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“Yeah,” she said after a moment, working hard to focus on what he was saying. “Siblings, cousins, family beyond my adopted dad.”
“What about when you were in foster care?”
“I was never anywhere long enough to feel connected. A couple of the houses I was at had other children, but you know, it’s hard.” She smiled awkwardly and ducked under his arm, lifting another bird from the ornament box. “Look,” she said. “It’s a perfect match.”
She moved back to the tree, scanning it for gaps.
“I think,” she said as she dangled the ribbon over a waist-height branch, “I was always a bit afraid.”
He reached into the box and pulled out another ornament – a bell – and moved to the other side of the tree, suspending it carefully.
“Of what?”
She stood back once more to admire their handiwork. “Well,” she searched for the right words, aware she was confessing something to Gabe she’d never even really admitted to herself. “I’d been pushed from pillar to post, and the only person who’d ever really loved me had died when I was just eight years old. I never had any idea what unconditional love felt like – for me it was always conditional. I thought that if I was a good enough girl, if I made dinners and kept the house clean, my dad would get better. That he’d be proud of me. Happy with me. That he’d love me after all.” She turned away from him, moving mechanically towards the box, grabbing the first decoration she could see – a sled with Father Christmas atop it, carved from wood.
It brought a small smile to her lips, the retro paint reminding her of some of the decorations she’d had as a child.
“And instead, he just kept getting sicker and sicker and then he gave me away.”
When she turned around, he was watching her with an intensity that took her breath away. She pushed a smile to her face and moved back to the tree, looking for a bare spot to put the sled.
“I just couldn’t bring myself to get settled anywhere after that,” she said with a lift of her shoulders. “I saw every foster placement as temporary, just a place to hang out for a while. I was courteous and polite, but never really myself. I didn’t want to get to know new people, and I didn’t want them to get to know me.”
She shrugged self-consciously.
“I guess it was like a defence mechanism.” She’d employed it time and time again and now she realised she’d probably been protecting herself when she’d walked away from Andrew. Oh, he wasn’t the right fit for her, but maybe that was why she’d been attracted to him in the first place? Perhaps it was that she had subconsciously gravitated towards the kind of partner who was non-threatening. She hadn’t loved him. She’d never got close. She hadn’t even cried when they’d broken up! What was that if not proof that she was still isolating herself from being hurt?
And to think, she’d accused Gabe of being the one who was scared to feel anything!
Heat stole through her cheeks. She changed the subject deliberately, wanting to shift the focus from herself. “Where did you get all these? They’re adorable.”
“Adorable?” His smile made her heart thump. “I am not sure I would have used that word to describe them.”
“Why not?”
He laughed. “I suppose it’s just not in my vocabulary.” Something flickered in his eyes and then he moved back to the box, lifting out a glimmering gold elf. “As for where I got these, Yaya, of course.”
“They’re your childhood ornaments?”
“In a sense. She’s a collector, and from the moment we were born she began assembling a box of Christmas decorations for each of us. I haven’t thought about that in years. It was a very thoughtful thing for her to do. I daresay she hoped she was raising another generation of Christmas lovers.”
Isabella smiled. “Are any of you?”
“No.” He grinned; her stomach twisted. “I like Christmas the least of all, but my brothers and cousins are not particularly enamoured of it. However, we all pretend, for Yaya’s sake.” He moved into the kitchen and opened the fridge. “They’re all settled down now, either married or engaged, with children or children on the way, so they seem to care for the holiday a little more too.”
“I guess having children would make it really come to life.”
“Si,” he agreed, closing the fridge. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded. “Definitely.”
His eyes flared, the reason for her appetite and unspoken awareness between them. “Then have a seat; I’ll make some dinner.”
Everything seemed to be tipping sideways. Isabella felt as though she’d stumbled into a situation that made no sense, and yet it did at the same time. Everything felt so very, very perfect – almost too good to be true. Reminding herself to be careful, and certainly to remember that this was only temporary, she took the seat opposite, watching as he removed ingredients from the fridge and freezer. Frozen spinach, feta cheese and eggs were combined a bowl, before he added seasoning – nutmeg, salt, pepper and garlic. He talked while he worked. Now that Isabella wasn’t precariously high on the ladder, he returned to amusing her with anecdotes about his brothers and cousins, describing their childhood until her cheeks hurt from smiling. The pain in her heart though seemed to be growing worse, as an awareness of everything she’d missed, everything she’d never had, intensified in the pit of her stomach.
He filled a piping bag and grabbed out a box of cannelloni, stuffing them expertly, each tube filled with the fragrant green mixture. One by one he lay them in the bottom of a tray until it was all filled up.
“Aspetti,” he murmured, flashing her a devilish grin that sparked hunger and awareness in her bloodstream. “I just need some passata.” He disappeared into the larder and returned carrying a large jar with a red liquid a moment later. “Yaya’s recipe,” he said.
