Nat blinked as the contents, or lack of them, slowly came into focus. She blinked again.Now, that was the understatement of the year.She cocked an eyebrow in Alessandro’s direction. ‘What have you guys been living on?’
He shrugged. ‘I usually just pick up a few bits and pieces after work every couple of days.’
Nat pursed her lips as she shut the fridge and headed for what looked like might be the pantry. It was. And it was also similarly devoid of food. It was obvious they’d just been living from day to day. For an experienced emergency physician, the man was utterly clueless.
She supposed his wife had taken care of all thedomesticduties. And he’d probably let her. But still… surely, he knew that kids needed a sense of permanency and long-term planning to feel secure? Bags unpacked, paintings on the walls, food in the pantry.
Especially ones whose whole life had just fallen apart.
Glancing at Julian, she said, ‘Looks like we’re going shopping after your nap.’
Like any four-year-old, Julian beamed at the prospect. ‘Can I ride in the trolley? Mummy used to let me ride in the trolley.’
She supposed Alessandro only used a basket to shop for his bits and pieces and that would seem rather boring to a four-year-old; still, she was aware of Alessandro stiffening. Her gaze cut to him, to the forbidding planes of his regal face, etched with lines of tiredness, his beautiful mouth a bleak line. He’d visibly paled, his face possibly the grimmest she’d seen yet.
Her heart ached anew for both of them but probably more so for Alessandro. Julian was too young to understand the things that his father was struggling with. ‘Yes, you can ride in the trolley. Maybe Papa would like to come with us?’
Nat watched as both father and son tensed. Julian’s eyes dropped to the top of Flo’s head as if he daren’t give away hisfeelings in case they were quashed, and Alessandro turned back to his laptop with, ‘I have reading to catch up on.’
She stared at the downcast heads, so alike but so disconnected from each other. And for a second, she felt helpless – but only for a second. Because shewantedto give this little boy the gift of a good father–child relationship. She wanted him to feel whole as he grew up, notless. Like she had. She would never wish that feeling on anyone, never mind a small child.
But it was plain neither of them was going to make it easy.
7
Alessandro followed the sound of chatter and his nose into the kitchen around five o’clock. The smell of garlic and basil – the aromas of his childhood – and Julian’s laughter drew him and he was powerless to resist.
Nat and Julian were cooking. Julian was sitting on the bench next to the hob, a large metal spoon in hand, stirring something in a saucepan as he fired a hundred questions at Nat. He could see the backs of her supple legs, the outline of one very cute derrière and the swish of her ponytail as she chopped and talked and dipped her finger into the saucepan, savouring the taste.
‘More salt, Julian.’
Alessandro watched as Julian picked up the salt grinder and handled it as well as a four-year-old could. He was concentrating hard, his little pink tongue caught between his teeth. It was awkward and he dropped it. Nat was quick, though, and saved it from landing in the pot.
‘That’s fabulous, Julian.’
Julian beamed at the praise, swinging his legs as they dangled over the edge of the counter. He was clearly enjoying himself and Alessandro was both happy and a little envious.
‘Something smells good.’
Alessandro noticed Nat stiffen a little as Julian’s chatter ceased and his legs stopped swinging.
Steadfastly ignoring their reaction, he pushed into the kitchen determined to claw back some of the distance between himself and his son. ‘What are you cooking, Julian?’
‘Spaghetti,’ Julian replied, his voice stilted. ‘Nat says it’s the proper stuff. From Milano.’
Alessandro’s heart nearly stopped at the perfect way Julian pronounced Milan. He’d always hoped any child of his would be bilingual but Camilla had been adamant.
Keeping his tone light, he said, ‘The proper stuff tastes best.’
Camilla hadn’t been much of a cook. She’d normally bought pre-prepared food from exclusive delicatessens or supermarkets. Julian had certainly been the best-fed toddler in London, with gourmet treasures bestowed on him every day. When they’d entertained it had always been catered.
But not only had Nat filled his fridge and his pantry and their lives in just half a day but she’d also filled his kitchen with incredible aromas. His stomach growled and he absently realised he was hungry. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten for any reason other than fuel to keep his body going.
When he’d given her his card to go shopping that afternoon he’d imagined she’d buy enough food to get them through the week, but she’d gone way beyond that. He’d helped them unpack and had been amazed at the items she’d considered necessities. She’d apologised profusely for the amount she’d spent but he’d shrugged it away.
Money wasn’t an impediment.
Alessandro lounged as casually as he could against the nearby bench, excruciatingly aware that the homey atmosphere he’d walked in on had evaporated and both Nat and Julian were a little tense. Thankfully, the cat – who appeared to like himmuch better than Pinocchio – chose that moment to rub against his legs and meow loudly.
