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“Yes, selfish. You chose to cut me out. You chose to raise our daughter on your own. I call that selfish indeed.”
His temper was a beast he could hardly control.
“You know how I feel about family. You know how I love my family. You accuse me of wanting to travel; and I do. But you also know that I have always dropped everything to return to my home when my parents needed me. Did you really convince yourself that I would feel differently about my own child? Did you not think I would want to be here for her first year of life? Her second? And every year after that?”
“Please, stop shouting at me,” Ava cried, gripping her seatbelt to stop from bursting into tears yet again.
“I can’t!” He said angrily. “I have been robbed of that – and I’ll never get those years back. I’ll never know what she was like as an infant. When she crawled. What she ate. I have missed it, and I am not going to miss anything else.”
“I know, I know. I understand. What do you want me to say, Cristiano? I messed up? I did! I thought … I really thought at the time … that I was saving you from a life you would hate. I thought I was the one who was missing out – on you, and your help, and sharing this life with you. I was wrong. I wish now that I could go back in time and do it all differently.”
“And yet, if I hadn’t come to the house today, and if we hadn’t got distracted and made love; I would never have heard her laughing and found her. I might still not know about Milly. Was it your plan, even this week, to keep her from me?”
Ava was pale. She squeezed her eyes shut rather than look at him. “Yes,” she said; for how could she lie? “At least, it was at first. But I went back and forth. Some moments, I just wanted to get it over with and tell you. But then I’d see you and your life, and those people you consider to be your friends, and I would remember why I kept it from you. What you would lose if you knew.”
“What I would lose?”
She shook her head. “I already told you that I was wrong. What more can I do?”
He turned into the driveway of Casa Celli and pulled the car up in front of the house. “You can leave me alone,” he said seriously.
“Cris …” Her heart was breaking. But what could she expect? He had every right to be furious with her. She would certainly never forgive someone if they’d kept her from Milly.
“No.” He stepped out of the car but stayed within the door, so that he could address her clearly. “You and I will have to find a way to get along, for the sake of our daughter.” The word was heavy in his mouth. His daughter. “I intend to be a big part of her life, starting immediately. But do not forget, Ava, that I hate you for what you have done.”
* * *
In the two weeks since discovering that he was a father, Cristiano had, to his credit, rolled up his sleeves and done everything he could to discover what he’d been missing. With the exception of Tom’s wedding, he’d come to the house every evening to bathe Milly and read her stories. He’d spoon fed her risotto and copped yoghurt down his shirt more times than Ava could count. He’d sung A Borboleta over and over again. When Ava had asked him what it was about, he’d responded coldly that it was a children’s Christmas carol about a butterfly.
And that was the only problem Ava had to face.
For as warm and loving as he was towards Milly, he was equally cold and hateful to Ava. He missed no opportunity to remind her of the blame he put at her feet, and to make sure she understood how dreadful a mistake she had made.
And Ava felt it. She felt it every time she looked at the two of them together, and saw the way Milly adored Cristiano.
It was one such afternoon, when the sight of them together was too much for her to handle, that Ava escaped to the kitchen and poured herself a large measure of Shiraz. She rarely drank more than a sip of wine, to taste and appraise. But her heart was broken and having already been taped back together so many times, she wasn’t sure it could be healed this time.
She sat despondently at the kitchen bench and stared at the rolling vines and glistening ocean, and cradled her chin in the palm of her hand. Her phone made a buzzing vibration in her pockets; she fished it out and checked her emails.
1 December, 18.08pm
From: A Petrides
To: Ava
Ava, Sophie tells me you have the most exquisite collection of decorations. I want to make this Christmas special for her. She’s missing home, and you, very much. Is there any chance you can arrange to send some care of our London address?
With warmth,
A.P
She stared at the email and was no longer able to hold the tears back. Was it really the first of December? Christmas was so close, and she was alone. Even Milly, who had always been hers – just hers – had now to be shared.
Her sisters were spread across the globe, and the only man she’d ever loved now hated her with a passion that was arctic and overpowering. She lifted her wine by the bowl of the glass and carried it with her through the reception area into the downstairs lounge. The bookshelf had doors across the bottom shelves; she kept all the heirloom ornaments there.
She sipped the wine and placed it beside her carefully, then pulled the first box out. It smelled of gingerbread and dust. Her throat clogged with emotion and her fingertips ran over the worn cardboard.
The box itself was a nineteen eighties shoebox that had once housed a pair of boots Meredith had bought in Perth. She’d been so proud of them, even though – as she’d been fond of saying –they’d cost all of their arms and legs! Ava smiled weakly at the memory and unfolded the tissue paper.
