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“I do know. You love me. I am yours. You are my mother. You are my father. You loved me when you didn’t have to, and not once have I doubted that” he said, remembering Skye’s words to him in New York.
“Do you mean it?” Ronaldo asked.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.” Leandro stood, hands on hips. “As far as I am concerned, we need never speak of this again.”
Patrizia’s eyes closed. “And Emme?”
“She doesn’t know?”
“Of course not.”
“Then we’ll tell her, but let’s do it together. It’s the only way she’ll understand that it doesn’t change anything.”
Ronaldo stood, putting a hand on Leandro’s arm. “It changes nothing, my boy. Nothing.” And then he wrapped him in a huge hug, holding him so tight Leandro almost couldn’t breathe.
Leandro read the invitation with a strange feeling in his gut. Two weeks after Skye had ended things with him, here was something he couldn’t refuse: a gala fundraiser being thrown by a very dear family friend, Antonio’s brother Carlo. In Manhattan, of all places. The ball would be attended by the world’s elite, and the cause was certainly one Leandro sympathized with: rehabilitation for victims of car accidents and support for family members left behind, in the case of fatalities. With Carlo having lost his own brother Antonio in a way that had scarred Max emotionally for life, Leandro and all of the Valentinos were intimately familiar with Carlo’s ongoing work in this area.
Leandro had to go.
The whole family would.
And they were his family. He understood that now.
But the thought of returning to Manhattan brought something else to the fore. Skye.
How could he go there and not see her?
How could he go and not at least tell her he was in town and give her the option of seeing him? He could put the ball in her court. In a totally non-comital, easy, no-drama way. To show her how different he was to Jay.
And if she didn’t want to see him?
He ignored the chasm in the centre of his chest. He wouldn’t contemplate that yet. He wasn’t sure he could.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE ONE THING TO BE said for Skye’s coping mechanism was that she was earning bucketloads. Keeping herself busy in an attempt not to think about Leandro meant she accepted every shift being thrown at her and dazzling more than any server had ever dazzled in an attempt to earn tips, tips, tips. When she wasn’t working, she was with Harper. Playing with her, reading to her, walking with her, watching a cartoon together. Whatever. Keeping her little body close to Skye’s and reassuring herself that she’d made the right decision.
Nothing in life was worth jeopardizing this.
She couldn’t let someone into her life, without knowing what the future held. She had to put all of her energy right here. With Harper.
She was exhausted.
Too exhausted to cry.
Too sad to cry?
She wasn’t sure. She felt bereft. There was a terrible, all-consuming weight pressing down on her chest, trying to convince her constantly that she’d done the wrong thing in breaking up with Leandro. Except she hadn’t broken up with him. They hadn’t been a couple. They’d been sleeping together. ‘Having fun’. It had been meaningless for him.
Only, it hadn’t.
She’d heard it in his voice, when they’d last spoken. She’d heard his shock. It was like she’d side-swiped him completely. She’d heard his shock and had known he felt more than he was saying. But that was the point.
She needed the words. She needed the promise. She needed the assurance that he was different, and that she was safe with him. She needed to hear him say it, to acknowledge all of the things she was scared of, to promise her everything. And he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Because that wasn’t what he wanted. He did want Skye. He did want more of what they’d shared, but that wasn’t enough for her.
So she kept working, and she kept looking after Harper, and so what if most days she forgot to eat until her stomach felt as though it was caving in on itself and she forced herself to grab a piece of bread and consume at least that before bed, so her growling stomach wouldn’t wake anyone up? So what if she felt like a zombie most of the time, if her over-bright persona at work was so brittle she felt as though she might crack under the slightest pressure?
On one such night when she’d taken care of a particularly demanding group of guests—low level royalty from a European country—she caught the subway home feeling as though her eyes were stinging from exhaustion and that her feet might melt off from overuse. She walked the short distance from the station, her mind numb, out of habit. She forced herself not to think of anything because if she let herself, all thoughts led back to Leandro. To memories of him. His kisses, his touch, his gentle exploration of her, his eyes, his laughter, his kindness, his generosity. All of him.
