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“I don’t think so. He found out eventually but by then, if he’d tried to make us get rid of her, I would have run away,” she said fiercely, tilting her chin, so Alessio leaned forward and kissed her lips in a spontaneous gesture of Charlotte didn’t know what.
“She died right after I turned fifteen. I came home from school, and she was just asleep on the foot of my bed, her chest moving but so laboured.” Charlotte’s whispered voice had a faraway tone to it. “I knew straight away that something was wrong. I went and sat with her, and she made the sweetest little noise, like when she was a kitten and wanted milk. I just stroked her, gently, gently, until she stopped breathing.” Tears filmed Charlotte’s eyes. “I was so sad, Alessio. I couldn’t believe she’d been dying, and I hadn’t realised. Had I missed a sign somewhere? I took her to the vet, so she could be cremated. They said it was just her time.”
Alessio murmured something she couldn’t quite hear.
“We had a funeral for her—Michael and me. I gave the eulogy. We cried, and afterwards, ate far too much cake. It was Michael who suggested we get tattoos.”
He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek gently, drawing her closer.
“I never thought that within a few years, I’d lose him too.” Her lips twisted. “Life really is cruel sometimes.”
He nodded slowly. “It can be.”
“Charlie?”
Charlotte froze, eyes wide, at the little voice outside in the hallway.
“It’s Dash,” she whispered, jolting to life and springing from the bed, grabbing her robe and waving her arms frantically into the holes. “Stay there,” she said, so softly it was almost inaudible, but Alessio had no intention of leaving anyway.
She cinched the belt of her robe at the waist then moved to the door, cracking it open just wide enough to slip through before pulling the door firmly behind her.
Dash was in the hallway.
“Hey, buddy. What’s up?”
“I had a dream. A bad dream.” He looked up at her with a trembling lip. “It was about them.”
“Oh, honey,” she crouched down and wrapped him in a big hug, holding him tight to her body. Not so often anymore, but from time to time, Dash still dreamt of his parents, of their death, or he dreamt that they were in front of him, and he’d couldn’t catch them, couldn’t make them turn around.
Charlotte could feel his little heart racing, his breathing faster than normal.
“Come into the kitchen, I’ll make you some warm milk.”
He padded behind her then climbed up onto a stool. “I hate those dreams.”
“I know.”
She poured some milk into a saucepan and set it over the stove, waiting as it came to the simmer, and while it did, she talked to Dash about his parents, happy memories she never wanted him to forget, recollections they both treasured. The time they took him to the pier at Brighton, and he ate his body weight in fairy floss, or how they watched every episode ofStar Trek: The Next Generationwith him when he was just a newborn because they wanted him to be ready for first contact. The way Maggie had knitted him sweaters and called them wearable-love, and she’d been obsessed with making sure Dash always had matching socks, so Maggie and Charlotte bought ten pairs, exactly the same, for Dash as a present one year. She reminded him how smart his parents were, how kind, and by the time Dash had finished his milk, his eyes were heavy and his face calm. She took him back to his room and tucked him under the covers. It took no time for him to fall asleep, and she was glad, because in sleep, he looked so much more content.
She expelled a sigh, tiptoed out of his room and closed the door, before returning to her own. Despite the fact she’d told Alessio to stay exactly where he was, she’d half expected him to have disappeared into thin air.
But he was right where she’d left him, except now he was propped against the headboard, with one of her books in hand. She peered at it as she came closer and smiled to see he’d chosen The Eye of the Needle.
“Sorry about that.”
He lifted a brow. “About what? I know you have a child, and that he takes priority. You were very clear. Besides, it’s as it should be.”
“The timing,” she said with a lift of her shoulders. “He usually sleeps right through. Every now and again though, he has these nightmares.” And she explained about his dreams, and their ritual for helping him through it. Alessio placed the book to his side, and reached for Charlotte’s wrist, drawing her to the mattress, sitting in the space next to him.
“You’re very good with him,” he said.
Her lips pulled to one side. “I hope so. It’s hard, you know?”
“I do know. I can see how good you are—with cats and people.”
He unfastened her robe, eyes scanning her face. “But what I would like to know is if you are tired?”
Her heart sped up. “Oh?”
