Chapter 2 #2
There’s barely any free space for him to prop his closed umbrella by the front door.
He eases his coat from his wide shoulders with care so he doesn’t knock into the walls.
His head nearly brushes the low ceiling.
The paint seems more faded than usual. The cracks in the linoleum seem like chasms beside his perfect leather shoes.
Everything about him in my apartment screams wrong place, wrong world. He doesn’t belong here.
I wait for his judgment and barely concealed distaste. The polite excuse to leave.
But Cristiano looks around my apartment like he’s stepped into a cathedral.
His eyes move slowly, cataloging everything.
The secondhand couch with its cheerful but clashing throw pillows.
The bookshelf I rescued from the side of the road, filled with secondhand novels and knickknacks.
The small kitchen with its mismatched mugs and finger paintings pinned to the refrigerator.
Leon’s toys scattered across the rug. A plastic dinosaur.
A dump truck missing one wheel. Building blocks in primary colors.
“Your home is lovely,” he says quietly.
He never used to speak so quietly. Is he being careful not to raise his voice?
I watch as he drapes his coat carefully over a kitchen chair and then slides his hands into his pockets.
An expensive watch peeks out from beneath the sleeve of his soft-looking sweater.
Black cashmere? I wonder distantly. It’s fuzzy and warm over his muscular body.
His intimidatingly large body. But he’s hunching his shoulders slightly as if he’s trying to seem smaller.
Nonthreatening. He makes no sudden movements.
“It’s not much.” I hate the defensiveness in my voice. A rich man is standing in my home, and I feel the need to apologize for it. “But it’s ours.”
“It’s warm.” Something flickers across his face. Something almost like hunger. “It feels like you.”
This is not going the way I expected. He should be wrinkling his nose at the water stain on the ceiling and eyeing the secondhand furniture with barely concealed disdain, making excuses to leave the way every other man does.
Leon is squirming in my arms, curiosity overcoming his earlier obedience. He twists to peek at the stranger, and I tighten my grip, angling his face away from the light.
“Give me a minute.” I gesture toward the bathroom. “He’s soaked.”
Cristiano nods and even takes half a step back. He’s being so careful. So controlled. Nothing like the boy who grabbed and held and wouldn’t let go. It’s more unsettling than if he’d stormed in making demands.
I carry Leon into the bathroom and close the door behind us, leaning against it for a moment to catch my breath.
“Mama, who’s that man?”
“That’s Mr. Montoni, the man Grandma works for.” I keep my voice light and steady as I sit him on the vanity. “Now hold still, baby. Let me fix your eyes.”
“But they’ll feel weird.”
“I know. I’m sorry. Just hold still.”
My fingers tremble as I work, tilting Leon’s face toward the light. Carefully, carefully.
I straighten up and look at him, his round face with its little pointed chin cupped in my hands. You couldn’t tell unless you were really close to Leon. When I look at my son now, he could be anyone’s child.
I pull our coats off and hang them up in the shower, towel-dry our hair, take a breath, and open the door.
Cristiano is standing by the bookshelf, and the sight of his broad, muscular back makes my breath catch despite myself. He’s picked up a framed photo of me and Leon at the park last summer, both of us laughing at something off camera. Thankfully, Leon was laughing so hard, his eyes were closed.
When he hears us, his thumb brushes over the glass, across my frozen smile. He does it again, as though he was really caressing my face. The gesture makes my chest tight. Whatever expression he was wearing, he smooths it away to bland politeness as he turns around.
“This is Leon,” I say, and my voice only trembles a little as I hold my son in my arms. The lie I’ve been practicing slips casually over my lips. “He turns four in June.”
I hunt Cristiano’s face for any flicker of disbelief. If he counts back the months, he’ll calculate that I fell pregnant with Leon five months after he left for Italy. The truth is, Leon turned four two months ago. He was born nine months after the last time I saw Cristiano, almost to the day.
Cristiano is almost expressionless, with only a slight pinch between his brows betraying that he feels anything at all.
When he doesn’t speak, I continue, “Leon, this is Mr. Montoni. Can you say hello?”
My bold and friendly boy has never met a stranger he couldn’t charm. He waves cheerfully from my arms.
“Hi! I’m Leon. Do you like dinosaurs?”
Cristiano stares silently at Leon so long that my arms tighten protectively around my son, preparing to bolt for the front door. I realize with a lurch that Cristiano is closer to the exit than we are, and he could block us from leaving.
“I do like dinosaurs,” Cristiano says softly. “Very much.”
“What’s your favorite?”
“I think…the T-rex.”
“That’s my favorite too!” Leon wriggles with excitement, and I have to tighten my grip to keep him from launching himself at this stranger. “Mama, he likes T-rexes.”
“I heard, baby.”
“Let me down, Mama,” Leon whines, and he twists so violently in my arms that I have no choice but to set him on his feet. He runs over to his toy box and begins noisily hunting through it.
Cristiano’s gaze lifts to mine, and for a moment we just look at each other across the small room.
There’s no gold ring on his left hand. He should be married by now, to some stunningly beautiful and rich Italian girl. The desperate thought nearly overwhelms me. Why isn’t he married yet?
He swallows, his throat working, and a harsh emotion flickers in his amber eyes.
“A lucky little man,” he says finally, his voice hoarse with effort, “to have you.”
A red blush creeps over my face, and I press the cold backs of my fingers against my cheeks, hating that he’s made me feel anything for him but icy disdain.
“I do my best,” I mutter. “It’s not much.”
“Don’t do that,” Cristiano says, his brows drawing fiercely together. “You always used to do that to yourself.”
“Do what?”
“Minimize. Self-deprecate.”
And you always used to scare the living daylights out of me.
Well, not always, because Leon is evidence that I once…