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Winona’s smile faltered slightly and when she handed Alessio the water, he noticed her fingers weren’t quite steady. It made his stomach tighten in an uncomfortable way.
“She was there the night I arrived,” he elaborated. Not because it was necessary but again, because he found it quite compelling to speak about Charlotte.
“Ah.”
“Her cooking is excellent.”
“We’re very lucky.”
“She talks about you and Caleb as though you’re very close.”
The smallest of frowns crossed Winona’s beautiful face, but she erased it quickly. “Well, we are. From the moment she applied for the job, I had a feeling about her. It was a hard time in her life.”
Alessio’s expression didn’t change—the same powerfully compelling set of features stayed locked in place, and Winona continued to talk, as she removed a baking tray from the oven and set it down on an ancient looking timber chopping board. It’s often said that smells create a direct pathway to the past, and Alessio felt that like a punch in his gut. The fragrance! Nutmeg, Parmesan cheese, spinach, pasta, it hit him hard, and suddenly he was that little boy again. He pressed his palms to the counter, concentrating hard on appearing unmoved.
“Her brother had just died. She’s basically alone on this earth, with the exception of her friends. The baby was left to her—well, not a baby, but to her, that’s how it felt. Her sister-in- law’s parents, Dash’s grandparents, wanted custody, and were prepared to fight for it, so Charlotte, all of twenty-one at the time, had to find a lawyer to argue that the will should be followed.” Winona tsked. “She wanted to leave London, and at the same time, to find a compromise with Dash’s grandparents. Her heart is so big, bless her. Despite what they put her through, she was determined to have them in his life, so she moved out here, nearer to where they live, to make that easier. She works hard, and all for him.” Winona looked across at Dash. “I’m sorry, you’re not interested in the ins and outs of the lives of my staff.” Her laugh was brittle. “I didn’t invite you here to bore you silly.”
“You’re not,” Alessio assured her, his tone obviously genuine. “You’re not at all.”
“Good,” Winona smiled, and for the first time since he’d arrived, she seemed to relax.
“That smells good.” He paid the compliment before he could remember that he was still so angry with his mother, and she beamed back at him. Something shifted in his chest.
“I hope you think it tastes that way too. Let’s eat,” she said with a decisive nod, quickly plating up two serves of the meal. “It’s too cold for outside. Come through here.”
She gestured to a door framed in heavy dark oak. Through it, there was a large, casual lounge and dining room, with a huge Christmas tree by the bay window, and a few presents piled up beneath it.
“Charlie—the chef from the pub—and Dash helped decorate it,” Winona confided, as they moved to the table, which had been set earlier. “She’s Christmas mad. You can probably tell from the way the pub’s decked out.”
He didn’t add that he’d seen evidence of it in her apartment as well, but as he looked to the tree, he imagined Charlotte standing beside it, hanging the ornaments, and felt a funny kick low in his abdomen. As a child, Alessio had loved Christmas, too. Maybe that was because of his mother? His father had certainly never made it a big deal, but he remembered trees like this. He remembered standing beside his mother and watching her hang decorations, the way she’d take a few steps back to regard the tree from a distance before shifting a couple ‘for balance’, she’d murmur. There’d be carols playing and a spiced smell in the air, which he now recognised as gingerbread.
“Anyway,” Winona, perhaps interpreting the silence as disinterest, rushed to fill it. “How are you, Ale—ssio?”
He tilted his head in gratitude for her remembering to use his full name. He’d hated the English shortened version since she’d left.
But Alessio didn’t want to talk about himself. He didn’t know how to answer.
“I’ve been thinking about you. Worrying about you.” She frowned. “I know…you were so close.”
He ground his teeth together. What could he say? That his father had been his only parent? That after Winona had left, Alessio Snr had had to assume the responsibilities of mother and father, that he’d taken over that heart space for Alessio? Of course, they’d been close.
“He was ninety years old. His death wasn’t a surprise.”
“No,” she agreed softly.
For almost the first time, the age gap between his parents hit Alessio. Heknewthere was an age gap, but his mother was only in her sixties, and so young and vital with it. She would have been only a few years older than he was now, when she walked out on them. Which meant she’d been not quite thirty when he’d been born, and his father…he frowned. Why hadn’t it occurred to him before, how much older his father was? Was that part of why she’d left?
“But your father was such a dynamic man. Even at ninety, I’m sure he seemed as though he’d live forever. His death surprised me.”
Alessio’s eyes narrowed. She spoke fondly. Almost as though she still felt affection for the man. But Alessio knew that couldn’t be the case. Not after the callous way she’d left him—and Alessio.
“He was lucky to have you,” Winona said, and Alessio heard the hint of bitterness in them, the tightness, but when he looked at his mother, she smiled, a soft, sad smile. “The business,” she added, thoughtfully. “He lived for that business. I’ve watched you go from strength to strength with it, so capable and ready to step into his shoes. It must have eased his mind a lot, towards the end, to know you were there.”
Alessio chose to take her words at face value and nodded once. “Nominally, I took over a month or so before he died, but in reality, I’ve been acting CEO for over a decade. At the time, I thought it was because he was growing tired, but now, I wonder if it wasn’t that he was making sure.”
“Yes, that sounds like your father.”
Alessio frowned. “You speak of him as though you still care.”
