“What do you mean?”
“When we were sent away from our parents, it was hard. But we didn’t show that – not to Gianfelice. He didn’t tolerate tears. We were so little, and one day we were living at home, the next we were at Villa Fortune, our parents having surrendered any custodial rights to us.”
“I’ve never understood why they did that.”
“As a child, I didn’t either. They were drug addicts, party-animals, you name it, they did it. Gianfelice felt we would be safer being raised with them. Sometimes I think he did it for Yaya, because she never got over the grief of losing their daughter, and he wanted to fill the house up with children again.” He shook his head. “It was, objectively speaking, the right decision. Our parents weren’t capable of parenting. We were safe with Gianfelice. But I think we all became, to some extent, masters at hiding how we feel.”
“Tell me then,” she said quietly, holding her breath, the stakes suddenly higher than she could stand, her need to understand burning her alive. “How did you feel about me?”
He frowned, and the longer he contemplated that the more her stomach dipped, hope dropping from her. Strong feelings shouldn’t take so long to identify. “I liked you,” he said softly. “I cared about you. I’ve always cared about you, even as a child.” She stiffened in his arms, frustration gnawing at her gut.
“You were so…wild and passionate, a total free spirit. Your laugh was the most infectious sound. And then your mother became ill and it was though a part of you was being swallowed.” He ran his hand over her hair softly. “I wanted to protect you even then. You were in so much pain, watching her die, and die so slowly, must have been impossible. When we married, I thought I was protecting you – from your father’s bankruptcy, from the danger he was courting with his risky behaviours. It never entered my mind that I could have been hurting you more than anything else would have.”
Alessia’s heart shifted.
“I should have told you that you meant something to me.”
“What did I mean to you, Max?” The words were devoid of feeling. “Except for an opportunity to save dad?”
“I wanted to save you too.”
“I don’t think I needed saving.” She pulled away from him then but he caught her wrist, stroking the flesh there gently.
“I’m grateful for what you did for him,” she said hoarsely. “But if our first marriage has taught me anything it’s that you and I will always be at cross-purposes.”
“We can’t be.” He pulled her closer again, her stomach now so rounded that even when their torsos brushed there was space between their faces. “Our first marriage was littered with mistakes – all mine. Not being honest with you, not treating you like a grown woman, not acknowledging that you had feelings and needs. I freely admit to those mistakes. If our first marriage has taught me anything it’s the importance of learning from mistakes. So tell me what you want now, Alessia. Tell me what you need.”
She was silent.
“I was a far from perfect husband back then, but that wasn’t because I didn’t care for you. I didn’t know what I was doing. I put you on a pedestal, your age and who you were made you untouchable.”
“It’s all so hard,” she said honestly. “Without the baby, you’d just be some man I’d once been married to.”
She felt him stiffen, and wondered if he resented the implication that she regretted being pregnant.
“Is that what you want?”
“I don’t know what I want,” she said honestly, and then remembered the realisation she’d had, a few nights earlier. “Except that I think, for the sake of our baby, we should try to be friends.”
“Friends?” He lifted a brow in obvious surprise.
“We’ve never been friends,” she said with a slow nod. “Not really. But I’m friends with Fiero. And Gabe, Nico, Luca and Raf. So why not you?”
A blade of jealousy pressed against him at her easy reference to the rest of his family. She was a part of their lives and they of hers in an easy way that Massimo had never achieved. Maybe without their first wedding? But that had been necessary. Carlo’s stubbornness had made sure of it.
As to the ‘why not’, he could think of a pretty good reason. Would she still want to be friends if she knew he was the reason Sam had ended their engagement? He’d paid her ex-fiancé a small fortune to get out of her life. Was that the gesture of a friend?
Yes. A good friend. He’d made sure she hadn’t been preyed on by a fortune hunter. He’d looked out for her when she’d needed him. He straightened his spine, fixing her with a direct stare.
“Fine.” He nodded, determination firing his blood. “Friends.” And he sealed that promise with a kiss that went so far beyond friendship it melted her knees.
* * *
“Yaya made sure we could all cook,” he explained, as he kneaded the dough, his long fingers working rhythmically at each fold, so her eyes were drawn to the sight of that, fascinated by the ease with which he manipulated the dough.
“Even you?” She couldn’t resist asking, a smile playing around the corner of her lips. His eyes dropped to it, and her temperature soared.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His grin pushed butterflies into her tummy. It had been a week since they’d decided to try being friends, and it was nothing like what she’d expected. His warmth was so natural, so easy, and such an enormous contrast to the way he’d been before, when she’d felt as though he barely registered her existence.