Mistress Arrangements. Helen BianchinЧитать онлайн книгу.
was no exception.
For the following half-hour Carly watched Susy unwrap her presents, unable afterwards to remember more than a few, then, when the birthday cake was cut, she helped distribute the pieces.
Soon it was time to leave, and in the car she tussled with her conscience, agonising over how she should explain Stefano and their reconciliation, aware that the little girl was too excited after the party to really absorb much of what her mother had to say.
While driving a car in traffic was hardly the time or place, and as soon as they entered the apartment she plugged in the kettle, made herself a cup of strong tea, then settled down beside Ann-Marie on the sofa.
‘Someone very special is going to have dinner with us tonight,’ Carly began quietly, aware that she had her daughter’s undivided attention by the bright curiosity evident in a pair of grey eyes that were identical to Stefano’s.
‘Sarah?’
‘No, darling.’ She hesitated slightly, then offered quietly, ‘Your father.’
Ann-Marie’s eyes widened measurably and her expression assumed a solemnity beyond her tender years. ‘You said my father lived a long, long way away, and you left him before he knew about me.’ The eyes grew even larger. ‘Why didn’t you want to tell him?’
Oh, dear lord. Out of the mouths of babes! ‘Because we had an argument,’ Carly answered honestly. ‘And we said things we didn’t mean.’ An extension of the truth, for she had said them—Stefano hadn’t uttered a single word in his defence.
‘How did he find out about me?’ Ann-Marie queried slowly.
‘Your father moved to Sydney several months ago,’ Carly said quietly, watching the expressive play of emotions evident. ‘I’ve been in touch with him.’
‘Why?’
If only there were a simple answer! ‘I thought it was time he knew about you.’
Ann-Marie’s gaze didn’t waver, and it seemed an age before she spoke. ‘And you don’t not like him any more?’
She hid a sad smile at Ann-Marie’s phraseology, and prayed the good lord would forgive her for the fabrication. ‘No.’
‘Now he wants to meet me,’ Ann-Marie said with childish intuition, and Carly nodded her head in silent agreement, then endorsed,
‘Yes, he does. Very much.’
‘Is he angry with you for not telling him about me?’
‘A little,’ she admitted gently.
Ann-Marie’s expression became comically fierce, and her chin jutted forward. ‘If he’s nasty to you, I’ll hit him.’
The mental picture of a delicate, curly-haired six-year-old lashing out at a six-feet-plus male frame brought a slight smile to Carly’s lips. ‘That would be very rude, don’t you think? Especially when he’s a very kind man.’ Not to her, never to her. However, she had no doubt he would be kind to his daughter.
‘Does he want us to live together and be a family?’
Her answer had to be direct and without hesitation. ‘Yes,’ she said simply.
‘Do you want us to live with him?’ Ann-Marie persisted, and Carly felt as if she was caught in a trap with no way out.
‘Yes.’ Two untruths in the space of two minutes. If she wasn’t careful, it could become a habit. ‘Let’s go and freshen up, shall we? He’ll be here soon.’
‘What do I call him?’ Ann-Marie asked several minutes later as she stood quietly while Carly tidied her hair and redid her ribbons.
Carly had a terrible feeling the questions could only get worse! ‘What would you like to call him?’
Ann-Marie appeared to deliberate, her eyes pensive as a slight frown creased her small brow. ‘Daddy, I guess.’ Her eyes moved to meet those of her mother in the mirror. ‘Will I like him?’
She forced her mouth to widen into a warm smile, then she bent down to brush her lips against her daughter’s temple. ‘I’m sure that once you get to know him you’ll like him very much,’ she assured her quietly.
Ann-Marie looked at her mother’s mirrored reflection and queried with puzzlement, ‘Aren’t you going to put some lipstick on?’
Carly didn’t feel inclined to do anything to enhance her appearance, although she reached automatically for a slim plastic tube and outlined her mouth in clear red.
The sound of the doorbell heralded Stefano’s arrival, and, catching hold of Ann-Marie’s hand, she summoned a bright smile. ‘Shall we answer that?’
I don’t want to do this, a voice screamed silently from within, aware that the moment she opened the door her life would change irrevocably.
Carly schooled her features into an expression of welcome, and although she registered his physical presence she felt akin to a disembodied spectator.
Except that this was no nightmarish dream. Stefano Alessi represented reality, and she issued a greeting, aware that he had exchanged the formal business suit worn a few hours earlier for casual dark trousers and an open-necked shirt.
Carly barely hid a gasp of surprise as he reached out and threaded his fingers through hers, tightening them imperceptibly as she attempted to pull away from his grasp.
She registered a silent protest by digging the tips of her nails into hard bone and sinew. Not that it did any good, for he didn’t even blink, and she watched in silence as his mouth curved into a warm smile.
Supremely conscious of Ann-Marie’s intent gaze, she managed to return it, and she glimpsed the faint narrowing of his eyes, the silent warning evident an instant before they swept down to encompass his daughter.
‘Hello, Ann-Marie.’
He made no attempt to touch her, and Ann-Marie looked at him solemnly for several long seconds, her eyes round and unwavering before they shifted to her mother, then back again to the man at her side.
‘Hello,’ she answered politely.
Carly felt as if her heart would tear in two, and she held her breath, supremely conscious of the man and the child, one so much a part of the other, both aware of their connection, yet each unsure quite how to proceed.
In a strange way, it allowed her to see a different side of the man, a hint of vulnerability evident that she doubted anyone else had ever witnessed. It surprised her, and made her wonder for one very brief minute how different things might have been if she’d stayed in the marriage, and if he would have given up Angelica Agnelli and assumed the role of devoted father.
A knife twisted deep within her, and the pain became intense at the thought of Stefano taking delight in all the changing facets of her pregnancy, the miracle of the birth itself, and the shared joy of their newborn child.
She’d denied him that, had felt justified in doing so, and if it hadn’t been for Ann-Marie’s illness she doubted that she’d ever have allowed him to become aware of his daughter’s existence.
His fingers tightened around her own, almost as if he could read her thoughts, and she summoned the effort to move into the lounge, indicating one of two chairs.
‘Please, take a seat.’ Her voice sounded strange, not her own at all, and she extricated her hand from his, aware that it was only because he allowed her to do so.
‘I hope you like chicken,’ Stefano said, holding out a large carrier bag suitably emblazoned with an exclusive delicatessen logo. ‘There’s a variety of salads, some fresh bread rolls, cheese. And a bottle of wine.’
‘Thank you,’ Carly acknowledged with contrived warmth, and preceded him into the kitchen.
They ate at six, and Carly was aware of an inner tension that almost