Hired: The Italian's Convenient Mistress

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘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.

  ‘You will come with me this afternoon.’

  ‘Or?’ Ainslie challenged. ‘You don’t own me—I’ll pay my own debts, Elijah, my ex’s too, if I have to. But I’m not going to be spoken to like that—and I’m not coming this afternoon.’

  ‘My PA told me this morning that the press are waiting to talk to me. Elijah Vanaldi considering fatherhood is quite a story to them. I told her that I have nothing to say to them, but perhaps I should reconsider…’ Still his hands held hers. ‘They might be interested to hear that I have a fiancée—interested in her story too…’

  ‘Why would they be interested in me?’ Ainslie countered. ‘You’re the one who’ll come across badly if you talk to the press. Ms Anderson will find out for sure…’

  ‘She’ll find out about our little ruse this afternoon if you don’t come.’ Elijah shrugged. ‘So really there is nothing to lose…’

  ‘For me either.’ Ainslie shrugged, attempted nonchalance, but her heart-rate was quickening. The hands that held hers were not ready to let her go, and a mirthless smile twisted on his mouth as he delivered his threat.

  ‘I’m a bit worried about your friend Angus though. He might not fare so well…’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’

  ‘Just watch me!’ He wasn’t even pretending to smile now. ‘I told you when you agreed to this that I would do whatever it takes, use whatever means I had available to protect my nephew. And if that means digging the dirt on some celebrity doctor I’ve never even met, then consider it done!’

  Standing, clutching her drink, Ainslie eyed the eclectic gathering. Waitresses moved among the crowd, offering finger food and drinks to young mothers from Guido’s playgroup, who didn’t quite blend with the suits of the finance and property world. Other friends of Maria and Rico’s reminisced with each other, whilst Rico’s family stood huddled together, drinking copiously, throwing the occasional dark look to the only person who, despite Ainslie by his side, despite making polite talk and absolutely doing his duty, somehow stood utterly alone.

  ‘Mr Vanaldi!’ It was a less confrontational Ms Anderson who came over. ‘About before.’ She ran an eye around the room, at the strained subdued gathering, at the simmering grief and tension beneath the surface, and gave an apologetic nod. ‘You were right not to bring Guido.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Graciously he accepted her admission. ‘I was also at fault…I went too far…’ Stilted though it was, his own apology was genuine, and Ainslie realised as his hand sought hers that it wasn’t exclusively aimed at Ms Anderson—that in his own strange way he was apologising to her too. ‘I know your intentions are good.’

  ‘What are your plans for Christmas Day—for Guido?’ Ms Anderson enquired.

  ‘We will keep it quiet—but in the afternoon, once he has had his rest, your sister has offered to take Guido to my brother-in-law’s relatives for a few hours. My driver will take them, and they can spend the afternoon and evening with him, then Enid will bring him back to his home.’

  ‘That sounds good.’ She gave a sympathetic smile, first to Elijah and then to Ainslie. ‘You two really do seem to be doing well with him—under the most trying of circumstances.’

  Not that well, Ainslie thought, seemingly the perfect fiancée, standing sombre and loyal by her partner’s side—only this time it was Ainslie’s hand not holding his in return.

  This time it was Ainslie who, after the polite exchange with Ms Anderson, claimed back her hand and her personal space and slipped to the loo.

  As was her privilege.

  Over and over he stung her with his words.

  Little barbs of poison injected to her heart that couldn’t merely be soothed with an afterthought of an apology.

  Barely recognising herself, she stared in the mirror. It wasn’t just the elegant hair that was unfamiliar, or the perfectly applied make-up that made her look different. Neither was it the black angora dress that could never be considered vulgar that altered her reflection. No, it was the troubled eyes she didn’t recognise. The turmoil in her soul that had her wretched. The attraction she felt for him, the tenderness he displayed when he held her, was so at odds with the torment he inflicted at times.

  Well, no more. Running her hands under the tap, Ainslie collected her many thoughts before she headed back out there. She’d see it through today—see it through till after Christmas for Guido. But then she’d go. And if he did go to the press about Angus…A surge of panic welled inside, but she quashed it. A hundred thought processes whirred at once as she washed her hands, then reached into her bag to retouch her lipstick. Her mind still buzzing with anger, she hardly noticed the woman who came up behind her.

  ‘Molto conveniente.’ Ten days of solid brushing wouldn’t take away the yellow of the teeth that met her gaze as she looked over her shoulder in the mirror. The snarl of the lips made Ainslie stiffen as Dina Castella confronted her, safe in the knowledge that they were alone.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ />
  ‘This is very conveniente.’ Dina’s English wasn’t as good as Elijah’s, but she had no trouble getting her point across. ‘Suddenly the rich playboy has una bella fiancée!’

  ‘We just recently got engaged.’

  ‘Come…’ she sneered. ‘Since when did Elijah Vanaldi make a commitment to a woman? Any woman! You think we wouldn’t have heard about this in our village? You think I am stupid?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So how much?’ Dina glared. ‘How much does he pay you?’

  ‘This has nothing to do with money!’ Ainslie said through gritted teeth, but Dina just gave a mocking laugh and picked up Ainslie’s shaking hand, eying her ring with distaste.

  ‘You come very cheap.’

  ‘It was their mother’s ring…’ Ainslie flared. ‘As I said, this isn’t about money.’

  ‘Why would you lie for him, then?’ Dina countered, her face twisting with suppressed rage. ‘Because we both know that you are…’ She must have seen Ainslie’s flush of colour, or the constriction as her throat tightened, because she was quick to pounce. ‘If it’s money you need walk away now. We will be able to take care of you. Unlike the Vanaldis, with all their lies and stories, at least the Castellas, good or bad, tell the truth.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  LA VIGILIA DI NATALE.

  Christmas Eve. Only it didn’t feel like it.

  During her time in London Ainslie had never really experienced homesickness, but she felt it now. She ached, just ached for a hot Australian summer, for blue skies and the sun burning on her shoulders as she dragged an overloaded trolley through a packed supermarket car park. And for Carols By Candlelight booming on the television as friends dropped over, sniffing the aromatic air as they stepped out onto the decking, where her father would guard the barbecue. For the familiar traditions that were her idea of Christmas instead of the hastily amalgamated traditions they must somehow pull together now if they were to give this little boy any semblance of the Christmas his parents would have wanted for him. Ainslie and Elijah had to weave together an English and Sicilian Christmas—to somehow fill this house with love and laughter and hopefully let some magic into Guido’s life.

  Even if only for a little while.

  ‘In Sicily we eat fish on Christmas Eve: seven fish dishes…’ He actually managed a smile at Enid’s rather pained expression and added that one would do. ‘Also—’ his voice thickened ‘—children do not write to Santa. Instead they write to their parents, tell them how much they love them.’

  ‘He’s too young…’ Enid attempted, but Elijah shook his head.

  ‘Maria wrote for Guido last year—it was something she wanted to happen—something she did not really have herself. It should be placed under the father’s plate, and he reads it at dinner. Maybe we should do it for Guido…’ His eyes turned to Ainslie. ‘Till he is old enough.’

  Which made no sense.

  Oh, the tradition made sense—just not the we, and not the implication that there was a future, that there would be more Christmases.

  ‘That sounds lovely.’

  Enid’s voice snapped Ainslie back to bitter reality—even when mired in grief Elijah played to his audience, and she had to remember that. Had to stop blurring the reality, had to stop believing that the tender words he whispered, that the love he made to her when he came to her at night, was anything more to him than a pleasurable interlude in a hellish journey—an escape.

  Her throat tightened as she recalled his cruel words…a perk!

  ‘Are you okay, Ainslie?’ Elijah frowned over.

  ‘Just tired.’ Ainslie gave him a tight smile that didn’t meet her eyes. ‘It’s been a draining day.’

  She hadn’t told him about Dina—had chosen to leave that little gem for later. She first wanted to work out her own feelings on what Dina had said, wanted to try and work out her own truth before she added fuel to an already raging inferno and voiced her misgivings to him.

  ‘Mummmm-mummm-mummm…’ Guido hummed the words as they sat at the table, screwing up his little face at the food Enid attempted to shovel into his clamped mouth.

  ‘It’s good for you, Guido,’ Enid soothed, taking the opportunity when Guido opened his mouth to protest to quickly get a loaded spoon in.

  But Guido’s manners hadn’t improved, and even Ainslie’s strained face broke into a smile as Guido almost perfectly re-enacted his performance on the underground, spitting out his food in disgust.

  ‘He will learn manners in time, I suppose…’ Elijah started, as Enid carried the angry bundle upstairs for a bath, but his shrewd eyes instantly took in Ainslie’s pursed lips. ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Ainslie’s voice was tight. She was quashing down her anger as she fiddled with the stem of her wine glass. Tonight of all nights was surely not the one to row.

  ‘Say what you are clearly thinking!’

  ‘I’d rather not.’

  ‘Please share…’ Elijah goaded. ‘Better out than in.’

  ‘Not always!’ A flash of tears in her eyes was rapidly blinked away. ‘Maybe Guido won’t grow out of it—maybe it’s hereditary?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Spitting in people’s faces—hurting someone who doesn’t deserve it.’

  ‘Ainslie…I have already addressed that.’

  ‘Actually, you haven’t!’ Her voice was rising and she struggled to smother it. ‘You delivered an apology to Ms Anderson which cryptically I was supposed to accept as aimed at me too. Well, no. You’ve signed me up for the gig, and whether I want to or not I guess I’ve got to play, but…’

  Her voice trailed off as Enid returned, a clean and smiling Guido in her arms, dressed in powder-blue pyjamas, his dark hair a mass of curls and a gorgeous sleepiness in the those blue, blue eyes that were so much like Elijah’s. Holding out his arms to Ainslie, coyly almost, he nestled his head in her arms when she held him, clinging to her like a barnacle on a rock as she sat at the table.

  How could she walk?

  Merely drop him and go?

  Inhaling his baby smell, holding onto this little bundle that could be comforted and soothed by her mere presence, both terrified and comforted her. In just a few days her presence had settled Guido. It was her arms he often wanted when Enid brought him into the room, her that he toddled to as he ran giggling out of the bath. At some deep level this little guy, in a very short space of time, knew that he could trust her.

  ‘Guido…’ Elijah cleared his throat, pulled out a piece of paper. ‘You are too young to write, but I know you feel—I know you do not understand, but I know you are confused…’

  If she was his real fiancée she should be dabbing her cheek, or smiling bravely at him to continue, but because she wasn’t Ainslie’s nose ran into the little shoulder that was hooked into hers. Guido’s thumb bobbed into his mouth. He was safe in his little world as the lady held him and the man spoke. Guido had no comprehension of the future that had been buried today, trusting as only a baby could that it was all going to be okay.

  ‘Your mamma and papà loved you—how many times they told me that I cannot count—and they would be proud, would want to be with you now. I hope they are. All I promise tonight is that I will always be there for you.’

  She could feel the delicious, heavy, weightlessness of sleep in Guido’s body—could feel his mass of muscle relax as she held him. The ribbons of tension that bound him tightened for a second as Enid peeled him from her arms—and she could feel the awful heavy silence when it was only they two.

  ‘You realise that I needed you there this afternoon.’ It was Elijah who broke the silence. ‘And that if you leave…well, I lose him.’

  ‘Well, you got your way,’ Ainslie said coolly. ‘For now.’

  ‘Ainslie, I am trying to do as you suggest—I am trying to trust these people, trying to believe that maybe they have changed. But I went over there today and they didn’t so much as look at Guido, just asked if I had the money for them. Everyone is t
elling me to make peace, that I have got it wrong.’

  ‘Got what wrong?’ Ainslie frowned, then gave a shake of her head. His problems were his own now. ‘Let’s just try and get through tomorrow.’

  ‘You must both be exhausted.’ Enid said later, when she brought two mugs of hot chocolate through to the vast lounge.

  Elijah rolled his eyes at the offering and poured himself a rather large brandy. ‘Today has been made much easier by having you here,’ he said, and Enid flushed with pleasure. ‘We were lucky to get you at such short notice. It has made a huge difference.’

  ‘It’s made a huge difference to me too! Christmas isn’t a time to be on your own.’

  And Ainslie watched as Elijah dispensed with formality and poured Enid a brandy too, asking her to join them, even teasing her about the humongous turkey that had commandeered half the fridge.

  ‘I make a lovely Christmas dinner—you wait till you taste my chestnut stuffing!’ Enid said proudly. ‘I’ll serve it at midday—so there’s plenty of time for Guido to have his nap before he goes to his aunt and uncle’s.’

  ‘You must join us.’ Elijah frowned.

  ‘I’ll feed Guido.’ Enid nodded. ‘And make sure he behaves. But I won’t intrude.’

  ‘Please do!’ Elijah said. ‘And Tony too. Ainslie and I—’ he took her hand and she bristled, she just couldn’t play any more today, but Elijah hadn’t finished with her yet ‘—will need all the help we can to make it a happy day for Guido.’

  ‘The more the merrier?’ Enid gave a sympathetic smile. ‘Well, don’t worry—we’ll make it a special day for him. Even if we’re not…’ she faltered. ‘I’m sorry, of course you’re his family.’

  ‘Not the one that was meant for him,’ Ainslie said, taking her hand back and drinking her chocolate, preferring to talk about Enid’s world than lie about her own. ‘What about your own family?’