“Okay, time to put the star on top of the tree. Are you ready to make your wish?”
“This is the best part,” Rose said with an excited jump in the air.
“Yes, darling. Here you are.” Elizabeth handed her the small glass star that Alastair had made as a child, on a family trip to Murano in Italy. “Be very gentle with it.”
“I know, I know. It’s special.” She held it with both hands, and Elizabeth hugged her tightly around the waist. Just quickly, because Rose was going through a phase of fierce independence and found cuddles and kisses to be extremely frustrating. She wrapped her hands around her daughter’s hips and lifted her easily, though not as easily as the year before, so that she could reach the top of the tree.
With small but very capable little fingers, Rose bent the tallest piece of the tree forward and carefully, so carefully, looped the star onto it. She closed her eyes dramatically and whispered, “Please, please, please.”
Elizabeth laughed. “It must have been a good wish. Do you want to tell me what it was?”
Rose looked at her with childish, scathing frustration. “Then it won’t come true. Come on, mummy, you know the rules.”
Elizabeth grimaced inside. After all, Rose’s Christmas Tree wishes were her clearest indication of what Santa might bring that year. “That’s birthday candles, not Christmas stars. You can tell me.”
“Are you certain?” Rose’s face was so earnest that Elizabeth had to stifle the urge to laugh.
“Yes, darling. I’m a mummy. I know all the rules.”
“Of course. You’re right.” She beamed a smile at her mother. “I wished for a little sister.” Then, with a dramatic wrinkle of her nose, “Or, a brother, if it must be, but ideally a sister. So I can brush her hair.”
Elizabeth felt a sharp pain in her chest as she eased her daughter to the ground and straightened her fairy skirt back into place. “A sister or brother, hmm?”
“Yes. I think it’s time, mummy. Don’t you?”
And it was so sweetly serious that Elizabeth felt fresh tears sting her eyes. She had wondered if this day might come, but foolishly, she’d hoped she had years up her sleeve. “Darling,” she sought for the words that were just right in this situation. It was one of the hardest points of being a single parent. There was no one to bounce things off. No co-parent to advise or counsel. She was, as ever, on her own. “Darling,” she began again, stroking her daughter’s flossy white hair, “I’m not sure Santa will be able to bring a baby to us.”
Rose’s face fell. “But… I asked for one. I said please three times, like Marjory Dawson said to.”
Elizabeth smiled at the reference to the bullish child Rose had decided to befriend at Kindergarten. She was infinitely confident, and Elizabeth knew that if Marjory had said it, then all of the classmates at Ladybird College would take it as gospel. “Be that as it may, Rosie, babies take a long time to make. Even Santa wouldn’t be able to make one by Christmas.”
“Oh. So I should have asked him sooner?”
Elizabeth shrugged, balking at saying the words to Rose that there would never be another baby for them. “Perhaps.”
“So I could ask him now for a baby next Christmas?”
“Well,” Elizabeth was being cowardly and she knew it. “You could certainly try.”
“I’ll do that then.” Rosie’s smile was bright, and confident, and it made Elizabeth feel a strange sense of guilt.
“Do you want to make another wish for this year?”
“No,” Rose was askance. “I want all of my wishes to go towards the baby.”
“I see,” Elizabeth said quietly, thinking she would need to tackle this one more directly, when the time was right. “Well, we’re running out of time to go to the playground. Why don’t you go straight up and get changed, Rosie.”
“I want to wear my princess dress.”
“No,” Elizabeth shook her head firmly. She had learned that the only way to manage as a single parent was to remain steadfast in her decisions. Like most four year olds, Rose excelled at pushing boundaries and sniffing out weakness. Therefore, Elizabeth had to work hard to make sure she didn’t give her any. Or many.
The sound of the doorbell chiming interrupted the retort that had been clearly forming on Rosie’s lips. “Fine,” she stormed with all of the angst of a teenager.
“You know you can’t wear a dress on the playground, Rosie. It will get all torn as you climb. And you do so love to climb.”
“Yes, okay,” she thumped louder, pushing out of the elegant lounge area and storming upstairs.
Elizabeth moved swiftly through the ground floor of the Kensington townhouse. She pulled the door open, humming the Christmas carol that had been playing whilst they decorated the tree. The hint of a smile at Rosie’s defiance died when she saw that Antonio was standing on her doorstep, larger than life and more devastatingly handsome than she remembered.
Her heart slammed against her ribcage; her pulse was an out of control fever in her wrists. “Antonio,” she squeaked, throwing a guilty look over her shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
He’d had a date. Something he didn’t feel the need to enlighten her about. The date had been a disaster. Philomena was a woman he had been involved with numerous times in the past. She was as stunning as she was available, at least, to men with money to throw around. She was also uncomplicated and had no expectations of any kind of future. Until meeting Elizabeth, he had been looking forward to reigniting his acquaintance with the leggy singer.
But instead, he’d spent the longest and most boring lunch of his life buying her martini after martini, simply so that she wouldn’t feel too sore when he bundled her into a limousine with directions to her home, rather than a five star hotel with him.
Slowly, he raked his eyes up the delectable body of the woman he’d begun to crave with a bodily strength. “You are a mess,” he said, amusement cracking through his bad mood.
Elizabeth shot him a look of annoyance, but, as she quickly lowered her eyes and surveyed herself, she had to admit, he had a point. Not only was there a streak of white powder across her abdomen, the gold leggings she’d pulled on that morning were skin tight and did little to hide her long, shapely legs. She was wearing mismatched socks on her feet, and her hair was wild about her face, falling in uncontrolled waves. Her face itself was bare of any make up except a little lip gloss to keep the winter dryness at bay.
“So? I wasn’t expecting company,” she said honestly.
“Mummy? I found a compromise.” A little voice called from inside.
Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut briefly, and wondered if there was any chance Antonio hadn’t heard Rose’s enquiry. But when she opened her eyes again, the surprise in his face was evident.
“One moment, darling.” Elizabeth reached behind her and pulled the door firmly closed. “What do you want?” She asked, directing her attention back to Antonio.
She hadn’t heard from him since she’d left Ravens Manor. And though she was ill-versed in the ways of casual sex, she had found it rude, and offensive.
“Honestly? I wanted you, though it seems I have called at a bad time.”
His admission did crazy things to her equilibrium. “You think you can show up here at,” she looked down at her slim gold wristwatch. “Two o’clock in the afternoon, to have sex?” She gave him a look of distaste, but it simply made him laugh, a slow, sexy laugh that was like sin and pleasure all in one.
“Yes, bella. Again, we have that problem with you thinking sex between two consenting adults is something illicit and shameful. Yes, I arrive in the middle of the day because I haven’t been able to stop thinking of your beautiful body since I last saw you, and I want to bury myself in you once more.”
His frankness brought a color to her cheeks. “I am not a… booty call,” she said fiercely. “And it is not a good time.”
“Mummy?” The little voice on the other side of the door was not willing to be ignored.
Elizabeth threw him a rueful, annoyed glance. “Is there any chance you’ll just go away?”
“No. None.”
“Right.” She frowned at the situation she found herself in, and she wondered why she’d wanted to keep her life with Rosie a secret from Antonio. Was it that she thought he might not find her attractive if he knew she had a four year old at home? Or that he might make sexual comments in front of her little girl? Neither, really, she acknowledged as she pushed the door inwards.
“Who’s that, mummy?” Rose asked, hiding her body behind Elizabeth but craning her neck around to see the mysterious, tall, big man who was blocking the afternoon sunshine.
“This is a business acquaintance of mummy’s. He’s helping with daddy’s ball.”
“Oh, I see,” Rosie said, in so serious an interpretation of Elizabeth that she had to smother a smile with the palm of her hand.
If she had been worried about how Antonio might behave around Rose, it was unfounded. He was spectacular, as though he had been hanging out with four year olds forever. He crouched down onto his powerful haunches, and despite the fact he looked like sex on a plate, in a black leather jacket and black jeans, the smile he gave Rose was pure sweet welcome. “Hello. I’m a friend of your mum’s. What’s your name?”
“I’m Rose Sanderson. When I’m older, I’m going to be a Lady. And I’m Very Good at Climbing and Singing.”
“Oh, excellent,” Antonio said with a wide grin. “You can call me Antonio. Or Tony, if you’d like.”
“I like Antonio.”
“Right. Antonio it is.”
“You speak funny.”
“Rose,” Elizabeth chastised, sending her daughter a warning look, but Antonio laughed.
“That’s okay. I speak with an Italian accent; because I come from a different country.”
“I don’t like different countries.” Rose said earnestly. “I like London.”
“London isn’t a country, Rose, you know that,” Elizabeth said, ruffling her daughter’s fair hair.
“Oh, right. Well, I like England the best.”
“Right now, I like England the best, too. It has some spectacular scenery,” and he lifted his gaze then to lock eyes with Elizabeth, his meaning obvious. She cleared her throat.
“We were just about to go to the playground,” she said, by way of making an escape.
“I’d love to join you,” he responded quickly, straightening. “Rose, you can show me how well you can climb.”
“Yay!” Rosie squealed, apparently already deciding Antonio was a good sort of person to have as a friend.
And in the end, she was right. Antonio was surprisingly easy company for both Elizabeth and Rose, as they spent a cold December’s hour in the playground nearest their townhouse. But, as happened far too early in an English winter, the sun began to set, the air turned icy with cool, and Elizabeth announced, to a disappointed Rose, that it was time to return.
To her surprise, after such a child-centered afternoon, Antonio wasn’t beating a path to the door. He stayed while Rose ate her favorite dinner, a pasta concoction that he joked about turning his nose up at. “One day, Rose, your mother might bring you to Italy, and there you will taste real pasta. This is not right!”
“Ooooh, what’s Italy like?” She asked her millionth question of the day, and silently, Elizabeth beamed Antonio a warning glance.
But he continued, “Italy is beautiful. Busy and loud, but very old, with buildings that are large and people who are friendly. The food is the nicest you’ll ever taste.”
“Can we go, mummy? Please?”
Elizabeth’s smile was tight. “Perhaps one day. Upstairs for your bath now, baby girl.”
“I’m not a baby, mama. I’m going to be five on my next birthday. Remember?”
“Yes, I remember Rose. Upstairs, now.”
She watched as her little girl ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time – a trick that was recently learned and which Elizabeth hated, for fear that she would lose her footing and tumble down onto the hard tiled floor downstairs. She did not, though, on this occasion.
With Rose gone upstairs, to get out her pajamas and prepare for her bath, Elizabeth was alone with Antonio, for the first time since their encounter at Ravens Manor. Despite the pleasant afternoon they’d shared, the air instantly transformed, so that it crackled and sparked between them.
“Well,” Antonio intoned lazily, leaning back in the bar stool. His eyes were locked on Elizabeth’s face and she felt powerless to look away. “You are full of surprises.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help the guilty flush that spread over her cheeks. Why did she feel guilt? It wasn’t as if she owed him an explanation. “You don’t have a right to know everything about me,” she said defensively.
“But the fact you have a daughter?”
She tilted her chin defiantly. “You didn’t ask. Besides, I’m sure there’s lots I don’t know about you.” Then, she frowned and leaned closer, so that she could whisper, “And anyway, you’re the one that said we’re just two people who had sex. So why do you think you deserve to know about my life?”
He ran a hand through his hair, and seemed to be waging a silent battle. “Because, Elizabeth, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. And that’s never happened to me before.”
She was silent for a beat, as his words ran through her mind. “So what? You’re saying you’ve never had feelings for someone you’ve slept with before?”
He shrugged lazily. “I’m not sure. But I know I needed to see you. In fact, I blew off a date with a woman I used to think quite highly of, simply to come and see you. So what does that tell you?”
She dropped the sponge she’d been holding, midway through washing up Rosie’s dinner dishes. He’d been on a date? That afternoon? Two days after sleeping with her? Pique made her angry. “It tells me that you’re every bit as arrogant as I first thought.” She dried her hands on a tea towel and moved towards the door. “I’m going to get Rose ready for bed. I don’t think you should be here when I come back downstairs.”
He stood and followed her. “I’m not going anywhere, Elizabeth. You’ve obviously been running from your emotions for five years, and I’m not going to let you do it anymore.”
She looked down her nose at him, and despite the rapid beating of her heart, achieved an expression of disdain. “Don’t pretend that you know me,” she whispered.
“But I do know you. Intimately.” And with a quick glance upstairs to confirm they were still alone, he pulled her roughly against his chest, as he’d been wanting to do all afternoon, and kissed her. It was fast, it was hard, and it was hungry; a kiss laced with all the promise of what was to come. “Stop fighting this and just let it happen, Elizabeth.”
She pulled away, but her knees were like jelly. “Let what happen?”
A pang of conscience lodged in his chest. What was he doing? She wasn’t just an impossibly sexy woman anymore. She wasn’t just a woman to be conquered and left when he tired of her. She was a real person, with a sweet little girl. A woman who had suffered enough heartbreak already. Did he really want to risk hurting her just because he liked having sex with her?
Yes. It would appear he did. He pressed his lips against her temple and whispered, “This, Elisabetta. This.”
Her small sigh of submission was his undoing. He knew she would probably get hurt when he ended it – after all, he lived in Rome and she was firmly established here, in London – but he wasn’t ready to walk away.
And so, as she walked upstairs, he returned to the kitchen, poured two glasses of red wine, and waited.
And waited.
After almost an hour, he walked quietly upstairs, curiosity etched in every line of his face. He heard Elizabeth’s yawn, and then her voice, soft and quiet:
And so your daddy, who was in a wheelchair much of the time by now, stood up, and then eased himself on to his knee. It terrified me, because he was quite sick, and weak, but he was determined
to do it properly, or so he said. He went down on one knee, and reached into his pocket, and pulled out this ring.
Rose’s small voice, tired and feint, interrupted, “And it was the happiest day of your life.”
Antonio froze at the top of the stairs. He knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but he simply couldn’t help himself.
Yes, it was the happiest day of my life, darling girl. Your daddy wasn’t very well, and we knew we wouldn’t have long. We applied for a license and married two weeks later.
“And then I came along!”
Elizabeth’s laugh was beautiful; like ice dropping into a crystal glass. “Not for a little while. Remember? Babies take a while to be made. But yes, then there was you.”
He heard Rose’s dramatic sigh. “I wish I’d got to meet Daddy.”
“I know, darling girl. You would have loved him.”
“What was he like?”
Antonio felt the sharp stab of envy war with curiosity. There was a long pause, then, Elizabeth’s voice, “Like I always tell you, Rose, he was just like you. Smart, and funny; with a thousand questions a day. When he was a young man, he wanted to be a politician. So he studied law at university, and was about to launch a campaign to run for parliament when he became ill.”
“But if he hadn’t been sick, he wouldn’t have met you, mummy doctor.”
“That’s true, my dear love, and there wouldn’t have been a Rose. And what would the world be without my Rose?”
“A Very Dull Place,” she said emphatically, on another yawn. “Good night, mummy.”
“Good night, sweet one.” Elizabeth pressed a kiss on Rose’s forehead then crossed the soft carpeted floor of her bedroom.
“Mummy?”
“Yes?” Elizabeth paused by the door, prepared for the first of many stalling techniques Rose was currently in the process of using to prolong bed time.
“I like Antonio. Do you think Daddy would have liked him?”
This Christmas and Forever: A heartwarming anthology of billionaire holiday romances... Page 23