‘She was lying,’ Lydia said, and it wasn’t a question, just a sad, sad statement. And as Anton gave a slow, leaden nod, in that moment all Lydia could feel was hatred. Hatred for a woman she had never met, for the agony her deceit had caused.
‘Dario got sicker. He had been in Intensive Care since he was born, and when he was four weeks old he needed an urgent transfusion in the middle of the night. He has a rare blood group, and because Cara’s type was different the pathologist told me that mine would be suitable. He took my blood and said that he would rush through all the tests, that the blood would be ready soon—that it was quicker this way than waiting for it to be flown in. We waited for that blood for hours.’ Anton’s face was pale beneath his suntan, and there were black rings around his eyes as he forced himself to go on. ‘I didn’t match. I can still remember the pathologist sitting with me, telling me that there was no way I could help Dario because he wasn’t my son.’
A hundred emotions, words, tumbled in her mind as she tried to imagine his horror, his devastation, tried to comprehend what he had been through.
‘I confronted Cara and it all came out. Apparently she’d had a brief fling before we met, with a married man in the village; she knew there was a chance the baby was his, but it was easier to say the baby was mine.’
‘Easier for who?’ Lydia flared, but when Anton just shook his head she knew she didn’t really understand.
‘For everyone. If the truth had come out she would have broken up a respectable family, her own family’s name would have been shamed…’
‘So she shamed you instead?’
‘I offered because I could take it.’ Anton swallowed hard, all the lies, however well meant at the time, finally catching up with him. ‘I told Cara she could say I had said I wasn’t ready for fatherhood, that I didn’t want to be tied down, but that I’d given her money to support Dario.’
‘Why?’ Lydia begged. ‘Why would you say such a thing after all she’d done to you? After all the lies?’
‘Because even if I was able to walk away from Cara, I couldn’t bring myself to just walk away from Dario. I had to be sure he was going to be okay. That is why I gave her money—so she could provide for him.’
‘He’s not your responsibility,’ Lydia argued, but even as she said them she knew the futility of her words—knew that when a man like Anton loved, he loved for ever.
‘I held him, Lydia. I cut his cord when he was born. Even if he is not mine he will always matter to me.’
‘And Cara?’ God, it hurt to ask—hurt almost more than she could bear. But Lydia needed answers.
‘We have made our peace,’ Anton said softly. ‘The anger is gone now. She was scared; she didn’t know what else to do…’
‘So she tried to con you!’ Lydia retorted. ‘I’m sorry.’ Pulling her hands away, she stood up. ‘It’s not for me to judge, and I’m glad you’ve made up…’ She forced a smile. ‘I hope you’ll both be happy.’
‘Both?’ Anton frowned.
‘All three of you, then,’ Lydia snapped, wishing he would just leave, wishing this torturous agony would soon end so that she could give in to the tears that were appallingly close.
‘Why would I want to be with Cara?’ He sounded genuinely bemused. ‘Why do you think—?’
‘You said you’d made your peace.’
‘It doesn’t mean I slept with her.’ He was back in control now, his flip response more the Anton of old. ‘Lydia, why do you think I am here?’
‘I don’t know.’ Her hands flailed in the air. ‘To “make your peace” with me, perhaps? Well, save your breath, Anton. I’m doing fine.’
‘Are you?’ Gripping her wrists, he stared down at her, taking in a face that was way too pale, way too thin, watching those once confident eyes darting nervously, appalled at the fragility beneath his fingers. ‘Lydia, why do you think I left?’
Hadn’t he humiliated her enough? Tears filled her eyes and she gave an ungracious sniff as she struggled to hold them back, refusing to cry in front of him—there would be plenty of time for that later.
When she didn’t answer, when the words strangled in her throat, Anton spoke for her. ‘I left for you, Lydia.’ He watched a tiny frown pucker her taut face. ‘I left because that day I felt real fear and I truly thought that I couldn’t do it—thought that I couldn’t be the man you wanted me to be. And I knew if I stayed a moment longer I would try to dissuade you, would beg you to give up your work, and I also needed to talk to my mother about Cara, to explain things face to face…’
‘That was the unfinished business?’ Wide-eyed, she stared back at him. ‘I thought you meant you were going to see Cara.’
‘I had to deal with that too. But it is really finished now. Things are better now they are out in the open,’ Anton explained. ‘Rico is having the treatment he needs, and our families finally know the truth—or most of it.’
‘Most of it?’
‘I didn’t slip in the bit about emigrating, and taking over our Australian franchise. My mother’s heart isn’t quite what it used to be.’
‘Emigrating?’ The frown on her face deepened as she whispered the word back to him.
Anton continued—because Lydia couldn’t. ‘And I admit I omitted to tell her that my future wife is an inspector in the police…’ Registering her confusion, he ignored the issues he’d raised and focussed on the one that really mattered. Cupping her fragile face in his hands, all joking and flip comments over now, he bared his very soul. ‘I thought I couldn’t do it, Lydia. Couldn’t imagine, after all we’d gone through, ever being able to wave you to off to work, ever allowing you…’ His translation skills stalled and she watched as his mind raced to find the right words. He settled for, ‘…to be you,’ and it worked beautifully. Tears spilled from her eyes unchecked now as Anton Santini opened the door to his heart and invited her to step inside.
‘These past weeks I have worked on myself—does that make sense?’
It made perfect sense. Because she’d worked on herself too. Had spent sleepless nights facing the bigger issues, had grown up more in these past six weeks than she had in her entire life.
‘At first I thought it was pride—what sort of man would I be, allowing my wife to do such work?—and maybe that was a factor. But not now.’
His hands still cradled her face, the nub of his thumb hushing her as she opened her lips to speak, to reassure him that finally she understood, that she knew exactly how he was feeling. But it wasn’t that that silenced her. Instead it was respect and need—respect for his heartfelt words that deserved an audience, and a need to know how he really felt.
‘I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, Lydia. I couldn’t bear the thought of some bastard doing to you what Rico did—and maybe far, far worse. I almost managed to convince myself that it would be easier to walk away, to let you live the life you want and I would live mine. It took me six damned weeks to realise why it hurt so much. Six long weeks to work out why I was still in so much pain—because in walking away I’d made my own worst fear come true. Either way, I had losed you.’
‘Lost me,’ Lydia corrected, but, seeing the pain flicker on his face, she begged an explanation. ‘Either way you had lost me.’ A gurgle of laughter spilled from her lips, in contrast to the tears streaming down her face. ‘I was correcting your English, Anton, not telling you it’s over. You could never lose me—never in a million years. Because as long as I’m breathing I’m going to love you.’
‘You mean it?’
Hope flared in his eyes and his mouth searched for hers, but Lydia pulled away. They had their whole life ahead of them. Kissing, loving, sharing could all come later. Some things needed to be said, and it was Anton’s turn to listen.
‘You don’t have to tell your mum about me being an inspector—’
‘I want to be honest now,’ Anton broke in.
‘So do I.’ Lydia nodded, but changed midway, shaking her head against the hands that still held her fac
e. ‘I can’t do it any more, Anton. I’ve lost my nerve.’
‘You’ll get it back,’ he said assuredly. ‘It will just take time. In a few weeks you’ll be back to normal, kicking arse…’
Lydia could scarcely believe what she was hearing—here was the man who hated her job more than anyone encouraging her, almost pleading with her to go back.
‘I understand.’ Lydia silenced him with two tender words. ‘I understand how you feel because I feel it too. I understand that when you love someone, when you care about someone more than you care about yourself, all you want to do is protect them.’ Trembling hands met his, guiding them from her face to her stomach, and she watched in silence as the news filtered through.
‘A baby?’ His voice was incredulous as the warmth of his hands seeped through her flimsy top, radiating love to the tiny life within.
‘Our baby,’ she affirmed. ‘I didn’t take the promotion, Anton. I couldn’t. When there was only me to worry about I could take the risks, but not now. I understand how you feel…’ Lydia whispered, closing her eyes as his lips met hers, closing the door on the horrors that were behind them, glimpsing a beautiful future ahead.
With Anton protecting them both.
EPILOGUE
‘LYDIA!’ Anton’s urgent voice had her running. Taking the steps of their smart Melbourne home two at a time, she raced into the living room, preparing herself for any appalling eventuality, skidding to a halt as a smiling face greeted hers.
‘I think Alexandra has a tooth.’
‘It’s milk,’ Lydia said in a matter-of-fact voice, peering into her eight-week-old daughter’s gummy mouth.
‘It’s a tooth,’ Anton insisted.
‘It’s regurgitated milk,’ Lydia said, wiping away the offending dot to confirm her point, smiling as she did so. The innocent, never-ending smiles from her tiny daughter never ceased to move her.
Or Anton.
He was as proud of Alexandra as he was dedicated to her—bathing her, singing tunelessly to her, changing the most vile of diapers with barely a word of protest. The only concession to his abhorrent wealth was a night-time nanny.
From seven through to seven it was just about them.
Apart from many final kisses goodnight.
Apart from the night feeds.
Apart from the times Anton nudged her in the ribs when Alex’s piercing screams filtered through to their bedroom around three a.m.
Over and over he loved them—loved the two redheaded women in his life; again and again he surprised her.
She’d handed him an envelope ten days after their daughter’s birth, because given what he’d been through he deserved it. She’d handed him the irrefutable proof that confirmed that Alexandra was 99.99 per cent his, and he’d handed it back unopened.
No proof of identity needed when none was required.
Trust was easy to achieve with love on their side.
‘We’re lucky.’
‘Very,’ Lydia agreed, snuggling into the sofa beside him, watching as he fed a greedy Alex the last remains of her bottle.
‘Some children aren’t.’ Anton gave a rather too dramatic sigh—the sort of sigh that had Lydia frowning; the sort of sigh that had her senses on high alert. ‘Don’t you wish you could help them?’
‘Who?’
‘I don’t know.’ Anton shrugged, way too nonchalantly. ‘Kids that maybe have been abused, babies that have no voice…’
Which wasn’t exactly idle conversation—wasn’t the type of thing Anton usually said at all. In an instant Lydia had worked him out—Anton hadn’t developed a social conscience all of a sudden, he’d been snooping where he shouldn’t.
‘You’ve been reading my e-mails!’ Appalled, she confronted him. ‘Don’t try and lie to me, Anton—you’ve been reading my mail.’
‘I read one e-mail,’ Anton retorted. ‘By complete accident.’
‘Please!’ Lydia snorted, two spots of colour flaming on her cheeks. Because even though she was in the right, even though she had every right to privacy, for some reason she felt as if she’d just been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, felt horribly guilty for not telling Anton what had been going on in her head for the last two days.
‘Is there anything you want to tell me?’
‘I’ve been offered a job. Well, I’ve been invited to apply for a job.’ Lydia gulped, staring at her divine daughter and wondering how she could even contemplate leaving her, wondering how she could bear to think about going back to work so soon. ‘Kevin phoned me a couple of days ago to see if I was interested, then e-mailed me the job description. It’s only part-time.’ Lydia breathed through it, bracing herself for his reaction. ‘I wouldn’t be starting for a couple of months yet. It’s as an inspector on the Child Protection Unit.’
‘You need to work, don’t you?’ Anton smiled, and for the thousandth time she was taken aback by his insight.
‘I do,’ Lydia admitted. ‘I guess I must need a bit of guilt back in my life…’ Seeing Anton’s frown, she elaborated. ‘It’s no fun buying shoes when you don’t need to hide the receipt.’
‘Why would you want to hide the receipt?’ Anton asked, clearly bemused.
‘It’s a girl thing,’ Lydia said airily. ‘We like to feel as if we’re doing something we shouldn’t.’ But her voice changed as she answered seriously the issues going back to work raised. ‘I feel awful even thinking about leaving Alex. But, Anton, it’s a great job—and it’s a lot safer than what I was doing before.’
‘No guns?’ Anton checked, and Lydia nodded. Then she gave a tiny, hesitant wince.
‘Not like before, Anton. But there probably will be a few situations where guns will be present—you’ve seen the news, you know what goes on. But I’m not going to be armed.’
‘It could still be dangerous.’
‘Of course it could,’ Lydia agreed. ‘But it’s probably one of the safer jobs that still manages to interest me, and at the end of the day…’
‘Don’t tell me again how you could get run over by a bus.’ Anton gave a tight smile, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. He stared at his gorgeous daughter for an age, before turning to her mother. ‘And you need it?’ Anton asked. ‘You need to work?’
‘I do,’ Lydia admitted. And it didn’t feel wrong saying it but it didn’t feel right either. It just…
…was.
‘But I can’t do it without you fully behind me, Anton. You have to know that there will be sacrifices, that even though the job’s part-time I might be late home sometimes. I might have to stay—’
‘I do work too,’ Anton broke in, and Lydia braced herself, sure that he was about to point out how important his work was, how much more he earned, how he wanted his wife home for dinner. But, as always, Anton surprised her. His next comment told her that he genuinely seemed to understand the problems she might face. ‘I do know that it’s not always easy to just get away. You don’t have to justify that to me.’
‘I know we don’t need the money, and I know that there will be days I hate my job more than anything in the world. But that won’t mean I want you telling me to leave it, that we don’t really need me to be there…’ Her voice faded and she stared at his strong, handsome face, listening to the contented sounds from a dozing Alex and wondering for the millionth time how she’d ever got so lucky.
‘Go for it, then.’ Anton smiled, snapping her out of her trance and back to beautiful reality.
‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m sure.’ Anton nodded, but a tiny frown puckered his brow, his face clouding over as he conjured up one horrible prospect. ‘On one condition.’
‘What?’ Lydia was frowning now too.
‘No night duty.’
‘No night duty!’ Lydia cried, rolling her eyes at the appalling concession he was forcing her to make, trying not to over-act too much, but hard pushed to keep the smile off her face. ‘Well…’ she gave a dramatic sigh ‘…I suppose if that’s what it takes to go back to w
ork…’
‘That’s what it takes,’ Anton insisted, pretending not to notice as Lydia shared a conspiratorial smile with her gorgeous daughter.
‘Then I guess that’s how it will have to be.’
‘Nights,’ Anton said, putting Alex in her crib and joining Lydia on the sofa, pulling her close and taking her in his arms, ‘are for you and I.’
ISBN: 1-55254-591-1
TAKEN FOR HIS PLEASURE
First North American Publication 2006.
Copyright © 2006 by The SAL Marinelli Family Trust.
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Taken for His Pleasure Page 15