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Having heard what Anton meant to him, and why, she could well imagine Benedetto not wanting to sabotage their friendship by getting in a relationship with Anton’s younger sister. And yet here he was, holding her hand, asking her to trust him.
Her heart stretched and thumped.
How could she?
How could she ever trust anyone again?
But this was just a meal. Dinner. It wasn’t a lifetime commitment. And she didn’t have to bare her soul to him just because he’d shared something so personal with her. Confident she could control this, Amelia turned to Cassidy. ‘I’ll eat out here.’
The ocean created the backdrop audio, a gentle lapping against the sides of the boat, rhythmic and seductive, soothing. When they were alone again, Benedetto gestured to the leather lounge that was at the top of the infinity pool, which was lit with stunning underwater lights, giving it a magical appearance.
Amelia allowed him to guide her to the seat, to pull her down beside him to rest back against him and listen to—and feel—the steady thrum of his heart, the intake of his breath, the good, solid, dependable movements of his body, his offer so exactly what she’d wanted from almost the first moment she’d met him.
‘So you want to be my executioner and saviour,’ she murmured, tracing invisible patterns on his knee.
‘No one is going to want to execute you,’ he said gruffly, pausing for a moment, and Amelia was quiet, waiting.
‘When Sash was younger, before she got sick, she wanted to take a day off school. I can’t remember why. She was fighting with a friend over something silly. She was only seven or eight.’
Amelia was still, listening, glad that he was speaking to her about his daughter, glad to hear about the beautiful child whose life had been extinguished far too young.
‘Eight,’ he said, snapping his fingers. ‘Because her teacher was Mrs Fauci. I let her stay home. She had a nanny, a nice old lady who loved her like a grandmother, and I thought that was appropriate—the least I could do, really, as she had no one else to fill that role.’
‘What about her mother?’ Amelia asked softly. ‘And her mother’s family?’
‘Her mother, Monique, was a woman I’d known for about three nights, when I was nineteen. She didn’t tell me she was pregnant. The first I knew about Sash was when they turned up on my doorstep, Monique handing the baby to me telling me she didn’t want anything to do with her.’
Amelia’s stomach twisted.
‘I didn’t want a kid,’ he said on a gruff laugh. ‘Hell, my business was taking off, I felt like I was king of the world. And suddenly, I had to get a nursery ready, hire a nanny, work out how to fit a child into my life. And what if I turned out to be like him?’ His voice sobered. Amelia turned a little, so she could see Benedetto better, rearranging herself so that instead of leaning back against him she was facing him, legs over his. He turned to look at her, a haunted expression in his eyes. ‘It was my greatest fear. How could I know, until I had her in my life, that I wouldn’t be just like my father? That I wouldn’t lose it at the slightest provocation? That I wouldn’t say things to her I couldn’t take back?’
‘You’re not like him.’
‘No, I’m not,’ he agreed. ‘You don’t know how relieved I am to be able to say that. I raised my voice at Sasha only once in her entire life, and it was when she was two years old and was reaching for a pan that was filled with boiling water. She couldn’t see above the stove, but if she’d got hold of it, if it had fallen on her—’
‘That’s a perfectly reasonable reaction,’ Amelia responded.
‘She turned to look at me with such surprise, and then giggled and ran into my arms. She was all that was good in this world.’
‘She sounds amazing.’
He didn’t reply at first, simply stared out at the ocean, one hand on Amelia’s thigh. It was a balmy night, the kind Amelia loved. She’d always adored the heat, preferring it when she could sleep in just her underwear with a light sheet.
‘So when she was eight, she stayed home from school,’ he said, disorienting Amelia with his segue back to a conversation she’d forgotten about. ‘Her nanny—Mary—told me later that they’d played Uno all day, Sasha had eaten well. She was happy that night when I tucked her into bed. But the next morning, she didn’t want to go to school again. I insisted she go, she refused. It was rare for her to dig in her heels. Sasha was always happy and obliging and easy-going, so for her to get so worked up, I didn’t know what to do. I let her stay home again. Mary told me they had another great day together. I don’t know who enjoyed it more, honestly.’
Amelia smiled softly, pulling her hair over one shoulder as a gentle breeze rustled past them.
‘The same thing, the next day. She just wouldn’t go back. She wouldn’t tell me why.’ His eyes flicked to Amelia’s. ‘After a full week of this, we had a normal weekend, and then Monday morning came around. I was determined to get her to school. Again, she refused. I had no idea what was going on, so finally I called her teacher to see if there was something more at play.’
‘And?’
‘Nothing significant,’ he said, lifting one hand palm up into the air. ‘But then she explained how staying away from school can make even the smallest things seem like a huge deal. That our minds can build it up to be a bigger problem, that the longer we stay away, the harder it gets to go back. Mrs Fauci said the only solution was to bring her to school, even if she was in floods of tears. That within an hour she’d be over it.’ He turned to look at Amelia, eyes scanning her face. ‘She was right. On the Tuesday morning, I drove her to school myself, walked her to class. She was furious with me, glared at me, refused to give me a hug—completely unlike her—and I spent all day worrying that I was the worst parent in the world, that she would hate me for ever. She came home, smiling, with a story she’d written on bright green paper, and a card all her friends had made because they’d missed her so much.’
Amelia smiled, and her heart hurt too. ‘You’re a great dad.’ She didn’t know why, but she used the present tense, perhaps because she figured it wasn’t a position you could lose. Even though Sasha had passed away, he was still her father and always would be.
‘I got good advice from Mrs Fauci,’ he replied. ‘And was quaking in my boots going through with it.’
Amelia laughed. ‘You?’
