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Her heart stammered and she knew this was the moment, the time she’d been unknowingly waiting for. “And nothing’s changed, has it?”
She held her breath, hoping, with all of her heart. His gaze roamed her face and then he lifted his broad shoulders in a gesture of casual nonchalance, so that awful, unwanted hope mangled beyond recognition. There was no hope here. She had known loneliness and loss many times in her life—this would be no different.
“So, we have to keep this secret,” she said with a nod. “You gave me a lift here, that’s it. Don’t say or do anything to let them know the truth of…us. Please.”
A muscle throbbed low in his jaw, and he was silent for several beats before nodding. “If that’s what you want.”
She didn’t tell him it was the last thing she wanted; instead, she simply nodded.
“It is. Thank you.”
Full of turkey and duck,gravy, crispy potatoes and greens, Alessio sat back in his seat, watching.
Watching as he often did, when assessing a situation to comprehend different people. Assessing because he wanted to understand all the moving parts of this situation. Watching because he couldn’t help it.
It was obvious to him that Charlotte was adored by his mother and half-brother. She was a part of their family, and that realisation caused a stitch in the centre of his chest. Strange that he could resent something he’d never particularly wanted. It wasn’t as though he’d welcomed his mother’s overtures, her obvious wish to draw him back into her world, her family, and yet, seeing Charlotte enjoy such easy belonging and acceptance made him wonder what his life would have been like if he’d been able to let go of his anger towards Winona.
If he’d forgiven her.
If he’d allowed the past to remain buried and opened himself up to a future that included his mother, and even Caleb who, when Alessio thought about it, had done nothing more sinister than be conceived.
Alessio reached for the fine crystal glass that was half full of red wine and took a sip, his eyes resting on Charlotte’s face without his realisation. They clung to her, in fact, as she recounted a story animatedly, her eyes glowing, her lips quirked with laughter, Caleb obviously a very appreciative audience.
“Alessio, would you help me to clear these dishes?” His mother’s voice cut through his musings, so Alessio jolted back to the table, to the present, and looked away, feeling like a schoolboy who’d been caught doing something illicit.
He’d promised Charlotte he’d keep their secret and he had every intention of maintaining his word. “Certo.” He stood, aware that Charlotte didn’t turn to look at him for even one moment. She was evidently doing a far better job at concealing their connection than he was.
His eyes flicked to her again, just as her hand lifted to her throat, and though she wore a black turtleneck, he saw her fingers move over the fabric, tracing a line, and he smiled, because he knew she was feeling the necklace, remembering it, knowing it was a gift from him, and the knowledge that she was wearing it filled him with gladness. As though it was a silent, invisible proclamation: she was his. All his. Not Caleb’s. No one else’s.
The thought terrified him.
Not once in his entire life had he ever felt such a possessive desire of anyone.
That wasn’t how he functioned. He was a loner. Independent, and fiercely protective of that.
What did it mean that he couldn’t get Charlotte out of his head?
“I’m so glad you stayed for Christmas,” Winona murmured as they entered the kitchen, which despite the meal she’d produced, was tidy and clean. “It’s nice to have the extra time together. I know Caleb has enjoyed the opportunity.”
Alessio snorted and Winona grimaced. “Well, maybe not, but you have to start somewhere.”
He didn’t bother telling his mother that he had no intention of ‘starting’ to build a relationship with his half-brother, ever.
“And there are other benefits to being in town. Meeting new people, for example,” she prompted, studying his face.
Alessio lifted a brow, waiting for her to elaborate, even though he could guess where she was going.
“Charlotte, for example,” his mother expanded, reaching across to flick the kettle to life.
Alessio was silent.
“She’s very nice, isn’t she?” Winona prodded.
Alessio crossed his arms over his chest. “What is it you are trying to say, mother?”
Winona grimaced again. “I’m not imagining it, am I?”
And despite the fact he was a grown man capable of conducting his own affairs in life, Alessio’s heart sped up in his chest. “Imagining what?”
