“I am not a cold man,” he said. “But I am unfeeling. They are different.”
“You’re saying you neverfeelanything, for anyone?”
“I loved my father, a great deal. I felt, when he died, as though I had lost a limb. It was an attachment I had no choice in. To love one’s parent, or child, or ward, is something we cannot resist. Now that he’s gone, I am completely alone, just as I want to be, for the rest of my life.”
“And your mother?” She asked, her voice colouring as she thought of Winnie.
“She made the choice to leave me, many years ago. If I am guilty of anything, it is only of making her live with that decision. Is that so very wrong?”
She ateas though each mouthful were a religious experience, her lips forming around her fork, taking the food from it, her eyes drifting shut as she savoured the taste, and he watched, quite transfixed, as much in her thrall now as he had been earlier, when they’d spoken about subjects he usually avoided with all that he was, and instead, he found himself being drawn to reveal parts of himself he would have preferred to keep private.
But she asked, and he answered, and suddenly they were talking about his family—the very subject he liked least in the world, the subject he would give almost anything to avoid.
He’d known it was a mistake to come here, but in the back of his mind was the promise he’d made his father—that he would finally let bygones be bygones and allow the resentments of the past to die.I don’t want to think of you alone, Alessio. You arenotalone. You have a mother, and a half-brother. They are your blood—that means something.
Not to Alessio.
At least, it didn’t mean anythinggood.His mother might share his blood, but she’d left him—blood connection or not. It hadn’t mattered to her. So why should he particularly care now?
Because he’d promised his father, and Alessio was a man of his word. It was why he was so careful not to give it lightly. He hadn’t promised Lucinda anything like a fairytale, which had made it easier to leave their relationship, guilt free, when it had ended. But his father had been on his deathbed and Alessio would have said anything to ease his mind at that point. The old man had been besieged by regrets—so uncharacteristic for him—speaking about things that made no sense to Alessio. Since Winona had left, it had been just the two of them, and Alessio Snr had been stronger than steel.
To see him so pale at the end of his life, his face lined, his eyes clouded, of course Alessio said whatever he could to placate his father. He’d promised he wouldn’t continue to ostracise his mother, and so he’d come to England, for Christmas.
And it had been torture.
Hell.
A trip that he’d regretted making instantly, here in Morincester, surrounded by his mother’s heritage and the life she’d reached for with both hands, while walking away from him.
Only his promise to his father had convinced him to stay longer. And now…now, there was Charlotte.
She was a distraction. A very pleasing, beautiful distraction, and he intended to enjoy that, and her, for the next few days. If he had to put up with his half-brother, and seeing his mother, he could at least soften the blow by spending time with a beautiful, sensual, interesting woman. The fact she was so inexperienced with men and had kept herself shuttered off from the world for the last few years, only made him want this more—not because such things mattered to him, but because she deserved more. He knew from experience how great a fulfilling sexual relationship could be—everyone deserved that kind of satisfaction.
And afterwards, he’d leave town, and his family, content that he’d fulfilled the promise to his father, and sweetened the deal as best he could, with Charlotte’s company.
Briefly, he remembered the awful scenes with Lucinda, right at the end. The way she’d stared at him, her eyes wet, her lips pulled downwards, and accused him of breaking her heart, all of her heart, and he paused, because despite what he’d said to Charlotte, he was human and of course he felt remorse over Lucinda’s heartbreak. Despite the fact he knew he’d done everything he could to avoid it.
But they’d dated for months. Things with Charlotte would never get that far; they couldn’t. He was here a few nights more, a week at most, and he’d been so completely transparent with her. There was no room for hopes or expectations beyond a short-term fling…he could enjoy this, and her, without a hint of worry that anything could go wrong.
Chapter5
“YOU PROBABLY THINK IT’S silly,” she said, self-conscious suddenly. How could she not be?
They’d eaten. Then had seconds. They’d had two glasses of wine each. Then some fruit for Alessio and Charlotte enjoyed a few of her chocolate bars, which, now that she thought about it, were technicallyhischocolate bars—something she still couldn’t get her head around. And now, they sat, side by side on her suddenly too-small couch, him with a coffee in hand and indolent expression, her with a growing feeling of impatience and a rush of adrenaline and nerves.
“Why would I think it’s silly?”
“Because the apartment’s small and there’s a huge tree down in the bar.”
“The bar is not your home, and you have a child living here,” he said, with a little nod towards a picture of Dash. “I don’t think having a Christmas tree is silly at all.” His eyes took in the large, fresh fir, and a small frown flickered on his face.
“But?” She prompted, leaning forward a little, sure he was biting back some words or other.
“It’s a large tree,” he said, his eyes turning to hers. “I don’t actually see how you got it through the door.”
“Caleb helped,” she admitted, looking at the tree now, rather than Alessio, so she didn’t see the look that flickered in the depths of his eyes. “And it was quite tricky. But last year, I got a more sensible tree, and Dash had some friends over one afternoon, and one of them laughed at the tree. Dash was devastated. I didn’t want him to feel that way again.”
“Any kid who laughs at a Christmas tree—of any size—isn’t worth your time.”