by Alexia Adams
“Hello, Jonathan.” With Hannah on her lap, she kept her tone neutral.
“Olivia, I’m sorry. Please come home. Can I pick you up somewhere?” He sounded genuinely remorseful.
“We’re at Sophia’s place.” She didn’t say goodbye, just ended the call.
Ten minutes later Jonathan was at the door, looking sheepish. Was it only a week ago that they’d had their first date and she’d thought him a Norse god? Well, now she knew he had a heart of stone. At least she’d learned that lesson early, and not after completely losing herself to him.
Hannah was so relaxed by the showering of attention, she rushed to the door and hugged Jonathan’s leg. After picking the little girl up and kissing her cheek, he dared to look at Olivia. His blue eyes were so contrite that a chunk of the anger she’d built like a wall around her crumbled. He was, after all, a single dad, trying to do the best for his daughter. Even if Olivia didn’t agree with him.
She said a warm goodbye to her Italian hosts, hugging the couple who had opened their arms to them earlier in the day. Both Maria and Vittore kissed Hannah, now held in Jonathan’s arms. Hannah babbled away, mimicking the cadence of the Italian language as if she could understand them.
Maria enveloped Olivia again in a warm hug before addressing Jonathan.
“They want you to come visit again with Hannah,” he translated.
“Please tell them I’ll be back as soon as Sophia is home,” Olivia replied. “She said just a few more days in her last phone call.”
Jonathan translated the message and then, after saying his own goodbye, put Hannah in her car seat in his truck. As soon as he moved away from the door, Olivia jumped in and closed it herself.
The ride back to his place was accomplished in icy silence. When they arrived, she unbuckled Hannah and lifted her out of the vehicle. Jonathan unlocked the house door and she sauntered through.
“I’ll get Hannah ready for bed. No need to trouble yourself.” She headed straight up the stairs without even glancing at him.
She gave Hannah a bath, completely ignoring Jonathan as he stood and watched from the door. Her senses, though, were on high alert. Her traitorous body still wanted him, wanted to be wrapped in his arms, held against his solid chest.
Their two kisses still loomed large in her memory. Jonathan had awakened a passion she’d thought only existed in books. Her blood had turned to molten lava, setting fire to all her inhibitions, leaving her resolutions a smoldering pile of wasted words. She had no defense against his touch, and even angry with him, she longed to feel his arms around her.
If she were smart, she’d run from here as fast as her legs would carry her. She’d taken care of herself since she was fifteen, and had done a pretty decent job. She couldn’t let some man come and take over now. Not that it was likely. He didn’t even want his own daughter. As soon as Hannah was gone, she’d leave, too.
He followed her as she carried Hannah to her bedroom but disappeared when Olivia began singing a lullaby.
Hannah fell asleep within a minute after the busy day. Olivia considered having a long shower and going to bed as well, but decided she’d better face Jonathan while the little girl slept. Her harsh words this morning had upset the child. She didn’t want to imagine what Hannah’s reaction would be to a full-blown argument. But she had to make an effort to show Jonathan how much keeping his daughter with him would mean. And if that meant a sacrifice on her part as well, she had to do it. Hannah would not suffer as she had.
She descended the stairs and found Jonathan on the back terrace. A bottle of wine and two glasses were on the table.
She might need the wine. It was going to be painful to dredge up the past she’d carefully hidden under makeup and fancy clothes.
Chapter 8
“I thought maybe you wouldn’t come down tonight,” Jonathan said softly, hoping to melt the glacial look on Olivia’s face. He poured a glass of wine and set it on the table in front of her. Their evening ritual of enjoying a drink on the terrace after Hannah went to bed had become the highlight of his day. Even though it meant it took twice as long to fall asleep as he waited for his body to get over the disappointment that Olivia wasn’t in the bed next to him. He was doing his best to resist the allure of this little slice of family life. It was what he’d envisioned when he married Celeste. Look how that had turned out.
Olivia took a sip of the wine before answering. “It crossed my mind not to come down. But I thought, for Hannah’s sake, we’d better have our argument now.” Her voice was still frosty.
“Is that what we’re going to do, argue?” With Celeste, there had been a lot of stony silences but few arguments. You had to be passionate about something to argue.
Olivia ignored his question. “Was it nice and quiet while we were gone?”
“Too quiet. Even though it’s been only a week, I’ve gotten used to you and Hannah being around,” he confessed. He’d almost been able to forget that she was a model.
“Well, don’t get too used to it. Because that’s what it’s going to be like after your mother takes Hannah away—silent and lonely.”
Here come the histrionics. He knew she was trying to help, so he tempered his response. “I know you don’t believe it, but I’m not doing this for me. What kind of life will Hannah have with me? I know nothing about children. I’m an investment banker. My job demands long hours and frequent travel. Who am I supposed to leave her with? A neighbor? A nanny? How can I be sure they’ll look after her properly? At least with my mother, or my sister or brother, I know she’ll be well cared for and loved.”
It was exactly what he’d told himself for the past two days. No way was he going to be like Celeste and get rid of Hannah to make his life easier. But how could he keep her with him?
“I know you think it’s logical, Jonathan. But it’s not logic at stake here, it’s emotion. Do you know what kind of turmoil Hannah is going to go through—first being rejected by her own mother and then sent away by her father? It doesn’t matter what the motive is, or how reasonable the solution. She’ll see it only as abandonment. If you keep her, even if her life is difficult, she’ll know you love her enough to make sacrifices. Trust me, it will mean everything to her.” Olivia’s voice wobbled and she seemed on the verge of tears.
“Don’t you think I haven’t thought about it?” He searched her eyes. His chest tightened at the agony he saw there. Was it all for Hannah? Surely she knew him well enough by now to trust he’d do what was best for his daughter. Yes, he felt crappy about his decision. But it didn’t change the situation. And it sure as hell didn’t help to be judged and condemned by a woman who wore clothes for a living. What did she know about life’s difficulties?
She leaned forward and took his hands in hers. “I’ll help—until you come to some other arrangement. I can take a break from modeling for a couple months, maybe longer. Or make sure my assignments are when you’re home with Hannah. Don’t make a decision just yet, Jonathan. Give her a few months at least. Hannah deserves a father. Don’t take that away from her.”
He sat there, stunned. She was willing to put her life, her career on hold for his daughter. How could he bear to do less?
“Why, Olivia? You’ve known me for nine days and Hannah for a week. Why are you willing to do this for a child you’re not even related to?”
She took a deep breath and then shuddered. “Because I was Hannah—I was unwanted, unloved, and eventually abandoned. And I promised myself that if I ever came across a child in that position, I would move heaven and earth to make sure he or she didn’t suffer as I did.” A sob broke from her throat and she pulled her hands out of his to wipe the tears that were coursing down her cheeks. “Do you have any idea how it feels to know your parent wishes you were never born?”
He stood and coaxed Olivia into his arms, holding her as sobs wracked her body. The pressure in his chest increased. This was real emotion. Not the trumped-up tears Celeste used to trot out when she didn’t get her way. He
didn’t know what to do, except hold her until she stopped.
Ten minutes later, when she finally quieted, he raised her tear-ravaged face to his. He swept the last drop of moisture off her cheek with his thumb. “Sit here.” He led her toward the love seat. “I’ll get you a cool cloth and a glass of water.”
He returned a minute later and passed her the water and flannel as he sat beside her. She wiped her face and drained the entire glass, then took a deep breath. The wobbly smile she gave him made his breath catch in this throat. Here was the vulnerability he’d caught a glimpse of in the car on the way to Brisighella. Now it was laid bare and placed before him like an offering.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I’ve never cried like that before.” Her voice was raw. “I soaked your shirt.” She ran her delicate hand over his wet shirt. The heat of her fingers through the damp fabric set off sparks of awareness.
“The shirt will dry,” he murmured, steeling himself against her touch. It wasn’t the time. “Do you want to talk about it?” The tentative smile faded from her face and he wrapped his arms around her again. She melted against him, unleashing another wave of longing. After a couple of deep breaths, she straightened.
“It’s not a pretty story. But I’ll tell you, for Hannah’s sake. I know, in my heart, that her situation is nothing like mine. But maybe it will help you understand why it is so important that you show her how much you love her. The only other person who knows my past is Sophia. If it weren’t for her, I’d be dead for sure.”
He shifted in his chair. Was he ready for this? But how could he tell her he didn’t want to know? That if she told him, he might feel things for her he didn’t want to feel? He didn’t want to risk getting even closer to her. He opened his mouth, but the words died on his tongue. It was already too late to keep his distance.
She reached for her wine glass and took a long sip. When he stretched his arm along the back of the chair, she shifted, putting her head on his shoulder. Her long, slender fingers stroked the wine glass in a sensuous caress. He dragged his mind back from imagining her hands on his body.
“My mother, Ellen, was seventeen when she became pregnant with me. She was already an alcoholic and drug addict. Her parents kicked her out of the house, and as far as I’m aware, never spoke to her again. Apparently, she made a botched attempt at a homemade abortion. When one of her friends told her that she could probably get a council flat as a single mother, she decided to keep me.” Olivia’s voice was soft, detached.
“And your father?”
“Not even my mother knows who my father is—evidently there were so many possibilities. It would seem, from my coloring and hair, he was black, but that only narrowed it down to three or four suspects. But it didn’t matter to Ellen. She had no plans of making a happy family with any man. Whoever my father is, he has no idea I exist.”
That stung. If Celeste hadn’t tired of Hannah, he’d have no idea she existed. And despite his current dilemma, he wouldn’t want to not know her. “So, no grandparents, no father. It was just you and your mum?”
“Yeah. Childhood was rough; we had very little. Ellen wasn’t really interested in being a mum. She never read to me or played. As long as I was quiet, things were okay. She battled her addictions, and she seemed to have control of them most of the time. But by the time I was eight, Ellen started going out at night, coming back in the morning drunk or high, often with some man. She’d get me ready for school and then sleep the day away.”
“Wasn’t there anyone you could talk to—a teacher, social worker? Surely it’s illegal to leave an eight-year-old home alone, especially at night.” He forced his muscles to relax, to offer her comfort, support. There would be enough time for his outrage later.
“She told me horror stories of children put into care, and said if I ever told anyone what happened at home I’d be taken away and made to live with people who would beat me. At least she never hit me. So I didn’t tell anyone how scared I was when she left me alone.”
“Didn’t social services ever come to the flat, see how you were living?”
“A couple of times the neighbors called the police when she was particularly loud as she came home drunk. I don’t know what she told them or the social workers when they came by, but they always left and I stayed with her. The flat was neat and tidy because I cleaned it. Even as a child I hated living in filth. And when I got a little older she gave me money for groceries so I could buy food and vary my diet from baked beans and cheese sandwiches. I used to watch cooking shows to learn how to make new recipes.”
Olivia took another sip of wine and was quiet for a moment. When she resumed her story, her voice was distant, monotone. “When I was twelve, her boyfriends began to stay at the flat, some a couple of weeks, others a few months. Ellen was nearly always drunk or high. I have no idea where she got the money for booze or drugs, but probably by whoring. I never brought any school friends home. I didn’t know what state she’d be in, and I didn’t want anyone to know what my home life was like. I was already a master at hiding my thoughts and feelings behind a smile. If you saw my school reports, they all said something like, ‘Olivia is a happy, carefree student.’ What a crock.”
She placed her empty wine glass carefully on the table, her hands tightening into fists in her lap. Jonathan was silent. What should I say? Anyone who looked at Olivia would think, beautiful woman, must have the world at her feet. He had. Now he was discovering that she’d clawed her way out of a mire to make something of her life. No wonder she’d been so quick to respond to Hannah.
Pulling her knees to her chest, Olivia wrapped her arms around them before putting her forehead on her bent knees. A chill ran up his spine despite the warm night as she assumed the fetal position. “Then some stuff happened and I left.”
Her voice was so strained, he didn’t dare ask what had prompted her to leave home. “Where did you go? Into care? To your grandparents?”
“No. I met Sophia and we lived on the streets for a while. Then one day we were nearly killed, so we sought refuge in a shelter. They gave us a safe place to live and food to eat and helped us finish our schooling. As soon as I got my GCSEs, I started modeling and have been doing that ever since. I haven’t seen Ellen since the day I turned fifteen. I have no idea if she is dead or alive.”
“Olivia … ” Jonathan stopped to clear his throat. “I don’t know what to say. I had no idea you’ve been through so much in your life.”
He ran his hand up and down her back until she uncurled herself and placed her feet on the floor. “It’s not something I put on my CV.” She tried for a smile, but it wavered before collapsing entirely. “It doesn’t really go with the glamorous image models try to portray.”
“I can certainly understand your feelings toward Hannah. But I promise you, even if I ask my family to look after her on a day-to-day basis for the next few years, she will always know that I love her,” he vowed.
“I know. But as I said earlier, knowledge and emotion are sometimes at odds with each other. At least tell me you’ll think about what I said,” she begged.
“I won’t be able to think about anything else,” he replied soberly.
He held her close and she rested her head on his shoulder. Silently, they watched the night sky.
Chapter 9
Olivia glanced up as Jonathan walked into the kitchen. Her heart did its two-quick-beats thing it always did when she first saw him, even if he’d been gone only ten minutes. She’d have thought it would have settled down by now. They’d been “living together” for almost two weeks, and he was always around, barring a quick trip to the store to get more milk or nappies.
When his eyes met hers, a huge smile creased his face, and her heart sped up even more.
“I leave the room for two minutes and this is what happens?” He sauntered over to them and wiped a finger down Hannah’s flour-covered nose. Olivia had put the high chair against the counter so Hannah could feel part of the cake-makin
g enterprise. Having given her a bowl with a little flour and a spoon, Hannah was trying to copy Olivia’s movements as she folded all the ingredients together.
“We’re baking a cake,” Olivia replied. Although her prep area was fairly tidy, the floor around Hannah’s chair was covered in flour. The little girl stirred her bowl again, most of the contents ending up on the counter or the makeshift apron Olivia had fashioned for her.
“Daddy!” Hannah held up her bowl for Jonathan to see, tipping the last of the flour over her head.
It was the first time Hannah had called him “Daddy.” The look of pure love that crossed his face caused Olivia’s breath to catch in her throat.
It was hard to believe the little girl’s transformation in two weeks. Hannah had started talking more over the past couple of days, referring to Olivia as “Bibya,” which warmed her heart. The silent, sad toddler was now a vibrant, happy child chattering nonsense to her doll, playing tea party with Olivia, and making hundreds of pieces of artwork for Jonathan.
“We are going to love your cake,” Jonathan said at last. His voice was a little raw. “Just like Daddy loves you.” He bent and kissed her little cheek before turning overly bright eyes on Olivia.
If Hannah’s transformation had been amazing, it was echoed in Jonathan’s change in attitude. In the days since their “argument” on the terrace, he’d stopped being remote and had showered Hannah with love and attention. He’d also told Olivia often how much he appreciated her help.
“I called my mother again,” he said.
She stopped stirring the batter and put the bowl down on the counter. “And?”
“And I asked her to be on standby, but that for the next few months I’d be keeping Hannah with me.”
She couldn’t stop her smile. To hide her delight, she picked up the bowl again and beat the cake mixture with renewed vigor. “That’s great. One day, Hannah will tell you how much this means to her.”