Chapter Six #3
‘One night, Antonio overheard my husband saying that he regretted ever adopting him… Antonio ran away. We searched for him for hours, but couldn’t find him.
My husband, he…he said that he couldn’t live like this.
He couldn’t bear to be a man who didn’t want his wife’s child, and if he stayed that’s all he would ever be: despicable and unworthy.
The man I married had been a kind, loving man.
But Antonio was an affront to his masculinity and in an environment where that was paramount, he crumbled.
So he left, before we’d even found Antonio. ’
A sliver of hurt had cut Ivy deep. ‘How did you find him?’ she asked.
‘Luca, Maria’s father, called, saying that Maria knew where he was. She, Antonio and Micha would often play in a nearby forest and she was sure that’s where he would be. She wouldn’t stop screaming until we let her take us there to find him.’
Ivy’s had chest stirred. ‘How old was he when this happened?’
‘Eight. Maria, six. He’d been there for several hours before Maria led us to him.’
Ivy had cursed silently; an image of Jamie had popped into her head and the rage she felt was fierce and swift. And she couldn’t help the question that fell from her lips. ‘What happened to your husband?’
‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ Alessia had said, with a sad determination in her gaze. ‘Which is precisely why I changed our surnames back to Gallo. He is nothing to us, no ?’ Alessia said, and Ivy understood completely.
‘I don’t say this easily,’ Antonio’s mother continued, ‘but I say this because I think you should know this about my son. He is fiercely loyal to those who love him and he seems to think that’s all he needs. But I believe he needs more.’
And something in Ivy’s heart ached. Ached that Antonio had a mother who wanted more for her son.
Ached that Alessia was the kind of mother Ivy would have wanted growing up.
One who had chosen to stay instead of leave—fight for her family instead of surrender it.
One who loved her child above other more selfish wants.
The clatter of cutlery drew Ivy back to the dinner and she cast a look at Antonio beside her, his profile a study in chiaroscuro, his features slashes of shades of darkness and light.
Plates were taken, and course after course continued, as Ivy thought over what Alessia had said.
Remembering the way Antonio had looked at her when he’d realised she’d been alone at the hospital when he’d ignored her call.
She’d been an adult when that had happened to her, but what about him?
He’d only been a child when he’d been abandoned by the very people who should have cared for him the most. And she knew— knew— the kind of wound that inflicted. The hurt…the pain.
She felt Antonio’s arm come across the back of her chair, unknowingly offering her reassurance and comfort for the ache she felt for him.
‘Are you okay?’ he whispered in her ear.
She nodded, even as her heart turned for him.
She smiled up at him and, in doing so, caught the snide gaze of a family member.
A mean giggle cut across the table. The hostility surprised her and angered her in equal measure.
How could they be so openly cruel? How could Antonio have put up with this for his entire life?
Antonio flicked a gaze between Ivy and his cousin, and tossed his napkin onto his plate. He turned to his mother on his other side and said something, before getting to his feet and holding his hand for her to take.
Silence descended over the table, dinner hadn’t finished yet, but he only had eyes for her.
Right now, she held onto that, ignoring the rest of the family the same way he did.
She took his hand and let him lead her away from the table and back into the sprawling villa that she would most certainly have got lost in had she not been guided by him.
They passed through gently lit hallways with stone flooring and ancient wooden beams above. The colours of muted plaster and soft terracotta passed in a blur as Antonio led her into the heart of the villa.
They came to a stop outside a door at the end of a corridor. He pushed it open and gestured for her to go inside. ‘I don’t care what my mother said,’ he told her, waiting at the door. ‘I’ll find somewhere else to sleep.’
Ivy bit her lip. ‘Actually, can you stay?’
His face was a mask, disguising his thoughts, but she wouldn’t regret asking him. She didn’t want to be alone in this unfamiliar mansion. His wound had opened hers and she felt vulnerable in a way she couldn’t put words to.
‘Are you sure?’
‘We’re both adults, Antonio,’ she said with more conviction than she felt, passing him to enter the room.
The bed was large and dominated the entire back wall.
It sat against exposed brickwork that looked traditional, while sleek fittings in light touches made the space feel modern and open.
The room was lit with gentle up-lights, making the most of the high ceilings, but really, all Ivy saw was the bed.
Her bag was next to his, beside a chaise longue that was too small for either of them and she wandered over to the window that looked out on the opposite side of the villa to where they had been having dinner.
‘Tired?’ he asked from behind her.
‘Yes,’ she lied, already doubting that she’d get even a minute of sleep lying next to Antonio Gallo.
An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Neither of them moved from where they stood.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ she said before she could stop herself.
‘Sì.’
She turned to face him. ‘Do you want to get married?’
He watched her carefully. ‘I am married,’ he said slowly—as if wary about where this could be going.
Ivy bit back an impatient sigh. ‘One day. Not to Maria. If that was all sorted out, would you want to get married? To someone you fell in love with?’ she asked.
He huffed out a laugh. ‘Non è possibile.’
‘Of course it’s possible,’ Ivy shot back, trying to hide her frustration.
‘No, Ivy. I won’t get married. A ring? A vow?
A piece of paper? Meaningless. In my experience, paperwork is no guarantee of feelings, of love , of safety ,’ he said scornfully.
‘It didn’t mean anything when my mother’s husband legally adopted me, and it didn’t mean anything when he then went on to divorce her,’ he said, as she tried not to flinch at the vehemence in his tone.
‘So, no. Non è possibile ,’ he repeated, stressing his previous words.
Ivy opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off.
‘Would you like to use the bathroom first?’ he offered politely, as if he hadn’t just ripped open a wound for her to see.
She hovered, wondering whether to press the issue, but the determined bent to his gaze told her it was a fool’s errand. She slipped into the en suite bathroom, went to the sink and braced her hands either side of it.
Her heart ached for him. For all the things that he’d not said and for the things that he had.
In that moment, she thanked God for Maria, that she had been there for Antonio, and that his mother had loved Antonio enough to stay.
Ivy understood why he was so determined to help Maria inherit Gallo Group now, and she silently promised to do whatever she could to assist them both.
Rolling her shoulders, she stepped beneath the blissful jets of the shower, lathering soap to wash away the imprints of sadness and hurt for Antonio, who was now old enough to look after himself.
She wondered what he was doing right this minute.
Pacing the room, checking his phone? Getting ready for bed…
? Soap bubbles slid over sensitive skin, and pulse points throbbed in places she’d nearly forgotten.
In her mind, she saw him unbuttoning his shirt, the way he’d done by the pool the other day, and shivered.
She felt his hands around her waist and trembled.
She shook her head. This was madness. She should never have asked him to stay.
She’d get out of the shower and tell him she’d made a mistake.
He’d understand, she knew he would. She dried off and stepped into her silk pyjamas, jaw clenched with tension, want in a turf war with need inside her chest. She’d just tell him she’d been feeling overtired and now that she was in the room he could—
She opened the door to find Antonio, eyes closed and arms crossed behind his head, already in the bed—his clothes in a neat pile on the chaise longue.
Oh.
Her breath stopped in her lungs.
He wasn’t asleep. She knew that much. But he was shutting her out. She stole one last moment to take him in. The bulge of his biceps, the breadth of his chest, the whorls of hair that dusted pectorals and bisected abdominal muscles. Her hungry gaze gathered as much of him to her memory as it could.
‘Get into bed, Ivy,’ he ordered, his eyes still closed.
Mortified, her cheeks on fire, she slipped beneath the smooth covers on the opposite side of the bed to him. More aware of her body than she had ever been before in her life, she gripped the edge of the mattress with white knuckles, hoping that she wouldn’t move from there in her sleep.
She willed her pulse to slow and her breathing to calm and after ten minutes she was nearly there, when Antonio asked, ‘What about you? Would you marry again?’
She bit her lip. ‘No,’ she told him. But for a reason she wasn’t able or willing to put into words just then.