Page 3 of Road to Rosalee

She offered a regretful smile. She almost wished that she could just magically forgive him. It would be simpler, easier. ‘It’s proving way tougher than I thought it would be, to forgive and forget, especially right now. All I want to do is focus on my mum.’ Her hands went to her hips. ‘You need to give me space, like I asked you to after our last marriage counselling session. You can’t just push me to act like everything’s going to be okay, because I honestly don’t know if it will be.’

Antonio’s mouth opened to say something, but then closed, as if he thought better of it. He regarded her for a few long moments, his gaze narrowing. ‘I can’t blame you, I suppose, but just know I’m here, waiting for you to love me again, like you should as my wife.’

‘Mm-hmm,’ was all she could muster for the raw anger rising in her throat.

Marianna’s head popped through the doorway, a pen tucked above her ear. ‘Antonio, we need you out here, pronto.’

‘Coming.’ Antonio turned and wandered back towards the hub of the café, his sway as cocky as ever.

His body language infuriated Melody, as did his expectation for her to believe his BS and simply get over it. Who did he think he was, making her feel bad for his selfishness? If she hadn’t been his wife for four long years, she wondered if she’d have even tried to forgive him, or whether she’d have run for the hills the second she’d caught him – like his mother had from his father. And through it all, she had to admit to herself that she felt cold, almost cut off from feeling the emotion she usually would with such a betrayal, a by-product of what she was enduring with her mum. Numbness was way easier to handle than crying all the time.

Turning her attention to the vine-ripened tomatoes, purple garlic and bunches of basil, she decided to make some bruschetta topping, along with a Caprese salad. After that, the fresh pappardelle. The lunch rush would be upon her before she knew it, so she needed to get cracking.

Chapter

2

Squeezing some soothing cream onto his hand, Zai Wellstone gently rubbed it over the intricate tribal design of his latest tattoo that reached from just above his elbow to his shoulder and over the left side of his chest. It had taken a total of sixteen hours over two sessions to complete, and although it had pushed him past his pain threshold, he was thrilled with the result. Every one of his five tattoos meant something; he didn’t get them just for the hell of it. This one embodied his connection to the Maori culture, the design he’d chosen in remembrance of his late grandpa, or koroua, as he’d always called him. It represented the tribe his ancestors had come from. Having been born in Australia, his father thought it unnecessary to focus on their heritage, but his koroua, god rest his traditional soul, would have admired the deep spiritual connection behind getting it permanently inked onto his skin.

Grabbing the Western button-up shirt from the end of the bed, he tugged it on, but left it open as he finished packing. Making sure his favourite boots were among his possessions, he then slipped on his thongs, startling when his phone rang.

‘Talk about give a man a heart attack,’ he muttered as he snatched it from his back pocket, smiling when he spotted who the caller was before wedging the phone between his shoulder and his ear.

‘Hey, my brother from another mother, how goes it?’ He started to do up the buttons of his shirt.

‘Hey buddy, really good, you?’ The sound of a motorbike revving to life reverberated down the line.

‘Yeah, can’t complain.’ He could – about a lot – but he wasn’t about to spew all his dramas on Patrick, his good mate and, essentially, his boss.

‘Are you looking forward to getting back out here?’

‘Sure am.’ Zai felt a rush just thinking about being back among the dust, flies and genuine company of Rosalee Station. ‘Even though it’s been nice to spend a bit of time with Mum and Renee, and be able to dunk myself in the ocean whenever I like, I wish I could click my fingers and be back there right now. The city just doesn’t suit me.’

‘After growing up in Mount Isa, can’t say I blame you for feeling like a fish outta water in Brisvegas, Zai,’ Patrick said before bellowing a ‘Come on!’ in cattleman tone. Clearly, he was moving a mob. ‘So, I know you don’t like to talk about it much, but tell me, how’s it been, being back home for the break?’ Patrick’s Irish lilt was still strong even after years of being in Australia. ‘Did you get a chance to sort it all out with your father?’

Pulling the bedroom curtains aside, he watched his father stride towards his Porsche Cayenne SUV and hop behind the wheel. ‘Yeah, not really.’ Zai’s heart sank as he watched him reverse out and then disappear down the long gravel driveway. ‘We almost came to blows a couple of times.’

‘Shit, that bad, hey?’ Patrick heaved a sigh. ‘He’s a stubborn bugger, your old man. Even the father-in-law reckons so.’

‘You can say that again. And Steve would know.’ Turning away from the window, he collected the last of his things from the bedside table and shoved them into his travel bag, along with his phone charger and the biography he’d been engrossed in the past couple of nights. ‘I don’t know why I expected otherwise when I told him about being offered the manager’s position out there alongside Slimbo.’

‘I’m sorry, bud. I really thought it might change his mind about it being a dead-end job for you, especially knowing you’d be the man in charge while Georgia, li’l Donny and I are over in Ireland for Liam’s wedding.’

Zai shrugged. ‘Stranger things have happened, I suppose. Dad’s always seen me as the disappointment of the family. Even when I became a fully fledged chopper pilot, he was pissed off. It’s not like it’s going to change anytime soon, if ever.’ He ran a hand across the stubble he knew he should shave but couldn’t be bothered to. It wasn’t like he had anyone to impress. ‘I’ve just got to find a way to let my need for his approval go and get on with my life the way I want to live it.’

‘Too right, even though that’s much harder said than done.’ Bellows of cattle echoed.

The sound was music to his ears. Zai tried to shrug his despair off. ‘Them’s the breaks, Pat. At least I feel at home when I’m out there.’

‘Well, if it’s any consolation, Judy and Steve are ecstatic you took the job. They were going to put the brakes on their retirement caravanning trip round Oz if you didn’t accept. We all love having you out here, Zai. You’re an asset to the place and a treasured part of our family.’

Zai sank down on the corner of his bed. ‘Thanks, mate, that means a lot.’ After two outstanding years mustering at Rosalee Station, Zai couldn’t wait to make it three, now his goal of making it to head stockman was coming to fruition.

‘Just speaking the truth, Zai. Now get your butt back here, because Slimbo is going to need you more than ever with Georgia and me gone.’

Zai smiled from ear to ear at the very thought of hanging out with one of his favourite Aussie larrikins – Slim was an absolute classic to work with. ‘Ha, yeah, he and I are going to drive each other nuts.’

‘I bet, but you both love the banter, because it keeps both of you on your toes.’ Patrick said between chuckles. ‘Mind you, Showbags and Tumbles do a damn good job of it too, I might add. Which we need with Hasselhoof’s grumbling, which honestly is getting worse by the day.’