‘Neither did I.’
Last week was supposed to be out of time – out of reality. ‘Two thistles,’ she murmured, horrified to find her eyes stinging.
‘You understand why I wasn’t sure we should sleep together,’ he accused gently – another stab of frustration through her before he continued, ‘although I don’t think there was any way I could have resisted this.’
He was suddenly closer. Amidst the honey scent of the blooms on the workbench and the bitterness of eucalyptus leaves, she recognised the lemon and herb on his skin.
His next words stole her breath. ‘It might hurt when you go, but it hurts now to argue like this or stay away, when you’re still here.’
Because she was wobbly and confused and had just discovered a reckless streak she wasn’t sure she liked, she leaned in and kissed him. He caught her and matched her – kiss for kiss, breath for laboured breath.
She felt raw with all of her flaws on show, but his were equally bare. This was no intricately planned declaration ofundying love as the sun set over the water, surrounded by friends and family and dreams of the future. It was messy and uncertain and very off-brand for I Do Destinations.
It felt very much like her life.
He drew back slowly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. ‘I will drive them back to Innamorata. Now I’ve got you in this situation, I don’t want to leave you alone in it, no matter how beautifully capable you are.’
‘Another responsibility you didn’t want?’
He paused, his brow pinching over his fading smile. ‘I’m sure I can bear it.’
The maestrale was back when Gabri had finished loading his trailer and he made his way down to the waterfront to find the other two generations of Toni’s family – the two he didn’t particularly want to see.
That wasn’t quite true. He was apprehensive about seeing them, certainly, but he walked in the direction of the rock pool with his feet propelled by a curiosity that felt faintly self-destructive.
Although Rosa’s mother had clashed terribly with his own – and she hadn’t been too happy with him as a person, either – his ex had insisted their differences were nothing in the face of familial bonds and he’d kept his feelings to himself.
But he’d been brutally honest with Toni and now seemed to be walking happily to his own demise at the hands of a blonde, plucky-looking Englishwoman. Perhaps it was a comfort that the situation couldn’t get any worse than it was.
Until it did get worse.
Arriving at the rock pool, he found Cillian perched on a stone, pitifully holding back sobs and clutching his knee. Kicking off his Birkenstocks, Gabri hurtled into the calf-deep water, drenching the hems of his cropped trousers, and grasped the boy’s shoulders.
‘What’s the matter?’
‘I-I fell over and hit a rock and Granny has no plasters and sh-she had to go buy some and I don’t know where she’s gone and it’s been ages and—’ The boy’s forehead landed unexpectedly square on Gabri’s chest, knocking the wind out of him – and rattling a good portion of astonishment around in there too. The stringy little arms came up and this was not supposed to be the story for today.
He’d just been philosophising about how great it was that he didn’t have to pretend to like anyone here – Toni didn’t want him bonding anyway – and suddenly, Cillian was coming in for a hug and there was no way he could refuse a trusting, upset kid.
‘Shh,’ he said as gently as he could. ‘We’ll find her and in the meantime, I have plasters at my shop.’
A tap on his shoulder made him turn to find a woman he didn’t recognise holding the hand of a small girl. ‘Ehi, signore, you shouldn’t leave your son alone like that. He wouldn’t talk to any of us when we offered to help him.’
Gabri tried not to let the tightening in his chest show in his body language.He’s not my son, was the first culprit for the fist squeezing his heart, but the second, just as strong, was the urge to protect him.
‘He doesn’t speak Italian,’ Gabri growled.
Toni’s mother appeared at that moment, her face red with the heat and her hurried trip to… He wasn’t sure where she would have found plasters in the little hamlet of Sant’Andrea. When she caught sight of him, her colour rose to puce.
‘Granny, did you find some plasters? Gabriele says he has some at his shop.’
She lost some of her puff. ‘Oh good, because I didn’t find any.’
It was a marvel the way the boy, oblivious to the emotions swirling around him, could drain all the turmoil from the adults in his vicinity. Gabri wondered if all children could do it, or only the boy who’d never met his father.
When he let Cillian go, he noticed the smeared hand-print of blood on his shirt and everything ramped up again. He pulled away so quickly, Cillian had to fumble for the rock.
‘I’ll… get the plasters. Stay here.’
