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CRISTIANOPAIDTHEbill and pushed back his chair, standing up. The restaurant was very crowded and no one was looking at them, too involved with their own conversations to pay attention to the tall man with green eyes and the other, much younger man opposite him, who also stood, and who also had the same green eyes.
The lunch had gone surprisingly well, but it was too soon for an embrace so Cristiano only held out his hand, looking his son in the eye. ‘It was good to meet you, Alexander.’
His son frowned, looked down at his extended hand, and then, after a moment, reached out and took it, shaking it firmly. ‘I can’t call you Papá—you know that, right?’
‘Of course not,’ Cristiano said easily. ‘You already have one of those.’
De Riero—which wasn’t what Cristiano had either wanted or chosen, but he couldn’t change what had happened twenty years ago. All he could do was let go of his anger and accept it.
It hadn’t been easy, but he’d done it. With a little help from Leonie, naturally enough.
In fact, that he’d made contact with his son at all had been all down to her. After a few years—after their lives had settled down and his son had become an adult in his own right—she’d encouraged Cristiano and supported him to reach out.
De Riero hadn’t liked it, but something must have mellowed him over the years, because when Alexander had asked him about his parentage he apparently hadn’t denied that Cristiano was his father.
He’d even tried to make contact with Leonie, when word had got out about the identity of Cristiano’s wife. She hadn’t wanted to take that step yet, but Cristiano knew she would one day. When she was ready.
As for Alexander... Cristiano didn’t know what de Riero had told the boy about him, but clearly nothing too bad, since he had eventually agreed to meet him.
It had been tense initially, but Alexander had eventually relaxed. As had Cristiano.
‘I’d like to meet with you again,’ Cristiano said after they’d shaken hands. ‘Lunch? Once a month, say?’
The young man nodded, looking serious. ‘I think I’d like that.’ He paused, giving Cristiano another measuring look. ‘You’re not what I expected,’ he said at last.
Cristiano raised a brow. ‘What did you expect?’
‘I don’t know. You’re just...’ Alexander lifted a shoulder. ‘Easier to talk to than I thought you’d be.’
Something in Cristiano’s heart—a wound that hadn’t ever fully healed—felt suddenly a little less painful.
He smiled. ‘I’ll take that.’
Ten minutes later, after Alexander had left, he stepped out of the restaurant and onto the footpath—and was nearly bowled over by two small figures.
‘Papá!’ the little boy yelled, flinging himself at his father, closely followed by his red-haired sister.
The pain in Cristiano’s heart suddenly dissolved as if it had never been. He opened his arms, scooping both children up. They squealed, his daughter gripping onto his hair while his son grabbed his shirt.
It was soon apparent that both of them had been eating ice cream and had got it all over their hands.
‘They’re too big for that,’ Leonie said, coming up behind them, her face alight with amusement. ‘And look what Carlos has done to your shirt.’
Cristiano only laughed. ‘That’s what washing machines are for.’
She rolled her eyes. She’d lost nothing of her fire and spark over the past five years, coming into her own as his duchess. Not only had she proved adept at helping him manage the San Lorenzo estate, as well as becoming the driving force behind various charities aimed at helping children on the streets, she’d also proved herself to be a talented artist. Luckily she used oils and canvas these days, rather than spray cans and cars.
She was looking at him now in that way he loved. Sharp and direct. Seeing through him and into his heart. ‘How did it go?’ she asked.
He grinned. ‘It went well. Very well indeed.’
Her eyes glinted and he realised they were full of tears.
‘I’m so glad.’
His beautiful, beautifulgatita. She had worried for him.
Cristiano put down the twins and ignored their complaints, gathering his wife in his arms. ‘He wants to meet again. Lunch, once a month.’
