“I’ll be right back,” she told the children before racing downstairs, where Marcu was now in the entrance hall.
He looked soaked through, but he was home. The staff continued to swarm him, and Monet pressed forward as well until she remembered her place—she wasn’t his girlfriend, wasn’t a friend, wasn’t family, and wasn’t even really staff—and she fell back a step, allowing others to see to him. But even then, her gaze swept over him, intently studying him from head to toe.
He had abrasions on his face, a cut on the bridge of his nose, and another on his cheekbone, plus the makings of a fine bruise on his brow.
He was standing, but just barely, and he gratefully accepted the help of the butler and steward as they each wrapped an arm around him, supporting him as they ushered him to the staircase, heading up to his room. The cook was given instructions to prepare a hot drink and meal, and housekeeping went to build fires in his rooms.
Marcu passed her on the staircase and his gaze met hers. His expression was one of utter weariness. “I should have listened to you,” he said.
“You’re safe. That’s what’s important,” she answered.
He appeared to want to say something else and then he changed his mind and he continued up the staircase to his suite of rooms.
* * *
Monet didn’t see Marcu until much later that night. After coming home, he’d showered and gone to bed and stayed there for hours. It wasn’t until dinner that he emerged from his room and joined his family at the table in the dining room.
The children were subdued as they took in his cuts and bruises. He told them he’d had an accident driving, and after crashing he’d set off on foot to get help. After forty-five minutes of walking in what he feared were circles, he’d come to a rural house, and met a farmer, and the farmer attached a snowplow to the front of his tractor and slowly drove him all the way back to the castello.
The kids had dozens of questions, which Marcu patiently answered. Yes, the cab was small, but it was high up with pretty good visibility. The cab was also new so there was heating. Yes, they were squished but he was so grateful for the farmer’s help that he didn’t mind being in such cramped conditions. He also mentioned that the tractor had a snowblower on the back, and they were using that but it had stopped working partway.
Cook had made a delicious almond cake with spiced pears and crème anglaise for dessert and after the children had eaten, Monet whispered that they should go give their father a hug and kiss good-night because they were lucky to have him home in one piece.
Marcu seemed caught off guard by the hugs and kisses. He returned them, a little awkwardly, but the children seemed pleased and Rocca gave her father an extra squeeze and kiss.
“You’ll come back down afterward?” Marcu said to Monet as she shepherded the children out the dining-room door.
She nodded, returning almost an hour later because the children had so many questions about their father’s accident and if he was still going to leave them for Christmas or if this meant he’d be with them after all.
Monet couldn’t answer their questions, and encouraged them to ask him themselves tomorrow, after they’d had a good night’s sleep.
“Was it hard to get them to settle tonight?” he asked as she entered the room. Marcu was lying on the sofa, his arm over his eyes.
“Does the light hurt your eyes?” she asked.
“I’ve a headache I can’t shake,” he answered.
“Can I get you something?”
“I’ve taken some tablets. I’m sure it will be better tomorrow.”
“You probably have a concussion.”
“Probably,” he agreed. “It was a hard fall.”
“The air bag didn’t help then?”
“It did. I hit my head when I was trying to climb out of the ravine. I hit a patch of ice and went down, face-first.” He dropped his arm and dragged himself up into a sitting position. “Serves me right for thinking I could handle the roads. There was no one else out there.”
“You’re alive, and that’s what matters.” Monet realized how trite that sounded and quickly added, “Well, that’s what the children were saying. They said extra prayers for you tonight, grateful you were home with them.”
Marcu grimaced but said nothing.
She sat down on the edge of a chair facing him. “I think you should join the children for their prayers and stories,” she said. “They need you. They want you.”
“I don’t want to do prayers.”
“Let them say their own prayers and you can read them a story.” She hesitated. “The point is, they crave time with you, and the bedtime routine is an important ritual. It makes them feel safe, and they need to feel safe with you.”
“They are safe with me. I will always protect them.”
Monet picked her words carefully. “But part of feeling safe is being emotionally secure. It’s having the children comfortable with you, and secure in the knowledge that you want to know them for who they are, not who they should be. And that happens when they can share their thoughts and feelings, and bedtime is perfect for that. It’s a lovely time, an informal time, and takes just a half hour. I understand when you are out of town it makes sense for a babysitter to do this, but if you are here, you should be the one in there, hearing their thoughts and validating their feelings.”
He closed his eyes and rubbed his temple on the side without the bruise. “You certainly have a lot of opinions.”
“I never had my mother’s attention at bedtime. By bedtime she was already with your father. I used to wish someone was there to hear my thoughts.” Her voice suddenly cracked, and Monet felt mortified for saying so much. She didn’t like talking about how lonely she’d been growing up. Life before she and her mother arrived at the palazzo had been chaotic, and tumultuous. It had been a relief to arrive in Palermo and stay put in one place for as long they did.
“You must have resented us,” he said quietly.
She shrugged. “Not really. If I resented anyone, it was my mother. I loved your family. You gave me my first taste of family life. I told your children I never experienced a proper Christmas before I lived with your family. You had traditions and customs and I loved it.”
He was silent a moment. “And then I took that all from you.”
Her breath caught, and she stammered, “I would have had to leave sooner or later.”
“Later would have been better for you, wouldn’t it?”
She glanced down at her hands, her fingers knotting. “I wasn’t going to live with my mother forever,” she said before looking back at Marcu. “We’d agreed that I’d support myself once I turned eighteen, and I’d turned eighteen, so it was time.”
“I wish I wasn’t the reason you left, though.”
She dragged in a slow breath, wondering how they’d even ended up here, on this topic. “I thought we were discussing the children,” she said huskily, “and how much they’d enjoy you tucking them in at night.”
“I will do it tomorrow night,” he said. He glanced at her, lips twisting. “I hope that makes you happy.”
“It does, because it will make them happy.”
His gaze locked with hers, the blue irises bright. “And what would make you happy, Monet Wilde?”
Monet felt heat wash through her, rising up to sweep her cheeks. “I don’t know how to answer that. It’s an awfully open-ended question.”
“Is there nothing that would make you happy?”
“Knowing you were closer to your children would make me happy. Knowing that they come before all else—”
“They do,” he interrupted, “and this isn’t about them. This is about you.”
She said nothing. She didn’t know how to answer him, in part because she didn’t know her feelings. She’d been torn ever since she’d arrived in Aosta Valley. Being near Marcu was
puzzling...bewildering. She wanted him, but she couldn’t have him. She wanted him to want her, and then she was terrified of his touch because she knew she couldn’t resist him.
“I’ve ended it with Vittoria,” he said abruptly, rising from the couch to pace the length of the carpet before the fire. “I told her it’s not going to work, and that I’m sorry if I had misled her.”
Monet opened her mouth, closed it, still unable to make a single sound.
He faced the fire as he spoke. “She said she wasn’t surprised. In fact, she sounded almost...relieved. Apparently she had some serious qualms about taking on another woman’s children.”