He wanted her to be his enabler? She wouldn’t. Julian needed his father, just as she had needed hers, and she would not let Alessandro shirk his duties as her father had shirked his.
He had to find a way through this himself. A way to connect with his son.
One day he would thank her for it.
She took a deep breath, gathering her courage, breaking away from the spell he’d woven with his beautiful accent and his tragic gaze. ‘Julian needs his father.’
And she turned and walked away, not looking back. She had to protect herself. Alessandro and Julian were a delightful package, right up her bleeding-heart alley. Too easy to fall for, especially when she’d barely recovered from her last relationship. A man who had claimed to love her yet all the while had still been entangled with his ex-wife.
Nat’s heart was too vulnerable and she’d be stupid to repeat that mistake again.
So, she didn’t turn back, even though she could feel his gaze boring a hole between her shoulder blades. Even though her marshmallow centre blazed hot and gooey, berating her for her callousness, urging her to turn around.
It was time to protect herself for a change. Long past time.
Alessandro was more aware of her than he’d ever been when he picked Julian up from the crèche at five that afternoon. It wasone of the first days he’d managed to get away on time and Nat was still there. In fact, Julian and Nat were sitting at a table doing a jigsaw puzzle.
It was hard to look at her and know that he had laid himself bare to her, taken a leap of faith, and been rejected. He supposed he was as proud as the next man, maybe prouder. He didn’t make a habit of asking anyone for help – he certainly wouldn’t again.
He strode towards them, stopping a few feet away. ‘Come, Julian, it’s time to go.’
The woman in question looked over her shoulder at him briefly before turning her attention back to his son. ‘Julian, matey,’ she said, her voice bright as she climbed out of the low kiddy chair and stood. ‘Why don’t you go and get the picture you drew for your papa?’
Alessandro watched as Julian made his way, slump-shouldered, to his open wooden locker. There was no spring in his step, no jubilant tearing around at the thought of going home. He glanced back at Nat, who was watching him.
‘He drew a picture especially for you,’ she murmured.
Alessandro nodded. ‘That’s nice.’
Her eyebrows drew together, clearly not approving of his stiltedness. ‘He spent a long time getting it right, choosing the colours carefully, brightening up the background. He’s proud of it. You want to know how to connect with your son?’ She kept her voice low. ‘It’s not that hard. Smile at him, praise him, show some affection.’
Each of her suggestions sliced into Alessandro’s very soul. If only it was that simple. Camilla was dead because of him. Could any amount of affection make up for that? How could Julian ever forgive him? He clenched his jaw, refusing to comment. Nat could not possibly understand what they’d been through.
He was conscious of her beside him – silent, judgmental – as Julian made his way back, stopping in front of them and holding out the picture. Alessandro took it, fixing a smile to his face as he noted the red and purple of the background. The sun shone in one corner and there were trees with possums.
In the foreground, was him – he presumed. A stick figure with a stethoscope around his neck, his mouth a grim slash in his otherwise blank face. An adult, maybe Nathalie, had written across the bottom in neat teacher handwriting:
My papa is a doctor. He works very hard.
Alessandro gripped the page with such intensity the paper tore slightly beneath the vice-like clamp of his fingers. It wasn’t exactly an effusive description of his fathering and it cut deep that Julian saw him as someone who only went to work – the role Camilla had carved out for him. But his son was looking up at him, anticipation etched into every line of his dear little face, so he kept the observation to himself.
‘That’s wonderful, Julian.’
Alessandro forced himself to relax into the compliment around the chokehold of emotion in his throat. He stuck out his hand to ruffle Julian’s hair, bracing for him to stiffen but he didn’t – he broke into a broad grin.
It was brief but it felt like a ray of sunshine before Julian seemed to remember their distance and his smile faded as he looked at the ground again.
Alessandro’s hand slid from his hair, his heart heavy as he dragged his attention away from the picture and addressed his son. ‘Get your stuff, Julian, it’s time to go.’
Julian shuffled off and Alessandro turned to find Nat staring at him like he was utterly clueless. She’d obviously found the father–son exchange lacking and she could get in line.
‘Okay, that’s it.’ She shook her head, her glare annoyed, her tone exasperated. ‘Can I move my stuff in on the weekend?’
Alessandro was wound so tight it took a couple of seconds for her question to penetrate the barbed wire he’d lashed around his thoughts. Had he really just heard what he thought he’d heard? She was looking at him expectantly and he realised he had, that she was deadly serious.
Suddenly the tension that had been holding every muscle taut since she’d rejected him earlier, since Camilla had died, since before then even, since their hasty nuptials, relaxed. It was as if she’d taken bulk cutters and hacked through wire in one fell swoop.
Everything was going to be all right.
