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“Tonight?” His eyes roamed her face, and she wondered if he was thinking, as she was, that tonight was about a billion miles away.
“Yes, tonight.” She nodded emphatically, because it was wise to wait, to give them both time to think about this, and change their minds if needed.
“Tell me a time, and I’ll be there.”
But as thetime drew nearer, Charlotte angsted back and forth about their agreement, for a thousand reasons. Loyalty to Caleb and Winnie, the feeling she was in the middle of something she shouldn’t be, and her own inexperience with men at all, let alone men like Alessio…the ‘cons’ column was full of items, but the ‘pros’ list was far more persuasive.
If she was irresistible, then he was far more so, and she had no real ability to resist him. Not after years of celibacy, of forgetting or wilfully ignoring her needs as a woman.
The fact he was here for a short time made this all the more possible. There was no possibility of complication, for emotional confusion. Their relationship would be almost transactional, she thought with a nod, proud of herself for being so mature. Afterwards, he’d leave, and she’d continue with her life as it was now. Caleb and Winnie didn’t even need to know that she’d had more of a personal interaction with Alessio. She was under no obligation to tell them anything about her personal life, and he was someone who played his cards close to his chest.
She could do this, and the world wouldn’t fall apart. She could give herself this little slice of Christmas joy, and damn it, she would. Life was too short for regrets.
Chapter4
THE MAIN STREET OF Morincester was hung with Christmas lights, long, looping sashes of balls that glowed gold against the crisp night, and Charlotte never failed to look at them without feeling a corresponding sense of warmth. Or maybe it was anticipation that was overheating her blood, the clock in her kitchen ticking inexorably towards the allotted time, her mind racing, her nerves fluttering as she tore her gaze away from the medieval streetscape and instead regarded her flat.
It wasn’t hers, though, but over the years, she’d made it feel like a home for herself and Dash. There were pictures everywhere—photos of Dash’s parents, his maternal grandparents, and of the two of them, and all the silly things they’d done since the accident. There were pictures with Melody, too, because she was like an aunt to Dash, or a fairy godmother, a beloved part of his life. But it was the photos with Caleb and Winnie that gave Charlotte a momentary anxiety. Given the fractured nature of Alessio’s relationship with his family, should she remove those photos? Just for the night?
She moved to one in particular, taken during the summer solstice festival—a truly sensational event with cheese rolling competitions, cider tasting and pie eating. Tourists came from all around to enjoy the Morincester fair. In this photo, the four of them were standing against the backdrop of the main street, only this time, instead of being speckled by Christmas lights, it was dotted with colourful tents and many, many people, bunting waving in the light breeze. Dash had a candy apple and was pulling a silly face, while the three adults were smiling straight at the camera, posed close together, like family.
A lump formed in her throat, and she spun away. It had been important to fill Dash’s life with love after his awful loss. Despite the constant threat from Maggie’s parents, Charlotte made sure Dash saw them often, and when he was here, in the village, there were his school friends, who she encouraged close knit relationships with, her friends, and Melody. Caleb and Winnie were valuable parts of their lives.
She wasn’t going to hide that from Alessio—it was beneath her, beneath what Caleb and Winnie deserved from her. If he had a problem with their relationship, then that’s exactly what it was: his problem.
With a little nod, pleased with her decision, she went back to her post by the window, fidgeting her fingers at her sides. Her reflection struck her, catching her by surprise.
She had agonised over what to wear—not wanting to appear as though she’d gone to too much effort, while simultaneously feeling the weight of Caleb’s characterisation of Alessio’s previous girlfriends in her mind, so feminine pride had gotten the better of her and she’d pulled on a simple jersey dress, knee length, form fitting with a high neck, so while it showed the slender curves of her body, it wasn’t super revealing, and she felt comfortable in it. The colour was creamy, not quite white, and her skin looked golden against it. Her hair, which she wore up almost all the time by virtue of her work in the kitchen, she’d brushed until it glistened and had distractedly pulled over one shoulder now.
Her eyes strayed to the kitchen clock at the exact moment a knock sounded on her door. Everything inside of her tensed, then released, then tensed again, as all of the panic she’d surfed over the last few hours formed one last, crashing wave, making her wonder why the hell she’d agreed to this?
Because you had no choice, she reminded herself, moving towards the door. Some things in life seem almost pre-ordained, and whatever was happening between herself and Alessio, it was bigger than her, bigger than her will-power, and she wasn’t going to fight it. Not anymore.
Drawing the door inwards, a nervous smile on her face, she thought she’d braced to see him, but how could she have? Their previous interactions had all been somewhat accidental. Neither had prepared for them, nor had any expectations of what might happen.
The man on her threshold was there by arrangement. A date. He’d dressed for that, and when his eyes met hers, there was a charge of expectation that almost knocked her backwards.
“Hi,” she managed to say, the word barely audible though, as her eyes dragged over him, from his dark hair to his stubbled face, square jaw, then to the open collar revealing a thick, strong neck, to yet another superbly starched shirt which he wore with a dinner jacket—the shirt snowy white, the jacket navy blue, the jeans dark denim, with a black leather belt that matched his shoes. He looked like a catalogue model. Her heart dropped to her toes.
It took her another moment to realise he was just standing there, and a moment after that to recognise that he carried a wine bottle and a brown paper carry bag.
“You brought dinner?” She surmised, because the fragrance was wafting towards her.
“It seemed only fair. You’ve cooked for me the last few meals.”
She wrinkled her nose. “That’s my job.”
“But tonight is not about work.”
She had been starting to relax, just a little, but his statement reminded her of what tonightwasabout and her eyes took on a slightly panicked quality.
“You’re nervous.” He made the assessment with a lift of his lips that only compounded her sense of panic.
“I’m—yes. A little.”
His laugh was soft, like melted butter. She bit into her lower lip and stepped back into the room.
“Wine will help,” she muttered, earning another laugh from him.
