Resisting The Italian Single Dad. Katrina CudmoreЧитать онлайн книгу.
by the understanding in his eyes. She shrugged.
‘I’m sorry you had to go through that,’ he said gently.
Carly nodded, not trusting herself to talk.
Max considered her for a while and then, with a gentle smile, he added, ‘I bet he’s regretting it now, letting someone like you slip away.’
Carly grimaced. ‘Not really. He’s married his ex since.’
He tilted his head. ‘But I bet he’s not on the way to taste the best chocolate ice cream in the world.’
Carly laughed, something lightening in her. ‘That’s true.’
They smiled at each other for the longest while. Carly felt the heat grow on her cheeks. Max’s smile disappeared to be replaced by a tension in his expression that reflected the heavy beat of disquiet that was drumming in her heart.
She tore her gaze away, picked up her magazine.
The sun had set when Max turned his car into the driveway of Villa Isa with the beginnings of a throbbing headache about to take hold.
The narrow road cut into the hillside and, surrounded by woodland, hid well the exquisite beauty about to be revealed.
‘Wow, oh, wow—now that’s what I call a view.’ He winced at Carly’s excited exclamation as Lake Como in all its magnetic night-time beauty of shadowy mountains and fairy-tale villages with twinkling lights opened up to them.
He pulled the car to a stop in the carport and looked towards the brightly lit villa with a heavy heart. His housekeeper, Luciana, had turned on the lights in many of the downstairs rooms to welcome them before she left for her home in nearby Bellagio. He knew he should be feeling pride in the renovations he had commissioned to restore the mid-twentieth-century villa to its former glory. So many would have knocked it down, but Max had loved its quirkiness, its tall ceilings, exposed stonework and vast open-plan living spaces. But instead of pride he just felt a numbness, a detachment from the villa that was once supposed to be his primary home.
‘Papa, out!’ Isabella’s call was accompanied by her feet banging against the sides of her car seat. Since they had landed Isabella had been truculent, running away on the tarmac, refusing to sit in the car that had been waiting beside the runway on their arrival. And once in the car she had immediately begun to grumble, unhappy at being restrained in her car seat.
Carly’s pert nose had wrinkled when he had admitted that he didn’t have any nursery rhyme CDs he could play for Isabella. So they had spent the journey from the airport with Carly leading a sing-along and insisting he join in. Unfortunately Isabella became fixated on ‘Three Blind Mice’ and insisted they sing it time and time again.
He had known it was a bad idea to allow Isabella to sleep on board the plane.
‘Out!’ Isabella shouted again, her foot furiously hammering her car seat.
He had work to do. It was going to take him for ever to get Isabella to settle.
He turned and regarded Carly. ‘Are you so certain of the benefit of allowing her to nap now?’
Carly glanced back at Isabella, gave her a smile. ‘You just want to run around, don’t you, Isabella? Why don’t you play with Papa?’
‘It’s beyond her bedtime. She should be asleep by now, not bouncing off the walls.’
Carly shrugged and got out of the car. She went to unlock Isabella’s belt but Isabella shook her head and then buried it into the side of her car seat, refusing to allow Carly to lift her out.
The headache gripping his temples ever tighter, Max pushed open the driver door and lifted Isabella out of her seat. His phone, in his trouser pocket, buzzed once again.
‘I’ll say it again, the views from here are spectacular. And it’s so warm, even at this time of the night. I’ve missed the heat so much. What’s the nearby town called? It looks so cute.’
Distracted by an email from a client in Taiwan, he glanced over to see Carly at the edge of the driveway, looking beyond the brightly lit terraced garden that sloped down to the waterfront and his private jetty, and vaguely answered, ‘The town is Bellagio…’ This was unbelievable—how did the client expect the new train terminal to open in time if at this late stage they wanted to make changes to the roof design?
‘I have a call to make.’ He attempted to pass Isabella to Carly but Isabella clung to his shirt, her legs wrapping even more tightly around his waist.
Carly folded her arms. ‘No calls. You must settle Isabella first.’
‘This is important.’
‘I’ll sort out the luggage. Isabella needs some exercise to wind down. I suggest you take her down to the garden, let her explore for a while. In the meantime, I’ll prepare her a small snack.’
He was about to argue that she should take Isabella down to the gardens instead but before he could do so, Carly had popped open the boot of his car and was walking towards the front door, carrying two heavy suitcases with ease. There went his excuse that it made sense for him to look after the heavy luggage instead of playing with his little girl.
He glanced down at Isabella. She frowned back at him. His daughter might not have many words but she sure seemed to understand every word spoken around her.
How did a twenty-two-month-old possess the capacity to make him feel like a completely lousy dad?
He was still standing by the car when Carly returned to retrieve more luggage.
She steadily ignored him but gave Isabella a smile.
Isabella tucked her head into his shoulder.
He yelped when her fingers pinched his skin as she gripped onto his shirt sleeves.
Carly ducked her head, laughter threatening on her lips.
He stared after her once again retreating back as she carried more suitcases into the hallway, before he climbed down the steps and headed in the direction of the playground that had been constructed to the side of the terrace. He went to place Isabella onto the swing but she clung to him. He tried not to sigh and instead sat on one side of the sprung seesaw. He bounced up and down, feeling ridiculous. He was about to climb back off but then he heard Isabella chuckle. He bounced again, his heart lifting to hear her chortle again. His serious-minded daughter rarely laughed.
He bounced and bounced, feeling an unexpected happiness. And he remembered some of the things Carly had said during the past few days—that it was natural for children to wake, that Isabella wasn’t alone in doing so.
A movement inside the villa caught his attention.
Carly was inside the open-plan kitchen searching through the cupboards, taking out some items, pausing to stretch her back, roll her head side to side as she studied the contents of the fridge. She had tied up her hair into a loose ponytail and rolled up the sleeves of her blue blouse that was tucked into slim-fitting, navy, ankle-length trousers. Her body was curvy. He supposed some men would say sensual.
He slowed in his bouncing and winced at the realisation that it felt good to have her around. Yes, he had employed nannies, had some support. But Carly was different. She had the strength of conviction to tell him things he didn’t want to hear but with an empathy that had him struggling to argue back. He admired her for that. As much as he hated to admit it, he was enjoying her company.
And earlier, in the tight confines of the plane, when Carly had placed the blanket on his lap, when he had woken to see her staring at him, as they had spoken in low voices to one another, he’d known he could no longer ignore the kernel of attraction for her growing inside him.
This was not supposed to be happening.
Isabella squirmed in his arms, began to protest at the lack of movement.
Her once again serious eyes glared up at him.
Fresh guilt