As she had loved Daisy and McKenzie from the second she’d known about them.
And looking at Valentino’s tormented face, she’d known she couldn’t hurt him either. Not like that. Not like he’d been hurt so badly before.
But she needed some time and space to get used to the idea. Not him turning up unannounced and uninvited looking all casually sexy in his chinos and open-necked shirt, his dimples screaming lazy Sunday. Especially with her in her usual baggy sweats and oversized T-shirt.
‘Excuse me for a moment.’ Peyton stirred as Valentino stood, her eyes fluttering open to find him looking at her mother. ‘Could you direct me to the bathroom?’
Her mother gave him directions and, despite wanting him to leave only seconds ago, Peyton suddenly felt lost without him. In her own damn house. Pulling out of her slouch, she steeled herself for the grilling she knew was coming.
Her mother went first. ‘I like him.’
‘You don’t know him.’
‘I’d known Arnie for two minutes and knew I didn’t like him.’
Touché.
Peyton glanced at her father smiling at her, his dimples blazing. ‘You’ve always been a sucker for men with dimples,’ her mother said.
Had she? When she looked back over her life prior to Arnie, the few boyfriends she’d had had indeed all been blessed with dimples. ‘Dimples do not maketh the man,’ Peyton grumbled.
Her mum smiled at her dad. ‘I would have to disagree with you there.’
Peyton shook her head, humbled as ever by her parents’ enduring love and affection for each other. ‘Well, you would.’
‘I’m just saying that I think he’s good for you.’ She reached across the table and squeezed Peyton’s hand. ‘Isn’t it about time you declared a truce on the men of the world? They’re not all like Arnie, darling.’
I’m not Arnie.Those were the words Valentino had said yesterday, his eyes blazing with sincerity and truth. And she’d believed him.
Peyton wondered, though, how her parents would feel if they knew that this Italian lothario they were so enamoured with had knocked up their daughter. Neither of her parents were keen for her to have any more children given what had happened with the twins.
Before she could speak, Valentino’s voice drifted to them and three pairs of eyes sought him out. He’d stopped to talk to McKenzie in the living room, the open doors to the deck giving them all a decent view.
McKenzie had grown bored quickly with the adult conversation and had asked for ‘Booey’, and Peyton, who didn’t like her watching too much television, hadn’t been able to refuse. Hearing her daughter say actual words – Bluey had been one of her first – was sweeter than the sweetest music in the world, and seeing her dance now she could actually hear the music was endlessly thrilling.
They watched as Valentino took McKenzie’s hands and danced around with her. McKenzie giggled as he lifted her off the floor and twirled her round, his dark hair almost black compared to her lighter hues. She clapped as he put her down and signed, ‘Again.’
And Peyton’s broken, fractured, battered, stomped-on heart just about melted in her chest.
‘Oh, my,’ her mother said, her hand fluttering to her chest.
Peyton dragged her gaze away from the endearing sight of Valentino – a large, virile, Italian man his hands dwarfing McKenzie’s torso – twirling her daughter – a little pink fairy girl – round and round.
It was exceedingly sexy.
She blasted her mother with an impatient glare. So, he was good with children. Arnie had been great with kids. Had been over the moon about the pregnancy. But look how quickly he had turned his back when it had come to the crunch.
To the hard times.
‘You’ve won a heart there,’ her father commented as Valentino re-joined the table.
Valentino shrugged. ‘I have ten nieces and five nephews back home. Children like to dance in any language, I think.’
‘That they do,’ he agreed.
‘Actually, sir.’ He glanced speculatively at Peyton, which put an itch up her spine. ‘I’m glad you’re both here.’ The itch spread to her scalp. ‘It is a tradition in my country to ask a woman’s parents for their blessing before proposing, so?—’
‘What?’Shock galvanised Peyton as she rose to her feet, effectively cutting Valentino off.Had he gone mad?‘I’mnotmarrying you, Valentino. I told you that yesterday.’
