Hired: The Italian's Convenient Mistress

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘Our families have never got on. When Maria started going out with Rico I didn’t talk to my sister for two years.’

  ‘Were you close before that?’

  ‘We were all the other had. I was five when my mother died; Maria was only one. Our father turned to drink, and he died when I was twelve.’

  He’d never told anyone this—could scarcely believe the words were coming out of his own mouth. Her jade-green eyes hardly ever left his. Every now and then she looked away, swirling her brandy in her glass as he spoke, but her gaze always returned to him. Her damp blonde hair was drying now, coiling into curls on her shoulders, and for the first time he walked through the murky depths of his past in the hope that it would guide him to the right future, that the decisions that must surely be made now would be the right ones for Guido.

  ‘We brought ourselves up,’ Elijah explained. ‘Did things that today I am not proud of. But at the time…’ He gave a regretful shrug. ‘There was a family in our village—the Castellas. They were as rough as us, and after the same thing—money to survive. You could say we were rivals, I guess. One day Rico’s older brother Marco came on to Maria.’ His eyes flinched at the memory. ‘She was still a child—thirteen—and she was an innocent child too. I had always been the one who did the cheating and stealing while Maria went to school; she was a good girl. Maria always hated Marco for what he did to her; she would not want him near Guido.’

  ‘So this isn’t about revenge?’

  ‘I had my revenge the day it happened,’ Elijah said darkly. ‘I beat him to a pulp.’

  ‘So the hatred just grew?’ Ainslie asked, but Elijah didn’t answer directly.

  ‘When I was seventeen I was outside a café, watching some rich tourists. It was a couple, and I was waiting till it was darker, till they’d had a few more drinks and wouldn’t be paying close attention to their wallets. They spoke to the waiter. Their Italian was quite good—they were looking to retire, wanted a property with a view…’ He smiled at the memory. ‘There was no estate agent in our small village in Sicily then—it wasn’t a tourist spot. I knew, I just knew, that I didn’t want to be stealing and cheating to get by any more. Finally I knew what I could do to get out of it.’

  She didn’t comment further, didn’t frown at the fact that he’d stolen, didn’t wince at his past, and that gave him the strength to continue.

  ‘I sold them my late grandfather’s home—to me and to my friends it was a shack, just a deserted place we hung out in. It had been passed to us, Maria and me, but till then it had been worth nothing. But we cleaned it painted and polished it, and Maria picked flowers for the inside. I could see what they wanted, and knew that this villa was it.’

  ‘You sold it to them?’

  ‘They dealt with the lawyers, they had the papers drawn up.’ Elijah nodded. ‘Then, after that, I sold our own home. With every bit of money I made I bought more properties, then I moved out of our village and on to bigger things—and the Castellas were still there, thieving on the beach. With every success that came our way they hated us more—just as we hated them.’

  ‘You’re a real estate agent?’ Ainslie checked, wondering why that made him smile.

  ‘I’m a property developer. I buy homes like this one—beautiful homes the world over—and I retain the exterior, gut the interior, and turn them into flats.’

  ‘Ouch!’ Ainslie winced, staring around at this vast lounge, the size of a ballroom, at the ornate cornices and the marble mantelpiece over the dreamy fireplace, loath to think of it being destroyed.

  ‘Of course we try to retain as many original features as possible!’ He gave an ironic smile.

  ‘Philistine.’

  ‘Perhaps!’ Elijah conceded. ‘Maria, too, fell in love with this place.’

  ‘And she fell in love with Rico too?’

  After the longest time he nodded, that single gesture telling her he would reveal more.

  ‘Not till years later. I was furious—so too was his family. None of us went to the wedding…’ He closed his eyes in regret. ‘She still worked for me, supported her husband. I kept pointing out that he wasn’t working, but slowly I started to see that they were for real. They had to be real. Because in spite of what had happened—with all that his brother had done—still she loved Rico. So we started speaking again, and then I realised how hard things were for them. Rico’s family blamed Maria for what had happened to them, for the slur to Marco’s name. They said that she had asked for it, that it had been her coming on to him…’

  ‘She was thirteen!’

  ‘Easier for them to blame her than change him. Rico is a mechanic, and his family ran the car repair place in the village, so he couldn’t work. I knew they couldn’t stay in the village—there was too much bad blood, too many slurs for them to ever make a real go of it. I suggested they move in here for a while—Maria spoke some English. I had purchased the place furnished, and I said she could oversee the plans, help with the architects and inspections till it was ready to get off the ground. It never did.’ He smiled as he said it. ‘The renovations started—only not the ones I had intended—Rico found work straight away, and they settled right in. I would often come to visit…’

  ‘You were living in London?’

  ‘No, I am mainly in Italy. But I am here once or twice a month, and every time I came here I noticed it had become more and more their home—a few new cushions for the couches, a rug here and there. And then when she got pregnant Maria started talking about a mural in the nursery. I gave in when Guido was born. I knew that they loved each other completely, and as a belated wedding gift I decided to sign the place over to them.’

  ‘Some wedding gift!’

  ‘Oh, it was to be their Christmas present too!’

  Ainslie smiled at the faint joke. She knew nothing about property prices, save that London was fiercely expensive. She’d thought Gemma and Angus lived in luxury, but this house, right in the heart of London, was just stunning. Under any other circumstances she’d have paid to enter and be gazing at this lounge from behind a red rope! Ainslie gulped, staring over at the man sitting beside her on the couch. And under any other circumstances she’d be gazing at him on the silver screen, or in a glossy magazine.

  Effortlessly stunning, he was quite simply the most beautiful man she had ever witnessed in the flesh. The features that had first dazzled her on the tube merited closer inspection now.

  His jet hair was thick and glossy, and there was a slightly depraved look to his piercing blue eyes—but that could, Ainslie conceded, be more born of exhaustion than excess. His very straight Roman nose was a proud feature. All his features were wonderful in their own right, yet combined they were stunning. But what moved Ainslie most, what exalted him from good-looking to stunning, were the full lips of his mouth—the curve of them when he smiled. It was a mouth that softened his features, a mouth that flexed around his expressive language, a mouth that drew you closer, that held your attention when he spoke.

  ‘It felt right that she have this house. Right that I could take care of her still. She’s my sister—was my sister…’ His voice husked, his mouth struggling with the correction.

  ‘She still is…’ Ainslie said softly. ‘Always will be.’

  ‘This place was their home. It is right that it’s Guido’s home now.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He stared into the bottom of his near-empty glass as if he were trying to gaze into a crystal ball. ‘Marco and his wife, Dina, have never seen him, have played no part in his life, and yet now Rico and Maria are dead they say they want to be involved.’

  ‘Were you involved?’

  ‘I’ve never babysat, never changed his nappy…’ Elijah answered. ‘But I spoke with my sister on the phone most days. As I said, I’m in London once or maybe twice a month, and I normally stopped by. I was—am—a part of his life. It just never entered my head it would be to this extent.’

  ‘It might be the s
ame for Marco and Dina,’ Ainslie offered. ‘Maybe they’ve had a shock? Maybe they’ve realised…?’ Her voice trailed off as he shook his head.

  ‘I don’t trust them.’ He drained the last dregs before continuing, ‘I don’t want that man near my nephew—he is the last person Maria would want for him. I know people can change, and I know that it was a long time ago. But some things—well, they are too hard to excuse or forgive.’

  ‘There’s no one else?’

  ‘No one apart from one reprobate uncle who likes to burn the candle at both ends and has an appalling track record with women.’

  ‘Oh!’ Ainslie blinked, rather liking the sound of him. ‘Where’s he, then?’

  ‘You’re looking at him.’ He even managed to laugh, but it faded quickly. ‘The trouble is, as wrong as I think Marco and Dina would be for him, I don’t trust that I am right for Guido either. I don’t have a lifestyle that really fits in with raising a child. I can provide for him, I can give him the best of everything…’

  But he deserved so much more than that, and they both knew it.

  ‘It might be time to grow up, I guess!’ Elijah said, putting down his glass and standing. ‘Either that or try and find a way to put aside lifelong rivalries and remember it isn’t a patch on the beach we’re fighting over any more.’

  ‘You’ll work it out.’

  ‘Just not tonight…’

  They shuffled through the house and up the stairs.

  ‘This is a guest room,’ Elijah announced. ‘And there’s another one here.’ Elijah pushed open another door. ‘You can choose.’

  ‘I don’t care…’

  Ainslie shrugged, so he chose for her, depositing her backpack in a pretty yellow and white room that was to be her home for tonight.

  ‘I’ll just check on Guido.’

  They both did.

  Stood in his parents’ bedroom and peered into his cot. His flushed face was paler now, his thumb was in his mouth and his bottom was in the air, and tears welled in Ainslie’s eyes as she stared down at him. Safe and warm but suddenly alone, without the two people who would have loved him the most. The vast bed in the room looked horribly empty as they crept out.

  ‘Will we wake up?’ As he turned to go he thought better of it. ‘Who will wake up to Guido?’

  And it was a very sensible question. Babies who woke in the night wouldn’t usually be factored in to Elijah Vanaldi’s agenda. Little whimpers of distress wouldn’t necessarily jerk a man like him from slumber.

  ‘I’ll wake.’ Ainslie smiled softly at his exhausted face. ‘You should try and get some rest.’

  She’d wake if only first she could sleep.

  Her head was racing at a million miles an hour as she lay in the strange bed, listening as Elijah showered. Familiar sounds in an unfamiliar place, and for the first time since she’d put the key in the front door this afternoon she was able to draw breath.

  To actually think about what she should do with her own situation.

  If she pleaded her case Gemma had made it clear that without warning or hesitation she would call the police, and Ainslie knew that no one would employ a childcare worker who was being investigated. Even if she could prove her innocence, the slur alone would be enough to ruin her time in England. Elijah had offered her a position, but for how long? A day? A week? How long would it be till he went back to Italy?

  Ainslie blinked into the darkness. He was trusting her to help him—what would he say if he knew that she had been accused of theft?

  As the shrill screams of Guido pierced the night Elijah sat up, gulping in air as he awoke from a nightmare…

  His sister had been dead—no, she’d been dying—her body horribly disfigured, her voice a strained, hoarse whisper as she’d tried to speak through her swollen and damaged windpipe, imploring him to listen, warning him of the Castellas descending, claiming her baby, taking what they considered theirs. He’d gone to hold her hand, to tell her it was all okay, that he would take care of things. Only her hand…He could feel bile rising in his throat as he replayed the image.

  It was just a dream, Elijah assured himself, sheathed in sweat, and trying to pull himself out of it. A nightmare. The horrible panic, the utter dread with which he’d awoken should be abating now, should be dimming as reality filtered in. Instead, Elijah could feel his heart quicken as he took in his surrounds. Another shot of adrenaline propelled him out of bed in panic. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his hips, dashing to his nephew as he realised he hadn’t awoken from a nightmare—he was living one.

  ‘He’s okay!’

  It was like falling off a cliff into soft outstretched arms. Ainslie was leaning over Guido’s cot, pressing her finger to her lips to tell him to be quiet, dressed in vast, shapeless pyjamas that were covered in some pattern he couldn’t make out. Guido’s little night light caught the gold in her blonde hair as briefly she looked up from the child she soothed, her voice soft and calming—not just to Guido, but to himself.

  Only Ainslie herself wasn’t soothed. Clemmie and Jack had both regularly woken in the night and, used to sleeping light, she’d woken when Guido had first whimpered. She had been stumbling down the hall by the time his screaming had started, and had been able to quickly soothe him—deliberately not turning on the light, so her strange presence wouldn’t alarm him. Instead she’d replaced his blanket, as Elijah had mentioned, and patting his back had gently hushed him. And then Elijah had come to the door, breathless, as if he’d been running.

  ‘He’s nearly back to sleep,’ she whispered as he came over quietly. Ainslie lowered her head back into the crib. Suddenly she was glad for the dim lighting in the room, because her face was one burning blush at the sight of Elijah wearing nothing more than a towel, and she was absolutely aware of his presence as he stood beside her till she was happy that Guido was asleep.

  Of course he’d be wearing nothing, Ainslie scolded herself as they crept out of the bedroom. He hadn’t exactly had time to pack, and she couldn’t somehow see a man like Elijah rummaging through his dead brother-in-law’s clothes to find something to wear.

  But that wasn’t the problem and she knew it—hell, she’d caught Angus, her old employer, on the landing in nothing more than a pair of boxers loads of times, and it had done nothing for her, nothing at all, had barely merited a thought. But walking along the landing behind Elijah, seeing the taut definition of his muscled back, the silky olive skin, inhaling the soapy masculine scent of him, well, it merited more than just a thought.

  ‘Goodnight.’ He turned to face her, his hair all rumpled from falling asleep with it wet, still unshaven, his incredibly beautiful eyes dark wells of anguish as he hesitated to go. ‘Do you think he knows? Do you think he knows that they are gone?’

  ‘On some level, perhaps.’ She was helpless to comfort him—had been wondering the same thing herself as she’d soothed the little boy back to sleep. ‘He’ll know things are different, he’ll be unsettled and he’ll want his parents. But so long as his little world is safe he’ll be okay.’

  ‘Will he remember them?’ He delivered a slightly mocking laugh to himself. ‘Of course he won’t.’

  ‘I don’t agree,’ Ainslie said gently, because it was up to Elijah now to turn the fragile images Guido held and somehow merge them into his life. ‘I mean, there will be pictures, DVDs with them on it that he can watch over and over. I don’t know much about child grief, but I think…’

  ‘I can hardly remember,’ Elijah said, explaining the mocking laugh. ‘I can hardly remember my mother at all—and she died when I was five. Guido is not even two. He’s only fifteen months old.’

  ‘Did your father talk to you about her?’ Ainslie pushed, but she already knew the answer. ‘You can make it different for Guido.’

  ‘Can I?’

  Her hand instinctively reached out for his arm, touching him as she would anyone in so much pain. Only the contact, the feeling of his skin beneath her fingers, the hairs on his arm, the satin
of his skin against her palm, the touch that had been offered as comfort, shifted to something else entirely as her eyes jerked to his.

  At any point she could have reclaimed her hand. At any point she could have said goodnight and gone back to her room. Only she didn’t—couldn’t. The air thrummed with the thick scent of arousal—grief and shock a strange propellant, one that forced a million emotions into the air in one very direct hit, accelerating feelings and blurring boundaries. The day that had left them both reeling, forced them to go through the motions, to run on sheer adrenaline, was at an end now, and now they paused—paused long enough to draw breath before the impossible race started again. A race neither wanted to resume.

  Just easier, far easier, to ignore the pain for a moment, to stand and instead of facing the future face each other.

  Elijah stared into her eyes as he tried to picture the last few hours without her in it. Always he had a solution—another plan to initiate if things didn’t go his way. There was nothing that truly daunted him. But walking out of that hospital, holding his nephew in his arms, he had felt the weight of responsibility overwhelm him. Gripped with fear, not for himself but for Guido, he had had no glimmer of a plan, no thought process to follow, had just clung on to his nephew as he’d clung to him. And then she had come along—an angel descending when he’d needed it most. And he needed her now.

  ‘Why did you stop?’ His voice was low, his question important.

  ‘Why wouldn’t I stop?’ Ainslie blinked. ‘You needed help.’

  ‘But no one else did.’

  Hundreds had passed him that day—had jammed against him on the underground, hadn’t made room as he’d lifted the stroller, had squashed into Guido as if they didn’t even notice he was there. At the platform before he’d met her many had seen him struggle, and out of all of them she was the only one who had tried to help. He didn’t want to picture how this night would have been without her kind concern. Didn’t want to envisage stepping into this house alone with Guido. Didn’t want to think about any of it for even a second longer…