Resisting The Italian Single Dad

Isabella had her father’s mouth, the soft wave now relaxed in sleep from its earlier unhappy jutting out. When Carly had boarded the plane, Isabella had eyed her warily before burying her face into her father’s chest, her little hands bunching the light blue material of his polo shirt. Isabella’s complexion was lighter than Max’s—her skin was the colour of golden honey, her hair adorable chestnut curls. Her eyes were molten chocolate brown and could easily break your heart with the defiance that sparked in their depths and spoke of a toddler struggling to understand her world.

Alongside his polo shirt, Max was wearing navy chinos, his sockless feet in loosely laced navy boating shoes. Carly’s gaze time and time again was drawn to his bare ankles, the smoothness of his dark tanned skin over the ankle bone oddly compelling.

He had started off sitting upright, his reluctance to relax, to spend downtime with his daughter obvious. What was holding him back from fully engaging with his daughter? Was his job that pressurised? Was it the need for success and even more wealth and power? Or was he simply struggling like so many other parents? She thought back to that torment she had witnessed the first time she had seen him and winced. She wanted to help him in his grief for his wife, in his struggle with understanding and connecting fully with his daughter. That was why she had agreed to this weekend. Even after he had shamelessly turned up at her meeting Wednesday afternoon in a bid to persuade her to go with them to Lake Como. But to give him his due, he had listened attentively to her talk, which she had delivered in a more faltering than usual style, thanks to his unnerving concentration that had his gaze follow her every movement. After, out in the street, she had heard the sincerity in his voice when he said he needed her help.

But, despite all his well-meaning pledges, she wasn’t yet convinced he really was prepared to put the effort into what needed to be done.

As Isabella had relaxed in her sleep, as though by osmosis, Max too had visibly unwound. He had shifted forward in his seat, his legs moving outwards, his shoulders dropping, his right hand relaxing to gently rub against his little girl’s bare leg where her pink denim dungarees had ridden up from her bare feet.

Isabella’s earlier hot cheeks from fighting both sleep and her father had now cooled and Carly smiled at the little girl, already taken by her strong spirit.

Her gaze shifted back up to Max. His eyes were closed. Was he asleep too? Carly sank further into her chair and tried to ignore just how attracted she was to him. He was a client. She was here to do a job.

Carly knew only too well how workplace romances derailed life. Her parents had once owned an accountancy practice…until her mother had fallen for one of their clients. Carly, then aged eleven, could still remember to this day the elation that had shone in her mum’s eyes when she had spoken every evening at the dinner table about her new client. She had relayed with awe the details of his holiday home in Sardinia, his corporate jaunts to sports events and conferences in exotic locations. How devoted to and proud he was of his three high-achieving and beautiful daughters. How miserable his ex-wife had made him.

All this her mum would recount with great animation, her voice bright, which only emphasised the dislike that settled on her features when Carly’s father would interrupt with some story of his own.

Carly had been devastated when her parents split but she had held out hope—after all, her dad promised that she could stay with him at weekends and she was gaining three sisters. Carly had always wanted siblings. But with the business collapsing amidst a bitter divorce, her dad had left England for a new life in New Zealand where his sister lived. And Carly’s three new sisters, all much older than her, showed little interest in her on their visits home from university other than to make it clear that they considered her nothing other than a nuisance who would never be welcomed into their tight circle. They idolised their father and jealously guarded their relationship with him.

Carly shivered. The air temperature in the cabin had dropped. She smiled as Isabella snuffled, turned her cheek into her father’s chest and sighed. Carly’s throat tightened at the sight of Max’s strong forearm lying so protectively around Isabella’s tiny waist.

Then Max stirred, his head shifting to the left. But he continued to sleep, his chest rising and falling regularly. Even sitting four feet away, Carly could see the long dark length of his eyelashes. His eyebrows were thick and expressive; his nose was at a perfect angle to complement his high cheekbones; his chiselled jawline travelled down in a perfectly defined curve from his ears to end in a cleft chin that gave his face a devastating beauty.

Standing, she tiptoed across the cabin and picked up a lemon-coloured wool throw from the lounge sofa. Tucking the blanket around Isabella, she pulled back, lifted her eyes and looked straight into Max’s gaze.

‘You think of everything.’ His voice was low, croaky from tiredness. And so, so sexy. Her feet curled in her trainers. Her stomach did a little flip. She was not going to blush. She was going to brazen this out.

She inhaled a scent that reminded her of the summer she had gone Interrailing as a student and camped in a Croatian forest next to the Adriatic—sea mist and earthy pine combining to produce a potent sense of vitality and adventure. ‘All part of the service.’

He raised an eyebrow.

She stepped back. ‘Can I get you anything else?’

His lips twitched. He nodded to the table behind her. ‘My phone.’

‘Not until Isabella wakes.’

Carly sat back in her chair. Aware of his gaze on her, she picked up the magazine and tried to develop an interest in a berry favoured by sub-Saharan goat herders.

‘Are you sure that sleeping like this won’t teach her bad habits?’

She dropped the magazine. ‘Isabella needs to feel secure with you. This will teach her that you will spend time holding her, comforting her when she needs it. Being with her, responding to her needs—this is the starting basis of developing good sleeping technique. In the next few days hopefully you will start to appreciate that.’ She leant towards him, determined that he understood the main message of her sleeping technique—that parents learn to allow themselves to be tender with their children and themselves. ‘We all need physical touch. We all need to have someone hug us and tell us that everything is going to be okay.’

His expression hardened. A tense silence settled between them.

Confused, Carly stared at him, slowly realising what she had said. ‘I’m sorry—that was insensitive of me. With your wife—’

He interrupted her with a quick shake of his head. ‘It’s okay.’

Carly’s gaze shifted down to Isabella, her arms suddenly aching with the desire to hold her. ‘Trust me on this, Isabella won’t want your cuddles in a few years’ time…and when she’s a teenager she won’t even want to know you. So you should enjoy it while you can.’

His gaze dropped down to consider Isabella for a moment before he asked in a low voice, ‘Were you like that with your dad when you were a teenager?’

‘My dad moved to New Zealand when I was twelve. I didn’t get the chance to…’

‘You miss him?’

Carly’s heart fell. She spoke to her dad occasionally but there was so much time and distance between them now that their relationship just consisted of the polite conversation of assuring one another that all was well in their lives, and a hollowness when she ended the call that would stay with her for hours. ‘Sometimes.’

‘Have you other family?’

There was a gentleness to his tone that stirred unexpected emotion in her—a loneliness, a longing for a family of her own that she was usually so good at burying. ‘No—my mum remarried. It was messy.’ She gave a shrug, trying to dredge up her usual acceptance of her situation but there was something about Max’s intelligent gaze that was stopping her doing so. ‘I’m not close to my mum and her new family, but I have good friends, people I trained with. We all live close to one another in London.’

‘Were you going away with them this weekend?’ He paused for a moment. ‘With a boyfriend perhaps?’

‘Six of us were heading away together…all friends.’

He nodded to her answer and shifted the arm that was resting on Isabella. ‘Thank you for agreeing to come with us this weekend. I realise it was a lot to ask of you.’

She studied him for a moment, thrown by the sincerity of his tone, the restrained pride in his expression. Maybe he was different from her stepfather, who would always somehow twist everything he did for people, whether they wanted it or not, into the fact that he was doing that person a favour. He had insisted that Carly attend boarding school and signed her up for endless residential courses during half-terms and summer holidays. He had claimed that he wanted her to be more adventurous, more ambitious, more accomplished, just like his daughters. The unspoken truth was that he hadn’t wanted Carly around.

She nodded in acknowledgement to his thanks and said, ‘Most of the parents who come to me find it difficult to talk about their child not sleeping. They think they should instinctively know how to get their child to sleep, that they are somehow failing as a parent. Which of course is not true. The parents I meet are doing their best in their individual circumstances. I try to help them see and understand that…to learn to be tender with themselves.’

Carly laughed when Max’s smooth forehead creased at her last sentence. ‘You don’t like that expression “be tender with themselves”?’ she asked.

‘I can’t see any man buying into it.’

‘You’d be surprised.’

He shifted in his seat, his expression sceptical. ‘Is this going to work?’

‘If you allow it to—if you give it the time and patience needed.’

‘You think I’m impatient?’

‘I get the feeling that you like to be on the move a lot. With children you need to slow down, to connect with them.’

He looked down at Isabella and shook his head. ‘With this firecracker I’ve no option the way she clings to me.’

There was such weariness to his voice. Understanding the positives in Isabella’s personality might help him in dealing with his daughter. ‘At least you know that Isabella will fight for what she wants—she’s determined. It will stand her in good stead in life, having that strength of character.’

For a long while he stared at her, considering what she had said. ‘I hadn’t thought of it that way… I guess you could be right. Do you want children of your own some day?’

Carly smiled at his question, while inside it felt like a soft swift pinch to her heart. She had envisioned herself and Robert having children quickly; they had even spoken about trying to have a baby soon after they married. ‘Some day hopefully I will. I love being with children. Before I set up my sleep consultancy business I was a Montessori teacher, but I have to meet the right person first.’

‘That hasn’t happened yet?’

Carly paused, a heavy weight lodging in her chest. ‘I thought it had. A few years back I was due to marry. But three weeks before the wedding my ex broke it off.’

Emotion continuing to whirl in her chest, Carly grabbed the magazine and again pretended to read it.

‘I’m sorry.’

Carly nodded but refused to look up from the magazine, hating how exposed, how humiliated she felt having told him. She flicked through the pages of the magazine, trying to understand why the publishers thought their readers would be interested in the weight gain of a soap-opera actress. Hadn’t they heard about emotional eating? Carly might have binned her wedding cake but that hadn’t stopped her from eating her own body weight in ice cream and her favourite comfort food, Brazil nuts, in the weeks that followed. It had taken her months to return to her normal weight. A weight that wasn’t particularly impressive in the first place. But Carly had long ago accepted that her body would never be lean, no matter how much she dieted or exercised.

‘Tell me about your ex—what happened?’

‘I’d prefer not to.’

‘It clearly upsets you.’

Carly raised her eyes. She knew she should change the subject. Not answer even. But there was a genuineness to his expression, as though he really wanted to understand what had happened to her that had her blurt out, ‘He told me he was still in love with his ex-girlfriend.’

Max’s eyes softened. ‘That must have been heartbreaking for you.’

Something popped in Carly’s heart. She had expected pity, perhaps even outrage from him. Just as her friends had been outraged on her behalf, calling Robert every name under the sun, telling her she needed to be positive, that there were plenty of other guys out there. Her mother meanwhile had fretted over what people would think while her stepfather had simply asked why she could never get things right in life. Nobody had got just how sad it all had been. Until now. Carly’s throat closed over; she felt undone by the understanding in his eyes. She shrugged.

‘I’m sorry you had to go through that,’ he said gently.

Carly nodded, not trusting herself to talk.

Max considered her for a while and then, with a gentle smile, he added, ‘I bet he’s regretting it now, letting someone like you slip away.’

Carly grimaced. ‘Not really. He’s married his ex since.’

He tilted his head. ‘But I bet he’s not on the way to taste the best chocolate ice cream in the world.’

Carly laughed, something lightening in her. ‘That’s true.’

They smiled at each other for the longest while. Carly felt the heat grow on her cheeks. Max’s smile disappeared to be replaced by a tension in his expression that reflected the heavy beat of disquiet that was drumming in her heart.

She tore her gaze away, picked up her magazine.

The sun had set when Max turned his car into the driveway of Villa Isa with the beginnings of a throbbing headache about to take hold.

The narrow road cut into the hillside and, surrounded by woodland, hid well the exquisite beauty about to be revealed.

‘Wow, oh, wow—now that’s what I call a view.’ He winced at Carly’s excited exclamation as Lake Como in all its magnetic night-time beauty of shadowy mountains and fairy-tale villages with twinkling lights opened up to them.

He pulled the car to a stop in the carport and looked towards the brightly lit villa with a heavy heart. His housekeeper, Luciana, had turned on the lights in many of the downstairs rooms to welcome them before she left for her home in nearby Bellagio. He knew he should be feeling pride in the renovations he had commissioned to restore the mid-twentieth-century villa to its former glory. So many would have knocked it down, but Max had loved its quirkiness, its tall ceilings, exposed stonework and vast open-plan living spaces. But instead of pride he just felt a numbness, a detachment from the villa that was once supposed to be his primary home.

‘Papa, out!’ Isabella’s call was accompanied by her feet banging against the sides of her car seat. Since they had landed Isabella had been truculent, running away on the tarmac, refusing to sit in the car that had been waiting beside the runway on their arrival. And once in the car she had immediately begun to grumble, unhappy at being restrained in her car seat.

Carly’s pert nose had wrinkled when he had admitted that he didn’t have any nursery rhyme CDs he could play for Isabella. So they had spent the journey from the airport with Carly leading a sing-along and insisting he join in. Unfortunately Isabella became fixated on ‘Three Blind Mice’ and insisted they sing it time and time again.

He had known it was a bad idea to allow Isabella to sleep on board the plane.

‘Out!’ Isabella shouted again, her foot furiously hammering her car seat.

He had work to do. It was going to take him for ever to get Isabella to settle.

He turned and regarded Carly. ‘Are you so certain of the benefit of allowing her to nap now?’

Carly glanced back at Isabella, gave her a smile. ‘You just want to run around, don’t you, Isabella? Why don’t you play with Papa?’

‘It’s beyond her bedtime. She should be asleep by now, not bouncing off the walls.’

Carly shrugged and got out of the car. She went to unlock Isabella’s belt but Isabella shook her head and then buried it into the side of her car seat, refusing to allow Carly to lift her out.

The headache gripping his temples ever tighter, Max pushed open the driver door and lifted Isabella out of her seat. His phone, in his trouser pocket, buzzed once again.

‘I’ll say it again, the views from here are spectacular. And it’s so warm, even at this time of the night. I’ve missed the heat so much. What’s the nearby town called? It looks so cute.’

Distracted by an email from a client in Taiwan, he glanced over to see Carly at the edge of the driveway, looking beyond the brightly lit terraced garden that sloped down to the waterfront and his private jetty, and vaguely answered, ‘The town is Bellagio…’ This was unbelievable—how did the client expect the new train terminal to open in time if at this late stage they wanted to make changes to the roof design?

‘I have a call to make.’ He attempted to pass Isabella to Carly but Isabella clung to his shirt, her legs wrapping even more tightly around his waist.

Carly folded her arms. ‘No calls. You must settle Isabella first.’

‘This is important.’

‘I’ll sort out the luggage. Isabella needs some exercise to wind down. I suggest you take her down to the garden, let her explore for a while. In the meantime, I’ll prepare her a small snack.’

He was about to argue that she should take Isabella down to the gardens instead but before he could do so, Carly had popped open the boot of his car and was walking towards the front door, carrying two heavy suitcases with ease. There went his excuse that it made sense for him to look after the heavy luggage instead of playing with his little girl.

He glanced down at Isabella. She frowned back at him. His daughter might not have many words but she sure seemed to understand every word spoken around her.

How did a twenty-two-month-old possess the capacity to make him feel like a completely lousy dad?

He was still standing by the car when Carly returned to retrieve more luggage.

She steadily ignored him but gave Isabella a smile.

Isabella tucked her head into his shoulder.

He yelped when her fingers pinched his skin as she gripped onto his shirt sleeves.

Carly ducked her head, laughter threatening on her lips.

He stared after her once again retreating back as she carried more suitcases into the hallway, before he climbed down the steps and headed in the direction of the playground that had been constructed to the side of the terrace. He went to place Isabella onto the swing but she clung to him. He tried not to sigh and instead sat on one side of the sprung seesaw. He bounced up and down, feeling ridiculous. He was about to climb back off but then he heard Isabella chuckle. He bounced again, his heart lifting to hear her chortle again. His serious-minded daughter rarely laughed.

He bounced and bounced, feeling an unexpected happiness. And he remembered some of the things Carly had said during the past few days—that it was natural for children to wake, that Isabella wasn’t alone in doing so.

A movement inside the villa caught his attention.

Carly was inside the open-plan kitchen searching through the cupboards, taking out some items, pausing to stretch her back, roll her head side to side as she studied the contents of the fridge. She had tied up her hair into a loose ponytail and rolled up the sleeves of her blue blouse that was tucked into slim-fitting, navy, ankle-length trousers. Her body was curvy. He supposed some men would say sensual.

He slowed in his bouncing and winced at the realisation that it felt good to have her around. Yes, he had employed nannies, had some support. But Carly was different. She had the strength of conviction to tell him things he didn’t want to hear but with an empathy that had him struggling to argue back. He admired her for that. As much as he hated to admit it, he was enjoying her company.

And earlier, in the tight confines of the plane, when Carly had placed the blanket on his lap, when he had woken to see her staring at him, as they had spoken in low voices to one another, he’d known he could no longer ignore the kernel of attraction for her growing inside him.

This was not supposed to be happening.

Isabella squirmed in his arms, began to protest at the lack of movement.

Her once again serious eyes glared up at him.

Fresh guilt slammed into Max. He had no right to enjoy the company of another woman.

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER PREPARING A snack for Isabella, Carly had unpacked both her own and Isabella’s suitcases, carried out a recce of Isabella’s room and returned to the kitchen to find Isabella sitting in her high chair, munching on a banana, her gaze firmly fixed on her father, who was typing on the keyboard of his phone.

Carly came to a stop beside him and waited until he finally looked up. ‘I chose a bedroom for myself close to Isabella’s so that I can help you during the night when she wakes.’ She pushed on in the hope that if she spoke quickly there was less chance of her giving away just how disturbed she felt to be in the intimacy of his home. ‘I left your suitcases in your bedroom.’ She didn’t add that she knew it was his bedroom because a quick look into the attached dressing room had revealed a row of bespoke suits and expensive casual wear. His whole bedroom, with its accent blue wall behind a white supersized headboard filled with dramatic modern art and pale wooden floor boards, was masculine. Him.

Her own room, next to his, decorated in soft greens, had the same breathtaking views of Lake Como and shared the same terrace that led down to the floodlit outdoor pool. She just hoped that they never bumped into each other out there. The image of Max dressed only in swimwear strolling down to the pool made her pause; she’d happily bet the entire annual income of her business on the guess that he had a seriously impressive body.

‘I…’ She paused as the image of Max’s powerful broad shoulders, narrowing to a slim waist, swam unwanted into her mind. ‘I… I…yes, what I was trying to say was that I had a look at Isabella’s bedroom to ensure that it’s the right environment to promote sleep. I suggest you install blackout blinds in addition to the curtains that are already there.’

Max considered her for a moment, his raised eyebrow the only hint of mischief in his otherwise deadpan expression. ‘I take it that you’re wanting some company in bed tonight?’

Carly stared at him; only after a long few seconds did it dawn on her that her mouth was gaping open. She snapped it closed. ‘What? Certainly not!’

Max’s lips curled upwards before he nodded towards the toys in her arms. ‘I meant the soft toys…are you taking them to bed with you?’

Carly shook her head, trying to rein in her embarrassment. She hit him with an unimpressed glare and went and placed the three stuffed toys on the long sleek white kitchen table that complemented the steel and pale wood of the super-modern kitchen.

Turning, she moved back to him, held out her hand. ‘Okay, for the next hour we’re having a phone-free zone.’

He pulled his phone out of her reach. ‘Please tell me that you’re joking.’

She shook her head. ‘Phone on the kitchen counter, where I can see it.’ Then she wiped Isabella’s hands free of banana mush and cleaned the tray of her high chair with some wipes. She placed all three toys onto the high-chair table—Sami the white long-eared rabbit, Skye the blue bear and Sunny the grey elephant. Isabella eyed the three toys dubiously but then lurched and grabbed hold of Sunny, squashing his long trunk in under her armpit.