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ed, if the companies didn’t want to maximise their profit?’
‘The companies I work with are already being taken over.’ Antonio hadn’t wanted to justify himself, and yet he knew that was exactly what he was doing. He was nettled that Maisie had assumed the worst about him, even though he knew it was better that she did. He would only disappoint her otherwise. ‘They bring me in to try to minimise the damage, not maximise it.’
‘Then why do the newspapers say you’re so ruthless?’
‘I can be ruthless,’ he admitted. ‘Takeovers are by their very nature ruthless. People lose jobs. Lives are ruined. And that sells more newspapers than any good I might have been able to do.’
Maisie’s lips twisted. ‘It just seems such a...sordid line of work.’
‘Someone’s got to do it.’
‘But you’re really in property, aren’t you? Buying and selling?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that building you knocked down...?’
He sighed. ‘It was a disaster waiting to happen, Maisie.’
He didn’t like having this conversation, even as he acknowledged it was better that they have a little distance between them. He couldn’t let the champagne and dim lighting lull him into wanting something that was impossible.
‘Maybe we should talk about something else,’ Maisie suggested, and Antonio gave a terse nod. Damn it, why was he feeling so hurt?
‘I asked you about Milan,’ she reminded him gently. ‘What sights are there to see?’
Dutifully Antonio listed some of the museums and parks in the city, as well as the fantastic shopping. Maisie listened attentively, her eyes alight with interest.
‘Perhaps one weekend we can go to one of the lakes,’ he found himself suggesting. ‘They’re not too far away and they are very beautiful.’
‘That would be wonderful,’ Maisie said, and he saw that flicker of uncertainty in her eyes that he’d seen before, and felt in himself. Images of the two of them on a picnic blanket, Ella lying between them and the lake sparkling in the spring sunshine, flitted through his mind. Happy families, but that wasn’t what was going on here. It couldn’t be, because what did he know about happy families? He only knew how to destroy them. Maisie had been right when she’d called him the ruthless destroyer, but she had no idea...and Antonio wasn’t going to enlighten her. He’d told her enough on that one regrettable and wonderful night.
‘It’s getting late,’ he said, his voice a little rough. ‘We should sleep.’
Maisie nodded, and they both settled down into the comfortable seats that extended nearly horizontally to form a bed. As tired as he was, too many thoughts and feelings were flying around in his head for him to settle. A deep and primal satisfaction that he had Maisie and Ella with him warred with a creeping unease and fear that he was doing the wrong thing. A dangerous thing...for all three of them.
As sleep started to invade the fringes of his mind, his guard relaxed and he fell into one of his old, torturous dreams. Paolo was glaring at him, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
Why did you let me? You should have known better.
Of course, Paolo had never said those words. He’d never had the chance. But his mother and father had both said them, before they’d stopped speaking to Antonio completely. Before he’d destroyed his own family.
I’m sorry, Paolo. So sorry.
In the dream Antonio never seemed to be able to get the words out; they crowded in his mouth like marbles and he choked on them. Because words meant nothing. They certainly weren’t enough, and they didn’t make a difference now. Paolo was dead, and it was entirely Antonio’s fault.
‘Antonio... Antonio!’ A soft hand gently shook his shoulder, and Antonio blinked up into Maisie’s concerned face. ‘You were thrashing about in your sleep... Are you okay?’
Thrashing about? He jerked up to a sitting position, running his hand through his hair as he took a slow, steadying breath. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You didn’t seem fine,’ Maisie said quietly. ‘Was it a bad dream?’
She made him sound like a child. Antonio shook his head, irritable now, because that was better than being desperate. ‘I’m fine.’
Ella let out a startled cry, and he grimaced. He must have woken her up with his angry tone. Maisie reached for her. ‘She’s probably hungry again. I’ll feed her.’
Antonio nodded, trying to get his flayed emotions back under wraps as Maisie nursed their baby, a blanket draped over her shoulder. Even after a feed Ella wouldn’t settle, and Maisie threw Antonio an exasperated look. ‘She’s fretful at night sometimes.’
‘Why don’t I walk her up and down the plane? You said movement helped.’
