Wish Upon a Star

by Sarah Morgan

  And then he felt her body tighten around his and he ceased to think altogether as they reached the peak together in one long shower of erotic sensation that left them both breathless and unable to speak.

  Christy lay with her eyes closed, feeling blissfully happy and content for the first time in months.

  Alessandro loved her.

  She knew he loved her.

  The night hadn’t been about the children or staying together for the family. It had been about them as a couple. About expressing their love.

  He still hadn’t told her that he wasn’t going to let her leave, but he would. She knew he would.

  He was probably just being sensitive about bringing the subject up.

  Tomorrow he’d tell her that she was staying in that arrogant, autocratic manner of his. She’d say yes.

  And Christmas would be perfect.

  Christy was making breakfast when the phone rang.

  Before she could answer it, Alessandro strolled into the kitchen and picked up the handset. His eyes lingered on her flushed cheeks for a moment and then he gave a slow smile of masculine satisfaction and she blushed deeply.

  Help, she thought as she turned back to the hob to stir the porridge. She was behaving like a teenager.

  She was so lost in her own dreamy thoughts that she didn’t even listen to Alessandro’s conversation—didn’t even register that he was off the phone until he walked across the kitchen and poured himself a large mug of coffee.

  ‘That was your brother,’ he said, and his voice was so cold that she looked at him in alarm.

  ‘Is everything all right? Has something happened?’ A moment ago Alessandro had been looking at her as if he had every intention of skipping work and taking her back to bed. Now he looked remote and unapproachable and nothing like the man who’d made love to her all night.

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he said smoothly, ‘except that his other practice nurse has slipped on the ice and broken her wrist. So he wonders if you’d consider coming back immediately after Christmas.’

  Her heart flipped. Surely this was the moment when he was going to tell her that she had to stay, that he wasn’t going to let her leave.

  ‘Well, I hadn’t thought about going that quickly…’ She hesitated, waited for him to interrupt her and tell her that she wasn’t going at all, but he stood still, studying her face with brooding intensity.

  What was he thinking?

  ‘I’ll ring Peter back,’ she said quickly, ‘and chat about it.’

  ‘Fine.’ His mouth set in a grim line, Alessandro slammed his mug down on the table so hard that most of the liquid sloshed over the wood. Then he strode from the room, narrowly avoiding a collision with Katy, who was on her way to find breakfast.

  She watched her father go with a look of surprise and then saw the pool of liquid on the table. ‘Now I know where Ben gets it from,’ she said wearily as she walked round the table and reached for a cloth. ‘Spilling drinks is obviously a genetic defect. Remind me to screen any man I marry—I don’t want to spend my life mopping up puddles.’

  Christy was too miserable even to raise a smile.

  Now what?

  She thought back to the conversation they’d had when he’d walked out of the shower the night before. He’d been talking about the time they’d met. Hadn’t he implied last night that they’d married in too much of a hurry?

  Obviously he was the one who was regretting their whirlwind courtship.

  Perhaps, after all, he wanted to be free to date women like Katya but was much too traditional to make that decision himself.

  So he was expecting her to make it.

  Why hadn’t he told her that she couldn’t leave? She felt tears prick her eyes as she turned off the heat and poured porridge into bowls for the children.

  ‘Mum, this isn’t the story of Goldilocks, you know.’ Katy stared at the meagre contents of her bowl. ‘And I’m not baby bear. That’s never going to keep me warm on a cold day.’

  Realising that she’d only put a spoonful in the bowl, Christy gave a wan smile and filled the bowl to the top.

  ‘Are you all right, Mum?’

  No, Christy thought, suppressing a hysterical giggle. She was far from all right.

  It appeared that her marriage was well and truly over and that wasn’t what she wanted. It wasn’t what she’d ever wanted.

  Everything had gone utterly, miserably wrong and it was mostly her fault for leaving in the first place.

  It didn’t matter that she’d intended him to follow her the same day and make up.

  All that mattered was that she adored him and that he didn’t seem to want her with him any more.

  And every time she tried to remind herself that last night he’d been loving and caring, that over the past days he’d listened to her and treated her like a woman, nothing changed the fact that he hadn’t told her that she couldn’t leave.

  And Alessandro had never, ever had problems saying what he wanted.

  So if he hadn’t asked her then there was only one possible explanation.

  He was hoping that she’d go back to London.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SHE spent Christmas Eve with the children and they went for a walk in the forest, stamping footprints into virgin snow and piercing the muffled silence with their excited squeals.

  After the inevitable snowball fight, they returned to the barn wet and happy and Christy set about drying clothes and making dinner.

  Would this be the last time she did this?

  Would this be their last ever Christmas as a family?

  She stood for a moment and looked around the kitchen, the kitchen she’d chosen so carefully. Three more days. In three more days she’d be leaving this and she’d probably never cook in this room again.

  Tears stung her eyes.

  ‘Mum, I want to leave a chocolate roll for Santa.’ Ben was beside her, his eyes huge and shining, a pair of furry brown antlers jammed onto his head. ‘Everyone leaves mince pies and he must be really bored with it, don’t you think? I mean mince pies are great, but if you think of the population of the world, that’s a lot of pastry, isn’t it?’

  Blinking back the tears, Christy smiled and reached into the cupboard for a little chocolate roll. ‘Good idea,’ she said huskily. ‘Leave him this with a little note. I’m sure he’ll be really pleased.’

  ‘And carrots for the reindeer.’ Ben squinted up at her, the bells on his antlers jangling. ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘Me? Crying? Never.’ Her smile widened and she wondered if her face would crack with the effort. ‘I’ve been chopping onions for tea.’

  ‘I hate onions.’

  ‘They’re for Daddy’s tea,’ Christy said quickly, turning her back on him and washing her hands. ‘Go and put that cake out now, before you forget.’

  ‘I can’t wait for Daddy to come home so we can hang up our stockings like we always do.’

  Family tradition. Routine.

  Thinking of Ben’s innocent face, Christy thought her heart might break.

  Why did life have to go so very wrong? Wasn’t there something she could have done to have fixed it?

  Was this all her fault?

  Katy wandered into the room. ‘I love Christmas Eve even more than I love Christmas.’

  Pulling herself together, Christy turned round, the smile still in place. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because you have all the excitement and anticipation. It’s all still to come.’ Katy danced round the kitchen, her ponytail swinging. ‘And Christmas Eve feels so Christmassy. More Christmassy than Christmas Day. Tomorrow’s going to be brilliant, isn’t it, Mum?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Katy stopped dancing and looked at her. ‘Everything’s going to be OK, Mum.’

  How did you explain to an eleven-year-old girl who still thought that life was perfect that everything was going to be anything but OK?

  Keeping up a brave front was proving exhausting and she was almost relieved when
Alessandro arrived home. At least the children might stop noticing her.

  They ate dinner as a family and Christy was glad of the excited chatter of the children. It meant that she didn’t have to speak, which was a relief because she honestly didn’t know what to say with Alessandro looking so icily remote across the table.

  Not only did he not want her to stay but, judging from the look on his face, he couldn’t wait for Christmas to be over so that she would leave.

  After dinner, she watched with a lump in her throat as Alessandro helped Ben fasten his huge red sock to the fireplace and write his letter to Father Christmas.

  Finally the children were tucked up in bed and the house was silent.

  When she was sure that the children were asleep, Christy tiptoed back downstairs and stuffed the stockings. It was a ritual that she and Alessandro normally performed together with the help of chilled champagne and smoked salmon. Memories filled her brain. How many years had they ended the evening by making love on the huge rug in front of the fire?

  But not tonight.

  Tonight, Christmas Eve had lost its magic.

  She went to bed, but her mind was too full of thoughts to allow her to sleep, so eventually she padded back downstairs to the living room. Staring out of the huge windows into the darkness, she watched the soft swirl of snowflakes.

  ‘Aren’t you coming to bed?’ Alessandro’s voice came from directly behind her and she tensed, afraid to turn in case she gave herself away.

  ‘Don’t you ever wish you were still small and believed in Father Christmas?’ she breathed softly, watching the snow hit the pane and slide downwards leaving a watery trail. ‘It’s one of the most magical things about childhood. Believing in the impossible.’

  ‘So what would you want him to bring you?’

  She was silent for a moment. ‘Love,’ she said softly, without turning to look at him. ‘It’s the only thing that really matters in the end. Everything else is nothing without love.’

  He didn’t answer and the still silence of the room seemed to close them in and wrap itself around them.

  ‘Then I hope you find it,’ he said hoarsely, and she heard the firm tread of his step as he turned and walked away, leaving her with only her sadness for company.

  ‘Mummy, can we get up now?’ Ben’s excited voice was the first thing she heard when she finally woke the following morning after about two hours’ sleep.

  ‘He’s been prising my eyelids open for the past three hours,’ Katy complained as she bounced onto her parents’ bed. ‘He keeps saying, “Is it time yet?” like a parrot.’

  ‘That phrase is probably first cousin to “Are we there yet?”’ Alessandro muttered, sitting up in bed and stifling a yawn.

  Christy risked a glance at him and saw that he looked exhausted, too.

  And tense.

  Was being with her really that much of a strain?

  Oh, for crying out loud. It was Christmas Day and nothing, not even her crumbling, disintegrating marriage, was going to spoil it!

  ‘Come on, then.’ Pushing away the heavy bands of stress and tiredness that threatened to crush her skull, she slid out of bed and pulled on her silk robe.

  The children careered downstairs, shrieking with excitement, and she followed more slowly, watching their pleasure with an indulgent smile.

  ‘He’s been, he’s been,’ Ben shouted, dancing up to his stocking and lifting it. ‘And look—he’s eaten the chocolate roll and left a footprint.’

  Sure enough, a large, dusty footprint lay in front of the fireplace and Christy gave a smile. Alessandro must have come back downstairs during the night to make that, she thought to herself. He’d always done it, even when the children had been too young to notice. He was a brilliant father.

  He walked into the room moments later, his dark eyes heavy with sleep, his jeans half-undone and his T-shirt rumpled. He’d obviously reached for the first thing in his wardrobe and still he managed to look impossibly sexy, she thought with something close to exasperation.

  Why couldn’t she look at him and feel nothing?

  How did you stifle a love as powerful as hers?

  How did you carry on with life?

  ‘Has Father Christmas been coming down my chimney without wiping his feet again?’ Alessandro glowered at the footprint and Ben giggled.

  ‘Do you think he brought the reindeer?’

  Alessandro raised an eyebrow. ‘Into my living room? I hope not.’

  ‘Come on, Ben.’ Determined not to dwell on Alessandro, she turned back to the children. ‘What has he brought you?’

  Christmas Day had begun. They opened the presents in their stockings, ate breakfast together and then went to the carol service at the local church.

  Wrapped up warmly in a long coat, Christy listened to the pure voices of the choirboys and felt a lump in her throat.

  It was normally her favourite part of Christmas but today it just seemed to make her feel even sadder.

  ‘Hey.’ A masculine voice came from behind her. ‘I hope my lunch isn’t burning while you’re here.’

  It was Jake.

  Having him for the day would be a welcome distraction, she thought to herself as she turned to acknowledge his presence with a quick smile.

  ‘Come on, Mum.’ Katy grabbed her hand as they arrived back at the barn to the delicious smells of turkey. ‘Time for all the other presents now.’

  Her parents arrived moments later and suddenly the house took on the chaotic, crazy feel that only ever happened at Christmas.

  ‘I have to go and spend some time in the kitchen,’ Christy began, but Katy shook her head.

  ‘It can wait. It doesn’t matter if lunch is late. We can always eat crisps to keep us going.’

  ‘You cannot eat crisps!’

  Katy grinned. ‘Just winding you up, Mum.’

  Christy gave a weak smile and followed her daughter through to the living room.

  Jake and Alessandro were talking by the fireplace and Katy dropped to her knees and dragged the presents out from under the tree.

  ‘This one is for Daddy, from Grandma…’

  Christy watched as everyone opened presents and tried not to mind that Alessandro didn’t seem to have bought her anything.

  Why would he? She was only here under sufferance. Because he wanted Christmas with his children, and she came as part of the package.

  Eventually the pressure grew too much and she retired to the kitchen.

  It was all right, she told herself firmly as she checked the roast potatoes and stirred the cranberry sauce. She’d cope. Whatever happened, she’d cope.

  She was concentrating so hard on not breaking down that she didn’t hear the kitchen door open and close. She wasn’t aware of another person in the room until she heard Alessandro’s deep, dark drawl from directly behind her.

  ‘There are things that I have to say,’ he said tightly, ‘and you’re not going to like them. But I’m going to say them anyway.’

  Oh, dear God, not now, she thought. She had to produce Christmas dinner for seven people and she couldn’t do that if he’d just told her that he didn’t love her any more and that he wanted her to go back to London. Knowing that it was the truth was quite different from hearing it.

  ‘We can talk later, Alessandro,’ she said quickly, sticking her face in the oven to check the turkey and resisting the temptation to leave it there. ‘This probably isn’t the best time.’

  ‘I don’t care about that. You have to listen.’ He strode across the kitchen and pulled her away from the oven. Strong hands closed over her shoulders, forcing her to look at him.

  ‘All right, then.’ She said the words with weary resignation. ‘This is about me going back to London, isn’t it? It’s fine, Alessandro. I’ll leave the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘You’re not going anywhere.’ His voice was a threatening growl and then he cursed softly and released her, taking a step backwards. ‘I’m doing this all wrong but—I’ve got you a pr
esent—let’s start with that.’

  He seemed to be fumbling for words and she considered it a point in his favour that he appeared to have lost his usually fluent English. Obviously he wasn’t finding it easy and perversely she was glad about that. She didn’t want him to find it easy.

  ‘A present?’ She stared at him with a lack of comprehension. Given the gravity of their conversation, mention of a Christmas present suddenly jarred. Material gifts were so unimportant, she thought dully, but she forced herself to smile and look interested. ‘For me?’

  ‘Of course, for you.’

  He would have bought her something because of the children, she reasoned. Because Katy would have asked questions if there’d been nothing for her. ‘Why didn’t you give it to me when we were all round the tree?’

  ‘Because this is a special gift from me to you and I don’t want to share it.’

  Not because of the children, then.

  What sort of special gift was he buying her? she wondered with wry humour. A one-way train ticket south? Frosted divorce papers?

  He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small box wrapped in glittering paper.

  ‘Oh, it’s pretty…’ And so unlike Alessandro, she thought as she took the box, feeling the sudden uneven thump of her heart. Don’t be ridiculous, Christy, she told herself firmly. This can’t be anything special. It can’t be.

  ‘Open it,’ he urged in a husky voice. ‘Open it, querida.’

  A lump sprang into her throat. Why was he calling her darling when they were two days away from ending their marriage for ever?

  Wanting to get the moment over as quickly as possible, she ripped off the paper and saw a small velvet box.

  Jewellery.

  It had to be jewellery.

  Suddenly she wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. She’d spent twelve Christmases with Alessandro and he’d never bought her jewellery and he decided to do it on their last one.

  Why?

  Trying to find the answer to that question, she looked up at him and saw an unusual degree of tension in his handsome face.

  ‘Aren’t you going to look?’ His voice bordered on the impatient and he stretched out a lean, bronzed hand and flipped the box open. ‘Do you like it?’