Resisting the Italian Single Dad

by Katrina Cudmore

  Isabella shifted her leg away from Carly’s touch and buried her head into his shoulder.

  For the briefest of moments, Max saw hurt flash in Carly’s eyes at Isabella’s reaction. Then laying her hand on the counter, the other on her hip, Carly tried to eye him crossly, but the smile threatening on her lips ruined her attempt to appear to be irate. ‘What on earth were you doing up so early anyway?’

  ‘Swimming.’

  She picked up a fork and attacked the eggs in the bowl with energetic whisking. ‘That I know, but why so early?’

  ‘I always get up at five.’

  ‘But that’s insane when your sleep is interrupted so much.’

  ‘Hence the need to start the day with a swim.’

  Carly shook her head as though he was a lost cause and diverted her interest once again towards Isabella. ‘You were fast asleep when I checked in on you a little while ago.’

  Once again Isabella turned away from Carly’s attention. Max curled his hand around Isabella’s head and stroked her hair. Sometimes Isabella’s dependence on him didn’t scare him but instead sent a warm flush of love through his entire body. And this morning, to his surprise, this tenderness for his daughter was so strong that he felt the compulsion to comfort Carly as well—he actually was tempted to reach out and touch her hair too, soothe the hurt in her eyes at Isabella’s rebuff. He walked around to the other side of the counter, and propped himself up next to Carly. He ran his hand along the tiny curve of Isabella’s back, inhaling her sleepy scent.

  ‘She just woke. I heard her crying on the baby monitor in my office.’ He shifted Isabella in his arms, smiling when she looked up at him with her serious-minded gaze. ‘You’re not a morning person are you?’

  Carly regarded Isabella affectionately, the hurt of Isabella’s rebuff easily forgotten. ‘Well, that makes two of us, Isabella, I hate mornings too.’ Her gaze shifted up to his. ‘Have you been working?’

  ‘For the past two hours. I needed to catch up on the calls and emails I missed last evening.’

  She shook her head at that, clearly not impressed. ‘I’m making scrambled eggs for breakfast. Will you both join me?’

  He nodded and went to place Isabella in her high chair. But before he could do so, Carly ran to the high chair, which sat next to the kitchen island, and said, ‘Rather than have Isabella sitting out here on her own, let’s move her chair in next to the kitchen table.’ She removed the chair that sat at the top of the table and had the best view of the lake and placed Isabella’s chair there instead.

  He cleared his throat, trying his best to sound annoyed. ‘That’s where I usually sit.’

  She did nothing to disguise her glee. ‘Yeah, I thought it would be. But now we can both sit comfortably at either side of Isabella and help her eat.’ With that she disappeared out of the kitchen, calling out from the hallway, ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

  Max sat Isabella in her chair and she thumped the plastic tray with her fist and gave a squeal of what sounded like delight.

  Max shook his head, sure the two females in this house were starting to gang up on him.

  When Carly bounded back into the kitchen he tried to glare at her but, dressed in a thigh-skimming white denim skirt and blue tie-dye tee shirt, holding onto a heavy eyed Sunny, she looked so pretty he had to turn away and busy himself by first popping some of Luciana’s frozen pastries into the oven and then switching on the coffee machine.

  For a while they worked in silence, Carly at the hob stirring the eggs, him making coffee. Isabella meanwhile eyed Sunny, whom Carly had propped on a chair at the table too, as though Sunny were waiting for breakfast also, and thrashed the rattle that was set into the table of her chair.

  Above the noise of the spinning rattle, as she spooned the eggs onto plates for them and into a plastic bowl for Isabella, Carly asked, ‘So what are your plans for today?’

  He gestured to the now brewing coffee. ‘Will you have a cup?’

  She grimaced. ‘Do you have tea?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  She rolled her eyes but then good-naturedly said, pointing to the apple-juice carton he had already used to fill Isabella’s drinking beaker, ‘I’ll join Isabella and have some apple juice. I’m sure it’s much better for me anyway.’

  ‘You’ll be glad to hear that I’ve taken on board your advice that I spend more time with Isabella. So the three of us are going cycling this morning,’ he said, pouring their drinks.

  In the midst of placing cutlery at the seats either side of Isabella, who was busy sipping her juice, Carly said, ‘Cycling...the three of us? Don’t you want to spend one-to-one time with Isabella?’

  He caught the hesitancy in Carly’s voice—a hesitancy he understood. Their conversation last night, the closeness that had come from tending to Isabella together in the silent intimacy of the late hours when it had felt as though only they had existed in this world, their laughter this morning when he had woken her...they all added up to an ease, a familiarity arising in their relationship that Max wasn’t comfortable with. But he had made promises to Carly, ones he wasn’t about to back out of. ‘I seem to remember offering to show you Lake Como.’

  ‘You also promised me ice cream...but I’m happy to look around the lake myself.’ Carly paused and considered him for a moment. ‘Perhaps you should take Isabella to see her grandparents this morning instead?’

  Placing Carly’s glass and a basket of breads and pastries onto the table, he took one of the seats next to Isabella. He tore off a piece of cornetto and handed it to Isabella. He watched her chew on the soft dough, wondering how she was going to behave in the company of her grandparents. He wanted them to see that he was coping, a good father to their only grandchild. ‘My plan for the day is that we first visit the Ghiraldinis and afterwards we can cycle around some of the local attractions. I would like you to meet them before the party this evening.’

  Bending down to pick up Isabella’s beaker, which had fallen to the ground, Carly said, ‘About the party... I’m really not sure.’

  ‘We want Carly there, don’t we, Isabella?’ As he said those words, Max realised just how keenly he meant them. And it was a realisation that was deeply uncomfortable. He shouldn’t want Carly there. He was becoming too attracted, too distracted, by her. He could try to pretend to himself that he wanted her there as support in case Isabella became irritable, but in truth, last night when Isabella had woken, he had been blown away by just how calmly encouraging and supportive Carly had been. It had been a welcome reassurance after months of pacing the floor on his own, wondering what it was he was doing wrong. He had long abandoned the practice of having the nanny do night duty when he was at home as it only ever intensified Isabella’s upset. It was that aloneness that he struggled most with as a single parent, the responsibility of every single decision you took, the lack of another person’s reassurance that you were doing the right thing; the moments when you could laugh together even in exhaustion over something your child did or said.

  This morning it had felt so liberating to laugh with and tease Carly over her terror when he had triggered the sensor light. She had stood beyond the window staring at him so wide-eyed that it had made her mussed-up bedhead hair look as though it were standing on end from shock. During the night, in Isabella’s room, she had worn a long white cotton robe, but when she had stared out at him, she had been wearing only bed shorts and a skimpy vest top. Despite himself, his gaze had wandered down over her frame, taking in the high swell of her breasts, the voluptuous curve of her hips. Dio, he loved her shape. It was so feminine, soft, inviting.

  ‘You can charm the Ghiraldinis if at any point Isabella and I need some time out. It might be overwhelming for Isabella—we have not met them in months. I’m not sure how things will go.’

  ‘Are you kidding me? How exactly am I going to charm them?’

  He laughed
at her incredulous tone. ‘You’re witty and engaging. The Ghiraldinis will enjoy your company.’

  ‘Really?’ She paused and sipped her apple juice, her eyes over the rim holding his with a dubious gaze. ‘I wonder who’s doing the charming now.’

  He could not help but grin. ‘Is it working?’

  ‘You’re trying to charm the wrong person.’ The laughter in her voice trailed away. ‘I’m immune to anyone’s charm. Remember that I’m cynical and jaded thanks to my past.’

  He shook his head. ‘I can understand why you think you are, it’s your armour against being hurt, but you’re not cynical, Carly. That’s not who you are.’

  ‘Trust me, Max, I’m cynical.’

  ‘There’s too much kindness and goodness in you. Look at how you are with Isabella, with the advice you give.’

  She rose from the table and began to clear away some plates. She smiled at Isabella, who had eaten most of her scrambled eggs by herself, only a little falling to the tray and onto her bib. ‘Children are different.’ She directed her gaze back to him. All hints of humour had disappeared. ‘I reserve my scepticism for adults.’

  White sails out on the lake, villas overgrown with ancient vines and secluded terraces, wildflowers tumbling over the pathway, which was a patchwork quilt of light and shade, Carly pedalled furiously past them all, trying not to laugh because it would only slow her down.

  She knew he was teasing her. Allowing her to be in the lead.

  Daring a quick glance behind her, she saw that Max was gaining on her.

  Her calves were yelling in protest; there was no way she could pedal any faster.

  Why on earth had she suggested they race in the first place?

  Because you wanted to break the delightful pace that you had been cycling at—a pace of easy chatter, warm sun, a soft breeze carrying the perfumes of pine and sweet jasmine, spontaneous smiles at Isabella, who stared back at you with that sharp and perceptive gaze that turned your heart over, smiles at her father who cycled one-handed while pointing out local places of interest, his voice melting every bone in your body. You wanted to put distance between you. In every sense of that word.

  Enormous black-and-gold-painted wrought-iron gates appeared on the opposite side of the road that ran parallel to the pathway.

  High up in the hill beyond the gate, a villa stood watch over the lake, like a mother looking down on her child at play.

  Villa Fiori. Her pedalling slowed. She was intimidated by the size and grandeur of the Ghiraldini home—a three-storey neoclassical villa with an imposing colonnade to the front.

  Max and Isabella sailed by her, Max with a look of quiet amusement, Isabella with Sunny tucked in beside her in the bike carrier, frowning as though she was disappointed in Carly for allowing her father to win.

  She pushed down on the pedals, suddenly really wanting to win. Wanting Isabella’s approval for reasons she couldn’t even begin to understand.

  She gained on Max and together they crossed their finish line—the entrance gates to the villa. They both drew to a stop just beyond the entrance, the high structure of the gates towering over them.

  She leant on her handlebars and studied him. ‘You could have won.’

  Those misty green eyes of his held hers for a moment. ‘I guess I could.’

  Her heart jigged at the smile that followed. She tore her gaze away from him to stare instead towards the villa, thrown by the pleasure she felt at the fact that he had deliberately ended the race with them both crossing the winning line together.

  ‘What a gorgeous villa... Does one family really live here, all alone? It’s bigger than most hotels.’

  Max stared towards the villa and then with a resigned shrug began to walk up the steep driveway. Carly followed, grateful he wasn’t going to attempt to cycle any further, as there was no way she’d be able to cycle up the steep gradient.

  They passed terraces of olive groves and lemon orchards, and as they neared the villa abundant rhododendrons and azaleas bordered rock gardens and valleys full of ferns, century-old cedars standing guard beyond them. All the while they walked in silence, tension radiating off Max.

  Which wasn’t surprising given the heartbreaking history of their shared loss of Marta, the often complex and fraught relationship that had to be negotiated when a grandchild became part of a family that was not fully united—and then, beyond all of that, the history of how Max had been received when Marta had introduced him to the family. How must he have felt the first time he came here as a young student? When he’d had nothing to his name, when he’d had no family of his own. How intimidating it must have been for him. Had he longed to be accepted by them, to belong to this family?

  A few steps ahead of her, Carly stared at the hard muscle of Max’s back visible beneath the bright white polo shirt he was wearing today. Had he longed to belong to Marta’s family just as she had with her new step-family all those years ago? Carly sighed at the memory of how she had turned herself inside out in her attempts to be accepted by her stepfather and stepsisters. But instead of being welcomed into their fold she had faced an indifference from her stepsisters that had seen her confidence eroded and her aloneness in the world magnified. She had even home-dyed her hair to be the same shade of brown as her stepsisters and slavishly copied their clothes. All to no avail.

  It felt horrible to be an outsider.

  She called out to him, ‘Max...’ and when he slowed and waited for her to catch up she added, ‘Why did the chicken cross the road?’

  Perplexed, he stared at her.

  ‘Because it was free range.’

  His expression went from perplexed to bewildered. But then he began to chuckle.

  And together they climbed the last of the ascent, both of them lightly teasing one another until the driveway ended in a vast cobbled semi-circular entranceway with a fountain at the centre. A member of staff rushed out of the ivy-clad main entrance and took their bikes while another member of staff welcomed them to Villa Fiori and led them through a marble and columned hallway, along a corridor lined with paintings and tapestries, through a light-filled living room adorned with gilded furniture sitting on oriental rugs on marble floors and out towards a terrace with spectacular views of the lake.

  A woman sitting at an outdoor table with a silver-haired man cried out when she saw them. Jumping up from her seat, the petite woman, dressed in white palazzo pants and a white silk shirt, heavy gold jewellery on her neck, rushed towards Max and Isabella. ‘Isabella! Vita mia!’

  The woman held her arms out, wanting to take hold of Isabella but Isabella buried her head into Max’s chest.

  The woman looked at Max, her expression crestfallen. ‘Non mi riconosce.’

  Max tensed. ‘No, of course she remembers you...she’s like this with everyone at the moment.’

  The silver-haired man approached the woman and placed a hand protectively on her waist. Then he nodded to Max with a guarded expression. ‘E bello vederti.’

  Max answered, ‘It’s good to see you too, Giulio.’

  Though Giulio Ghiraldini was much shorter than Max, he bridged the height gap with an aura of self-confidence. Both men eyed each other suspiciously, their chins raised in proud defiance.

  But then Giulio’s stare shifted to her.

  His eyes narrowed before he shot his glance back to Max.

  Max stepped back towards her, his arm reaching around her waist to guide her forwards. ‘This is Carly Knight. She’s...’

  Carly smiled at Giulio, trying not to show her shock at how good, but yet so wrong, it felt for Max to touch her, but also trying to hide her unease at how Max was struggling to explain who she was. Was he still resenting having to seek out her services? Did he still dislike having to seek support from others? Had she made no inroads in having him accept that to seek support was a strength?

  Max cleared his
throat but there was still a catch in his voice when he said, ‘Carly is a sleep consultant who is working with Isabella at the moment to help her sleep. Carly doesn’t speak Italian so we must speak in English. Carly, let me introduce you to Giulio and Valentina Ghiraldini.’

  Carly shook hands with both, who looked at her and then at Isabella with concern.

  The heavy tension bouncing between the four of them thankfully disappeared when a man in his early twenties bounded out onto the terrace and with a shout of delight pulled Max and Isabella into a hug.

  Lifting off his sunglasses, the dark-haired man, dressed in red shorts and a white and navy polo shirt, spoke rapidly in Italian, his hand affectionately touching against Isabella’s cheek and then lingering for a while on Max’s arm, his pleasure in seeing them both clear.

  Max managed to break through the man’s constant stream of happy chatter to introduce him to Carly. ‘Giovanni, let me introduce you to Carly Knight. Carly is helping me with Isabella for the weekend.’ While Giovanni shook her hand warmly, Max explained, ‘Carly, Giovanni is Marta’s...’ Max paused. A rush of pain, the same anguish she had witnessed in him that first time she saw him outside her office, flashed on Max’s expression. Giovanni winced while Valentina bowed her head. For a brief moment Carly saw bottomless grief in Giulio’s dark eyes before he pushed on the sunglasses he had been carrying in his hand.

  Max cleared his throat and said quietly, ‘Giovanni... Giovanni is my brother-in-law.’

  Giovanni gave a bittersweet smile and once again embraced Max and Isabella, saying, ‘It’s been too long, Max. We need to see you more often.’

  With that, Giovanni enthusiastically led them all inside the villa, insisting that they immediately see the surprise Valentina had organised for Isabella, promising that refreshments would soon follow.