The Secret Kept from the Italian

by Kate Hewitt

  ‘Where’s Ella?’ she asked, her tone turning anxious as she realised how late in the morning it had to be. Ella was usually awake by six.

  ‘Napping.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I woke up with her and gave her one of the bottles you’d made up that were in the fridge. She went back to sleep a little while ago. She’s fine.’

  ‘Oh.’ Maisie sat back against the pillows, drawing the duvet up to cover her breasts and then pushing a wild hank of hair out of her eyes, surprised and shyly pleased by Antonio’s actions.

  ‘Is that okay?’ Antonio asked as he handed her a cup of coffee and sat down next to her, the musky scent of him invading her senses as the mattress bowed beneath his weight.

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Maisie took a much-needed sip of coffee and murmured, ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It was my pleasure, as well as my duty. You wake up with Ella every morning.’

  ‘I don’t mind—’

  ‘I know you don’t.’ He rested one hand on her arm, his fingers curving around her wrist. ‘But I don’t, either.’

  Maisie took another sip of coffee, steeling herself for the conversation she knew they needed to have. She couldn’t go on this way, seesawing between hope and fear, wondering if anything had really changed this time, or if Antonio was going to suddenly turn remote and chilly. Surely knowing was better than not, and yet...she was afraid to know. To have it end.

  ‘Antonio, what happens now?’ she asked quietly.

  He arched an eyebrow. ‘Now?’

  ‘Now, today, tomorrow, for ever. Well, not for ever,’ she clarified hastily, wishing she hadn’t said something so stupid. She didn’t want Antonio to think she was thinking in those terms.

  ‘You mean between us.’ He stated the words quietly, his gaze both appraising and inscrutable. She had no idea what he thought about it. About them.

  ‘Yes, between us. Things keep changing—one day I feel very close to you, and the next...’ She spoke haltingly, cringing inwardly at how vulnerable she was being and yet knowing she needed to say this. She needed answers. She needed knowledge. And yet it felt so very exposing, so incredibly raw, to admit as much. It felt weak too, because surely she should be calling the shots or at least trying to, rather than just giving Antonio all the power. The trouble was, she didn’t know how to do that. How to be that strong.

  ‘The next you don’t.’ Antonio spoke matter-of-factly, a flat note in his voice that made Maisie cringe even more.

  ‘Well...yes.’ She examined his face, searching his features for some hint as to how he felt about what she was saying, about her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Antonio said after a moment. ‘I know I haven’t been exactly fair.’

  ‘I don’t know if it’s a question of fair. It’s just... I need to know how you feel. What you want.’ She swallowed painfully. ‘Even if it’s difficult...for both of us.’

  Antonio didn’t answer for a long moment. ‘Sometimes I don’t know how I feel,’ he finally said in a low voice. ‘Or what I want.’

  ‘Okay,’ Maisie said after a pause, fighting a wash of disappointment at his obvious ambivalence. What had she expected? For Antonio to pull her into his arms and declare his undying love? Yeah, right.

  ‘I don’t know what I feel,’ Antonio continued, ‘because I haven’t let myself feel anything for so long. Years. Decades.’

  ‘Since Paolo’s death,’ Maisie clarified softly.

  ‘Yes.’ He met her gaze steadily, but she could tell it cost him.

  ‘So if you let yourself feel,’ she asked, her throat aching and her heart thumping, ‘what would you feel?’

  The question hung in the air between them, suspended, the moment endless.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Antonio said at last, and once again Maisie fought the flood of disappointment. Stupid to feel it, she knew. She could hardly expect Antonio to proclaim he loved her...could she? Just because she was starting to fall for him, a relentless tumble that was snowballing faster and faster as she learned more about him. Learned that he wasn’t the ruthless businessman she’d assumed he was, not by a long shot. And maybe he wasn’t the careless playboy, either, even though he’d certainly given that impression. But none of that meant he loved her. Not remotely.

  ‘What I do know,’ Antonio said, his voice growing stronger, ‘is that I don’t want us to have some businesslike relationship. For Ella’s sake, as well as for our sakes. We have a chemistry, Maisie, and more than that. I don’t want to walk away from what we have...what we could have.’

  ‘So...’ She licked her dry lips. ‘Are you saying you want to...to have a relationship?’

  For a moment Antonio looked trapped, with the classic deer-in-the-headlights widening of his eyes, so much so that Maisie almost laughed. Almost. Then he nodded slowly. ‘Yes,’ he said, the word seeming as if it had to be dragged from him. ‘That’s what I’m saying.’

  Maisie nodded back, and they sipped coffee for a few minutes, both of them absorbing the tectonic shift in their relationship, letting it sink in. Then Ella started to cry, and Maisie felt relieved to slide out of bed and go to her, because the truth was she didn’t know how to be with Antonio right then.

  The next hour was spent settling Ella, and then showering and getting dressed, all the time avoiding Antonio, or trying to. When she finally came downstairs with Ella in her arms, fighting both apprehension and shyness, Antonio was waiting in the kitchen with a picnic basket and a blanket.

  ‘I thought we could go to Lake Lugano,’ he said with an easy smile. ‘Have a picnic. It’s only about an hour from here.’

  Maisie blinked at him in surprise. ‘Don’t you have to work?’

  ‘I can take a day off.’

  A whole day with Antonio...as a family. Hope and happiness bloomed in Maisie’s heart. ‘All right,’ she said, smiling back at him. ‘That’s great.’

  Moments later the basket and blanket were in the back of the car Antonio had provided for her, and with Ella buckled in her car seat, kicking her legs happily, they were off, cruising along the narrow, hilly lanes that cut through the glacier-made valleys of Northern Italy. Maisie had taken the wheel, since she knew of Antonio’s aversion to driving; it felt surprisingly natural to drive along, chatting all the way.

  ‘Lake Lugano is on the border between Italy and Switzerland,’ Antonio said as they crawled through the centre of a sleepy village. ‘Over half of it is in Switzerland, actually, but we’ll stay on the Italian side, I think, since it’s closer.’

  Soon enough the shimmering, deep blue waters of the lake were spread out before them, and Antonio directed her to a car park in a little commune. With Ella in the stroller they walked on a promenade that ran along the shores of the lake, the air balmy and warm, the day near-perfect. The uncertainties and apprehension Maisie had been feeling were swept away like cobwebs, and everything felt clean and new again.

  Antonio seemed relaxed too, his hands in his pockets as they walked along, talking about everything and nothing, sometimes bending down to chuck Ella’s chin or tickle her toes. Her daughter’s happy, answering gurgle was a song in Maisie’s heart. She didn’t think anything could be more wonderful. If this was a sign of things to come, of the life she’d share with Antonio, then she’d have no worries at all. No fears lurking in the dark corners of her newly swept heart. Everything, absolutely everything, felt possible.

  * * *

  This was happiness. Antonio had to keep reminding himself, because it felt so unnatural. So tenuous. He kept glancing at Maisie and Ella, waiting for them to disappear like the mirages they seemed to be, or at least for a frown to mar the perfect smoothness of Maisie’s forehead. Surely something would go wrong.

  Or maybe it would simply go wrong in him, because as the day stretched on, golden and perfect, Antonio felt himself get more and more tense, increasingly restless. He tried to stop
it, tried to revel in the simple pleasure of being with Maisie and Ella, but he couldn’t. Perhaps he just wasn’t made that way. Perhaps he’d been ruined along with his brother, his family, and there was no hope for him after all.

  They ate lunch on a stretch of soft grass by the lake, bumblebees and butterflies lazily tumbling through the air, the only sound the distant buzz of a motorboat. Maisie fed Ella and then put her in the stroller for a nap, her chubby face covered by a sunshade.

  She and Antonio stretched out on the blanket, legs tangled together, and lazed in the sun. Everything about it should have been wonderful but it wasn’t. Despite his best intentions Antonio couldn’t let himself relax. Couldn’t make himself hope.

  ‘Antonio.’ Maisie’s voice was gentle, but he still heard the faint reproach. She laid her palm against his cheek as she gazed into his eyes. ‘What is it? Why are you so jumpy?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He shifted onto his back so her hand fell away. ‘This is new for me, Maisie. I haven’t had a proper relationship in years, like I told you.’ Actually, he’d never really had a proper romantic relationship. Had never even wanted to try.

  ‘I know it’s new. It’s new for me too.’ Her voice was soft and sad, making him feel worse—and even jumpier. ‘It’s okay,’ she added. ‘We don’t have to rush things, Antonio. We can just take each day as it comes.’

  He stared up at the sky, the bright blue starting to fade at the edges. In her stroller, Ella stirred. ‘We should go,’ he said. ‘It’s getting late, and I really should get to the office at some point today.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He didn’t look at her as he stood up; Maisie began packing away the picnic things and Antonio folded the blanket. Neither of them spoke as they walked back to the car, and it wasn’t the companionable silence of earlier. Things felt tense, unhappy, as if they were already unravelling. And Antonio knew it was all his fault.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said after they’d spent an hour of tense silence in the car, and they’d pulled into the drive of Maisie’s villa. ‘I wanted this day to be perfect.’

  Maisie gave him a wry smile, her eyes shadowed. ‘Nothing’s perfect, but I enjoyed today, Antonio. Truly.’

  How could she be so patient with him? Somehow it made him feel worse. He’d already called his driver to pick him up, and the limo pulled up to the kerb before he answered Maisie. ‘I’ll see you soon,’ he said, keeping it vague on purpose. He quickly kissed Ella’s forehead before striding towards the limo. As he slid into the leather interior, he couldn’t keep from breathing a sigh of relief. At least now he didn’t have to feel as if he was failing all the time.

  Antonio spent the next few days working, communicating with Maisie only by text and trying not to feel guilty that once again he was taking a step back, out of necessity more than anything else. Yet that first burst of relief he’d felt had quickly evaporated, leaving him so restless and ill-tempered that even his staff noticed.

  He wasn’t happy with Maisie, and he wasn’t happy without her. Relationships were impossible for him. All of it made Antonio furious with himself, and even more irritable, until people started to noticeably avoid him. Finally, three days after their trip to Lake Lugano, he broke down and headed towards Maisie’s villa.

  Dusk was falling as the car pulled into the drive. Antonio dismissed his driver and got out, straightening his jacket as well as his resolve. He glimpsed Maisie through the window, Ella in her arms, her fiery hair pulled back in a messy bun, her body slender and supple as she soothed their baby. As Antonio opened the front door he heard the soft, melodious notes of a lullaby; Maisie’s voice was as lovely as her playing of the violin.

  He paused there for a moment, savouring the beauty and peace of the scene—the dim, lamplit room, the enticing smells of basil and garlic emanating from the kitchen, Maisie’s sweet voice as she sang to their daughter. It was all so warm and welcoming, so wonderful, and so unlike the cold life, impersonal and sterile, that Antonio had constructed for himself over the last ten years. He wondered why on earth he’d stayed away for the last few days.

  ‘Maisie?’ he called, and she came around the corner, her lovely face wreathed in smiles.

  ‘Antonio.’ There was nothing but joy in her voice, no censure or accusation or disappointment. Antonio found himself returning her smile, then taking Ella from her as he kissed Maisie hello with passion, warmth and gratitude.

  She pressed one palm against his cheek as they rested their foreheads against one another’s. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she said softly.

  ‘So am I.’ And truly he was.

  Ella started to squirm and Antonio stepped away, jiggling her in his arms, half amazed at how normal it had become to soothe his daughter. Maisie watched them both for a moment, a smile on her face, and then went to make dinner. Yes, this was normal. He had to remind himself that, make himself believe it. It was normal...and it was wonderful.

  Dinner was relaxed but also a little bit chaotic, with them taking it in turns to hold and bounce Ella, who was restless. Antonio gave her a bath and then Maisie put her to bed, coming downstairs afterwards, a shy and expectant look on her face.

  This part, Antonio knew, was simple, and yet just as wonderful as all that had gone before. Silently he took her by the hand and led her upstairs. Silently he closed her bedroom door and then drew her into his arms, kissing her softly and yet with increasing urgency, because he couldn’t hold her in his arms and not want her.

  She returned his kisses with just as much urgency and eagerness, her body pressed against his, her arms wrapped around him. Somehow they fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, and then they were shedding clothes as fast as they could, the urgency and need overwhelming them both.

  Yet amidst the tidal wave of desire Antonio sought to anchor himself in the moment, in Maisie. Braced above her on his forearms, he gazed down at her lovely face, her golden-red curls spread across the white pillowcase in a fiery cloud.

  I love you. The words rose in his throat and sat heavily in his mouth. Words so many people found easy to say, and yet he could not make himself say them. He wasn’t sure he felt them and, if he did, he didn’t want to. Love meant risk and fear and pain. Love meant anger and arguing and disappointment. He couldn’t shake that deep-seated certainty, the leaden weight of it that had sat in his gut for far too many years. I love you.

  He kissed her instead, trying to imbue some of what he felt—the good part, at least—in his kiss, in the gentle ferocity of it. And he thought, perhaps wrongly, that Maisie understood, for she kissed him back as she wrapped her legs around him and drew him into her body, accepting all of him, just as he was.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SPRING BLOSSOMED INTO SUMMER, the weeks sliding lazily by, as Maisie revelled in and clung to a happiness which felt both overwhelming and fragile. Antonio came over most days, either after work or sometimes taking the afternoon off. They spent simple hours with Ella, taking a walk or going on an excursion somewhere a bit further away, both of them finding happiness in simply being together.

  They also went into Milan several times, for various engagements, and, while Maisie found she enjoyed those experiences of elegance and luxury with Antonio by her side, she was always glad to be back in her home. Their home.

  Besides the mother-and-baby group she’d joined, she’d managed to pick up a few violin pupils through connections in the village and was now tutoring several times a week, while Ella napped.

  The nights Antonio spent with Maisie were just as, if not more so, wonderful as the days. As they learned each other’s bodies, the wonder of their first union deepened into something more profound and intimate, each act feeling to Maisie as if she was bound more and more closely to Antonio...or at least he was bound to her.

  For the truth was, despite the time she’d spent with Antonio, in his company and in his bed, she still didn’t trust how he felt, and
she suspected he didn’t either. She’d given herself several stern talking-tos about it, telling herself to be patient, to stay calm, and, while most of the time she managed this, on the days when he didn’t visit, on the nights when she was alone, the old fears crept in.

  Memories of her parents’ sudden death, the way her life had felt like a chessboard swept clean, the carefully ordered pawns toppled by one careless moment, hounded and haunted her. She’d survived the tumult and grief, but only just. She didn’t think she could survive it again. And she knew it would be worse if Antonio walked away from her. He wouldn’t be taken in a senseless tragedy. He would choose it, and she would let him, and that felt awful. She’d found love, but she still didn’t know how to be strong. How to fight for it.

  In the middle of July, when Ella was five months old and the summer heat was scorching, Maisie told Max about her and Antonio. She’d kept it from him for a while because she hadn’t wanted him to worry, especially not when he was so clearly enjoying life without the concerns of a sister and niece.

  ‘You’re with Rossi?’ he asked on a video call, his eyebrows rising towards his hairline as Maisie sat in front of the computer screen, Ella in her lap.

  ‘Yes, and please don’t call him “Rossi”, Max, as if he’s some stranger.’

  ‘But do you really know him, Maisie? He was a stranger—’

  ‘And he isn’t now.’ Ella blew a raspberry at the screen and Maisie let out a somewhat shaky laugh. As confident as she wanted to feel about all this, Max’s surprise was reminding her of how uncertain everything still felt. ‘We’ve come to know each other over these last few months, Max,’ she continued. ‘Antonio is a good man and...and the truth is, I love him.’ As soon as she’d said the words, she wished she could snatch them back. She hadn’t said them before to anyone, and Antonio certainly hadn’t said them to her. Sometimes Maisie felt as if he was making a point of not saying them.