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“Mind? What?”
“I just saw the ornaments lying there and thought I’d put some up.” She eyed the tree thoughtfully. It was enormous – one of several that the Montebello men had brought to the villa the day before.
“It’s Christmas time, Bronte.” Yaya put out a hand, resting it on Bronte’s arm. Her touch was feather-light. “And what a gift it is to have you here with us.”
Warmth spread through Bronte. It had only been six months since Luca had convinced Bronte that he loved her with all his heart, and yet she had been coming to Villa Fortune with him most weekends ever since. The total acceptance from Luca’s family had been something she hadn’t known she’d needed, and yet it had filled her with such happiness. For someone who’d always known family love and support, recognising that they would receive that from both sides had meant a lot to Bronte.
“I have been wanting to thank you for some time, but you are so rarely alone,” Yaya said on a slight grumble, nodding towards the sofa.
Bronte resisted an urge to offer her arm for support. Though Yaya was slight, she was also strong and determined. She walked slowly; Bronte didn’t rush her.
“Thank me for what?”
“For what you’ve done to Luca.” Yaya’s eyes glittered as they met Bronte’s. “He’s changed so much since meeting you.”
“Has he?”
“Oh, yes, darling. He’s happy again. Happy like he was as a teenager, and a young man. I had wondered if I’d ever see him laugh – really laugh – again, but now I know.” She put her hand on Bronte’s. “He just needed to meet you.”
Bronte’s heart soared, and emotions thickened in her throat. “We’re lucky to have found each other.”
“Mmm,” Yaya nodded. She lifted her hand then to the necklace Bronte wore – the diamond Luca had given her after the weekend they spent together in London. “Did he tell you where this came from?”
“He told me you gave it to him – for me.”
“I did.”
“It’s very beautiful.”
Yaya’s lips twisted. “I think so too.” She dropped her hand back to Bronte’s. “Gianfelice gave it to me, you know.”
Bronte had never met Gianfelice. He passed away before she started working for the Montebellos, but she’d heard about him from members of staff – his legendary approach to work, his impressive business ethic and razor sharp intelligence.
“I wasn’t aware.”
Yaya made a noise of agreement. “It was the first Christmas after the boys came to live with us. It was a terrifying time, in many ways. I wondered if we’d done the right thing.” She sighed. “Taking children from their parents…”
Bronte nodded softly. “I can imagine how difficult that decision must have been.”
“In the end, the decision was easy – we knew it had to be done. But the aftermath,” she lifted her eyes heavenwards. “I had to grapple with the reality of realising I’d had to save my grandchildren from my sons. I had to face the fact that I had effectively lost three children.” Her voice cracked a little. “I think about them all the time you know. More as I get older.”
Bronte felt the older woman’s grief; her heart ached for her. “I think hindsight can often play tricks on us. The most important thing we can do is trust that, at the time, our instincts were solid.”
Yaya’s eyes widened.
“You did what was necessary for your grandchildren. And in a way, you made it possible for your sons to face their demons and choose a different path. What could be more genuinely motivating than having your children removed from your care?”
Yaya sighed. “And yet, they didn’t change.”
Bronte put a hand on Yaya’s. “Perhaps they will, or perhaps they won’t. You can only be responsible for your actions.”
Yaya was lost in thought. “I often find myself wishing –,”
“Yes?” Bronte prompted, when Yaya fell silent.
“My daughter.” Her voice cracked. “It’s too late. She died, you know, and I never got to see her, after she left. But her son, Samir, I only met him once. He barely spoke to me.” She winced. “I know how hurt his mother was by Gianfelice and me.”
Bronte knew she couldn’t take the pain of regret away; all she could do was sit with Yaya and indulge her reflections and memories. But a moment later, Yaya seemed to rouse herself, a weak smile crossing her pale, lined face. “Anyway, the necklace.” Her eyes dropped to the diamond. “Gianfelice gave it to me to mark our first Christmas with the boys. I wore it every day for a long time, because it reminded me that even when things are at their worst – and those were some very dark times, cara – there is still the possibility of beauty and pleasure. I wanted you, particularly, to have it.”
