Chapter 7
If someone had asked Peyton to describe the emotion threatening to drown every cell in her body, she would have been incapable. She was totally overwhelmed. It was a miracle.
A miracle.
Valentino grinned at McKenzie. ‘Hello,’ he signed and spoke. ‘Did you hear that?’ He clapped again and said, ‘Clapping.’
McKenzie swivelled her head to look at her mother. The expression on her face was priceless. Pure wonderment. She pointed to Valentino and clapped and startled again, clearly surprised that her own hands had made a noise.
Peyton laughed through spilling tears, dashing them away with the backs of her hands as quickly as they fell. Her daughter looked like she’d just invented clapping. Like she was the only person on earth who could do it!
And Peyton knew exactly how she felt.
‘Well, I think that was fairly definite, yes?’ Valentino smiled.
Peyton nodded wildly, even though her face was threatening to crumple. Her deaf daughter could hear. It was simply the most amazing thing she’d ever witnessed. Even though she’d been present through so many activations in her two years with Harry, this time beat all.
She rose from her chair and in two paces she was picking McKenzie up, kissing her face, rocking from side to side. She wanted to spin and twirl, dance like a mad thing, but was aware of the cord attaching McKenzie to the laptop.
McKenzie, fully into the celebration, rocked enthusiastically and giggled, holding tight to her mother’s neck, enjoying the ride. Peyton laughed too, giddy with joy and hope, lighter than air.
‘It’s amazing,’ she declared, kissing McKenzie’s temple. ‘Amazing, amazing, amazing!’
He chuckled. ‘Yes, it is.’
Peyton slowed and pulled McKenzie against her for a long hard hug, watching Valentino watch them, his smile huge, his dimples ridiculous. His long, bronzed fingers rested against the keyboard. Fingers that had given the gift of hearing to her daughter.
‘Thank you, Valentino. Thank you,’ she said over McKenzie’s head. ‘I don’t know how I could possibly thank you enough.’
He dismissed her words with a quick wave of his hand, grinning infectiously. ‘We have a great job, don’t we?’
Peyton grinned back, pride joining the conga line of feelings tromping around inside. The fact that he’d recognised he was a bigger part of a whole, a whole she was also part of, was something extra special in this moment. ‘Yes, we do.’
McKenzie squirmed and Peyton realised she was still holding her tight. ‘Sorry, darling.’ She lowered her to the floor and McKenzie went back to her puzzle as if nothing momentous had happened, and Peyton laughed again.
‘I like hearing you laugh,’ he murmured.
Peyton dragged her gaze away from her daughter, sobering a little. He was staring at her with an intenseness in those velvety depths that stopped the breath in her lungs. Her stomach muscles undulated as if he’d brushed seductive fingers against her belly.
‘It’s nice to have something to laugh about for once.’
‘Indeed,’ he agreed. ‘Shall we continue?’
Peyton drew in a sudden husky breath. ‘Please.’
That evening Peyton flopped down on her couch utterly exhausted. Who’d have thought excitement could wear you out? They’d spent the rest of the day at her parents’ place, watching McKenzie like a hawk, engaging her as much as possible, trying to gauge the extent of her new-found ability.
On the whole there were no major changes to indicate anything was different.
McKenzie didn’t seem to respond to their voices, but Peyton had no doubt now that would come.
Towards the end of their visit, however, McKenzie did, very obviously, hear the crash when her grandfather accidentally dropped a metal bowl on the kitchen floor, turning instantly towards the sound and running to the kitchen to check it out.
They spent a hilarious hour dropping as many non-breakables on the floor as possible and revelling in McKenzie’s amazed reactions. It was like watching her discover the world for the first time and Peyton seriously doubted she’d ever tire of it.
There was a long way to go. She knew that. But today had been a resounding success and as she propped her feet up on the lounge, McKenzie tucked up safely in bed, Peyton could honestly say she was content. She sighed and shut her eyes, weary beyond belief but with a smile on her face.
This had been an absolutely fantastic day!
The sharp peal of the doorbell startled her. Who on earth could that be at – she checked her watch – eight o’clock? She groaned. It was only eight o’clock? It felt like three in the morning.
Peyton struggled out of the chair, a feeling deep down in her gut intensifying the closer she got to the door. It couldn’t be? Could it?
She eyed her standard trackpants and baggy top and briefly wished she was wearing something different.
More… feminine. But a spurt of irritation entirely rooted in her exhaustion overrode it.
She wasn’t dressing to please him. And if he was going to keep turning up on her doorstep unannounced then he could take her as he found her.
At least she had showered. She yanked open the door.
‘Minestrone!’ Valentino announced with a flourish, and her irritation dissipated instantly.
She couldn’t be cranky with him. Not after today. And he was wearing blue jeans and a snug-fitting T-shirt, his damp hair curling on his nape. ‘Are you trying to fatten me up?’ she grouched.
He lifted the lid off the bowl and brought it close to her face. Mouth-watering aromas wafted her way. ‘Yes, tesoro. That’s exactly what I’m trying to do.’
Peyton’s stomach grumbled as the smell enveloped her in a warm cocoon. Every day for the last three weeks some sumptuous dish or other had been delivered to her doorstep. It seemed tonight was to be no different.
Except this time it had been personally delivered.
‘Let me guess. Mrs Agostino at the deli?’
He gasped and clutched at his chest, feigning injured pride. ‘Made it myself. One of my mamma’s recipes.’
A man who could cook? Arnie had been the laziest man on the planet. Charming but utterly useless. She hadn’t noticed it in the beginning, too swept up in his charisma and good looks, but when their lives had taken a dive, Arnie had not risen to the occasion.
Just when she thought all men were like her ex, Valentino went and did something that surprised her.
Opening the door wider, she bade him inside. ‘In that case, you’d better come in.’
Leading him to the kitchen, she reached high for two bowls.
When she turned, he was pouring two glasses of red wine the colour of ripe mulberries.
Picking one up, he offered it to her. Peyton hesitated.
McKenzie would no doubt wake at some stage during the night, as was her usual pattern, and be up bright as a button early tomorrow morning.
And she was really out of practice with drinking wine.
But today he’d performed a miracle and she would have drunk out of a poisoned chalice right now if he’d offered it to her. So, she took it.
Valentino smiled and lifted his glass. ‘To McKenzie.’
Peyton shook her head. ‘To you.’ And she clinked her glass against his.
They ate their bowls of soup sitting on the couch. She only half filled hers, giving Valentino the lion’s share. But when she’d finished she’d wished she’d kept a little more for herself.
Valentino had been tempting her palate so much these last few weeks she was actually noticing flavours and textures again. Her appetite was hardly normal but instead of ignoring her stomach when it grumbled she actually went looking for something to put in it.
Luckily for her, Valentino had provisioned her well.
She looked longingly at Valentino’s bowl but lowered her gaze quickly when he caught her out. A mistake, because now she noticed how his jeans moulded to powerful quads and she remembered how they’d felt beneath her hands on that night all those months ago.
Looking quickly away, she thanked the universe she’d had the sense to sit on the cushion furthest away from him on the three-seater after he’d chosen the single chair.
‘Would you like some, bella?’
Startled, Peyton glanced at him. The look on his face was one of pure innocence, the soup bowl thrust in her direction. But his eyes and the slight lift of his mouth told her he was perfectly aware of the double meaning.
‘No. I’m full.’
Her stomach growled at her loudly as if in protest and she blushed as he chuckled.
She was never hungry. Or at least hunger was so inconsequential in her life, she’d learned to pay it no heed.
Reaching for her barely touched wine, she took a sip. ‘So, this is your mother’s recipe? What’s that herb I can taste? It’s so fragrant but my taste buds are out of touch.’
‘Fresh basil, straight from the pot. My mother always says when in doubt add basil.’
Peyton smiled. When he was sitting here like this in her living room she could almost forget he was a smooth, seriously sexy playboy that dated supermodels. Here he was just an ordinary Joe, enjoying a quiet evening at home.
Oh, dear. Peyton slammed on the brakes. She did not like the direction of her thoughts. There was nothing domesticated about Valentino.
‘Alessandro told me that your mother’s deaf, right? Since birth?’
He nodded. ‘Maternal rubella.’
‘So… you’ve always signed?’
‘Sì. I’ve been signing since before I could talk. We all can.’
‘All?’
‘Me, my father, my five older sisters. Even Alessandro.’
Five sisters? That explained his ease with women. She’d bet her last cent he’d charmed every one of them. ‘Was that hard? Growing up with a deaf mother?’
He shrugged. ‘It was the way it was. I never really thought about it. I’m sure it was a lot harder for her, having six kids to manage.’
‘So, you speak two languages and sign in them as well?’
‘I sign in three actually. I had to learn BSL, British sign language, when I went to London and then when I came here I had to learn AUSLAN, although it is very closely related to BSL so that was reasonably easy.’