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Exasperated, Bella followed after him. “You can’t be serious? It’s blowing a gale. The tree can wait…”
“Wait here,” he murmured again, throwing a smile over his shoulder as he wrenched the door inwards.
The wind buffeted into the house. She stood in the doorframe, watching him disappear, his shirt clinging to his frame instantly, as rain from heaven doused him.
And a kernel of worry began to form, because it was dark, despite the fact it was mid-morning, and gloomy, rainy, and forks of lightning were punctuating the sky.
“Be careful,” she called after him, but he didn’t turn around so she wasn’t sure if he heard.
With a small sigh, she moved back into the lounge and looked around the room, trying to imagine where best to put a tree. There were so many corners that could accommodate one, and she supposed it rather depended on the size he chose to bring back.
Next Christmas, they could arrange to have one brought over from the mainland – a proper pine tree that would smell like all things festive. Big and lush and green, just like the ones Andrew used to have brought onto the homestead each year. Of course, there’d been one for the dining room, one for the lounge, one for the hallway outside the girls’ bedroom.
Bella’s chest squeezed and she curled up on the sofa, closing her eyes for a moment, remembering those Christmases of her childhood, before her dad got sick, when things had been simpler, and it had been easier to see only joy in this time of year.
“You do the star, Fifi,” he’d said, lifting Sophia onto his shoulders. “Miss Arrie can do it next year.”
And he’d winked at Bella, because each year, once Sophia had gone to bed, Andrew had let Bella climb onto his shoulders and remove the star, then replace it – so the magic of Christmas would be extra special, he’d said.
Tears stung her closed eyes and a huge wave of sadness rushed over her. Sometimes, memories of that time were so strong, Bella could have sworn she could reach back through time and grab them, hold them tight enough in her hands to make them real, to make them current. Sometimes she thought she could hold them tight enough to step back through time and be a part of that magic all over again.
Noctem Illustraret, he’d say, and then he’d switch the lights on, so they sparkled through the formal lounge area, like tiny candles in a forest of fir trees.
*
The tree was enormous and it had weighed a tonne to lug into the lounge, but he’d managed, all with the fantasy in mind of his wife watching him and admiring him and wanting him, thinking of him as some kind of real life hero.
Instead, he brought the tree through the door of the house only to find her curled up on one of the sofas, fast asleep.
Bella was beautiful. Objectively speaking, she had the kind of looks that were universally appreciated. And yet, she was so much more than that. She was enigmatic and thoughtful, quiet and watchful. She was brave and strong and in sleep, she was so still and soft, she was like an angel.
He stood above her, watching her, and the walls were back, wrapping around him, pressing to all his sides, making his gut squeeze painfully because how could he be doing this?
She had no idea about his history with her mother.
But it was a history that had no meaning – it was a history that had no part to play in his future. That fate had brought Bella to him, had brought them together with this baby, had nothing to do with how he’d felt for Kat.
Nor how Kate had felt for him.
That was ancient, never-acted-upon history.
It was an irrelevancy.
With his trademark, stock-in-trade determination, he pushed Kat from his mind. That was a bridge he would cross only when absolutely necessary.
For now, there was Bella, and their family, to be considered.
He stepped away from her quietly, leaving her sleeping, the tree propped against a wall as he went upstairs, then upstairs again, to the attic that ran halfway along the top of the house. One half was reserved for an indoor tennis court, swimming pool and gym, with stunning views of the island and the sea beyond.
The attic was well-ordered; he’d had the housekeeping staff sort it, after his mother had died. Many of her personal items were stored here. Vitalo ignored them assiduously, moving to the back of the space, where he recalled the Christmas decorations being kept.
He didn’t find them, at first. They’d been moved, replaced with boxes of books and family photo albums, which he also avoided. He found what he was looking for after about twenty minutes of riffling, and when he returned to the lounge room downstairs, Bella’s eyes were fluttering open.
“You’re back,” she said, the words still thick with sleep. She smiled at him, a smile of such honesty and openness that a sharp spike pushed into his gut, because he was pretty damned sure he didn’t deserve her to look at him like that.
But then, he looked closer, and saw that her mascara had run, forming a little line down her cheek.
“Bella? You’ve been crying?”
