduced them quickly, efficiently before indicating to Harriet that she should follow him into an intricately tiled inner courtyard. Was this man the real Matteo? A man who looked perfectly at home among expensive antiques, servants, comfort? A life without even a hint of the despair they saw on a daily basis? Or was the Matteo at the casita the real one? The one who didn’t mind getting grubby? The one who stayed up all hours to get a much-needed grant for funding?
“Mama! Como esta?”
Matteo’s arms opened as a beautiful woman, perhaps in her sixties, approached. She was immaculately dressed—heels, sleek trousers, a silk blouse that seemed to have never encountered a wrinkle or the bloom of perspiration that Harriet was experiencing.
Harriet suddenly felt uncomfortable in her “uniform” of A-line skirt and flowery cotton blouse. She nervously ran her fingers through hair she knew could’ve done with a bit of primping. An untidy contrast to her hostess’s jet-black hair pulled smoothly back into an immaculate chignon. Glints of light caught the pair of discreet diamond earrings she wore. A green pashmina, shifting across her shoulder line, brought out the same verdant sea color as Matteo’s eyes. At least she knew where he’d got his eyes.
It was difficult to tell if the effusive greeting was a happy ritual or a practiced nicety. Was this what Matteo wanted her to see? A man in control of each microscopic moment?
“Harriet.” Matteo beckoned her to join them. “Come, I would like you to meet my mother, Valentina Torres.”
As his mother turned to her, Harriet could see her expression shift. Whether it was good or bad eluded her. She felt like shrinking behind one of the enormous pot plants before suddenly remembering...this woman was going to be a grandmother to her twins! She put on a smile and stepped forward.
“So lovely to meet you,” Mrs. Torres murmured into her ear as they exchanged air kisses and a variation on an embrace. The greeting was, Harriet realized, terribly... English.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur. Matteo’s father—Franco Torres—appeared a few moments later, incredibly handsome, terribly charming, straightening his cuff-linked cuffs before offering another series of air kisses. A manservant with a drinks trolley followed in his wake. Harriet was unable to refuse the gin and tonic they insisted all British people wanted but discreetly tipped it into one of the enormous tree planters after a discreet nod of the head from Matteo. It was strange but the move made her feel they were complicit, as though they were finally sharing her pregnancy together. It was a feeling she knew she probably shouldn’t get used to, but she liked it. More than was good for her.
She saw Matteo whispering to the servant, who traded out her empty glass for a soda water with lime, complete with a knowing wink. Could he tell? Or had Matteo forewarned him? Unlikely... Her eyes met his, but under the scrutinizing gaze of his parents they were impossible to read.
As the evening got underway, it was a relief to discover Matteo’s parents...her babies’ only grandparents...were utterly charming. Incredibly well traveled, well read, full of bon mots. The evening, conducted mostly in English for Harriet’s sake, was nothing less than delightful. And immaculately polite. Harriet was reminded of England’s ge
ntry and the slavish obedience to manners above all else. Decorum over honesty? How would they take the news that their son had knocked someone up and wasn’t exactly seeing the rosy side of fatherhood?
Then again...what was it exactly Matteo wanted her to see? That his parents were rich and lived by the Miss Manners rulebook? There was something else there. Something deeper, and her heart went out to him. It was clear he and his parents lived very different lives. But there was only so far the apple could fall from the tree. After all, she was who she was because of her family.
Their eyes met as one of the maids began clearing the table and another brought a bowl of fresh fruit along with some delicate pieces of cheese topped with something she’d never seen before. It didn’t matter. She wasn’t really hungry. Sitting across from the man she loved when loving him would be impossible seemed to blunt her senses. What was he telling her by bringing her here? What were his eyes saying? She sought answers in their green depths, the tug of connection so strong it almost felt physical.
“Harriet? Have you tried queso y dulce?” asked Matteo’s father. “This is quince jam together with a sharp cheese. I think you have it in Portugal. You must know it, yes?”
She dragged her eyes away from Matteo’s, feeling as if a conversation they’d been having had been abruptly interrupted.
“I—I’m sorry?” She shook her head and registered his father’s words. “No. I’ve not traveled much.”
“Has Matteo not shown you the hospitality of the Porteños?” His mother scolded her son in advance of his response.
Harriet shook her head, then said, “We’ve been to the zoo!”
Again, their eyes met. What was he trying to say?
“The city has so much more to offer than the zoo.” Mrs. Torres trilled a short musical laugh. “Surely, amorcita, Matteo has let you out of your...” she looked up towards the lavish chandelier illuminating the dining table as if it would help her find the best word “...place of work to enjoy some of the nicer sides of our country?”
