to the floor time after time. Patiently she’d start again, until Elene knelt down to straighten the stack after each placement. Finally all the blocks were used up and Aimee shrieked with delight, clapping her hands wildly and knocking the stack over.
Mattia watched them together. Two very different heads bent over the blocks. One with straight auburn hair, the other black and curly. Chalk and cheese. Elene and Aimee. ‘Why did Danielle choose Aimee for a name?’
That auburn head flipped up, a challenge in her gaze. ‘You don’t like her name?’
‘Did I say that? I was wondering if there was a connection to someone Danielle had been close to, someone special.’ He liked the name even if it wasn’t Italian.
She nodded. ‘Danielle was raised by her Grandma Aimee.’
Mattia nodded. ‘That’s nice. Middle name?’
Defiance filled her eyes. ‘Elene.’
‘So she’s got an Italian name. I like that. Surname?’ Shut up. Mattia snatched up the pot and drained the water from the pasta. And waited for the explosion.
* * *
Elene knew Mattia must be bursting with questions, but right now she needed to take it easy. They’d been together for only a couple of hours and there were ordinary things to do, like feeding Aimee and playing with her until that pent-up energy wore off. Deliberately or not, he’d lured her into a false sense of security. Concentration was required so as not to miss anything.
‘Don’t tell me it’s Lowe,’ Mattia growled impatiently.
Her hackles rose in an instant. ‘What would be wrong with that?’ Her father would’ve been proud for Aimee to have the family name.
‘Nothing, I suppose.’
‘You suppose? Oh, buster, you suppose nothing. You haven’t got a clue what’s happened since you left Wellington. What Danielle wanted for her daughter. What she suffered, knowing she’d never see Aimee grow up. All you’re worried about is a name.’ Where did those damned tears come from? She slashed at her cheeks and reached for Aimee to hug her tight, only Mattia was there, holding out a paper towel for her to wipe her face before he picked up his daughter.
‘Tell me more so I am clued up.’
Reaching for her wine, Elene drew deep breaths. She and Danielle had tried to prepare for this moment, but it was always going to be difficult explaining her friend’s reasons for refusing to tell Mattia about his child, and her own fear that he’d want full custody of his daughter.
‘Elene?’ He said her name softly, touching her deeply, questioning her determination not to fall in love again. ‘I understand talking about her must be difficult.’
She nodded. ‘Did Danielle ever mention her childhood to you?’ She’d be surprised if she had.
Topping up her glass, Mattia said, ‘Not a word.’
‘Her mother ran away when she was three and her father brought her up. Make that dragged her up. There was little money, a continuous stream of women who were unkind to her, and she had few friends. At fourteen she got pregnant and her father tried to force her to have an abortion. Somehow, and I’m not sure of the details here, she avoided the termination, only to have her father make her sign the baby over for adoption.’
Mattia swore. ‘That’s cruel. How did he get away with it? It shouldn’t have been his call to make.’
‘He threatened to turn Danielle out on the street if she didn’t do it. At fourteen, with no other family for support, she had no choice. The social welfare system let her down. Apparently her father charmed them into believing Danielle wanted to give her baby away.’ Elene stared at the carpet. ‘I don’t think she ever got over that.’
‘There are some real monsters out there.’
‘There are. I’ve been very lucky.’ Elene looked him in the eye. An explanation of her own wouldn’t go amiss. ‘The man who conceived me didn’t want me but the man I’ve called Dad all my life more than made up for him.’
‘More cruelty. I’m sorry to hear your stories. You and Danielle would’ve understood each other very well.’
‘We did.’ Needing to get Danielle’s story over with, Elene continued. ‘She intended letting you know about the pregnancy, but kept putting off the moment. She was so happy, so engrossed in having a baby you’d think she’d want to share the joy, but it was like she was holding it all to herself for herself.’ Another mouthful of wine, another deep breath. ‘Then the cancer diagnosis came and you didn’t get a look-in.’
‘She was afraid I’d take the baby away?’
Elene leapt in to negate that hurt. ‘Not because she truly believed you were capable of such cruelty. She wanted every minute she could with her baby without having to fight for the two of them. Not involving you from the beginning was a by-product of her past. I don’t think she ever trusted any man to look out for her.’
‘Thank you for that. Danielle once told me you were the only person she felt completely safe about telling the things that mattered.’ Mattia looked thoughtful.
Get it over with. ‘Aimee Hicks-Ricco,’ she told Mattia, watching for his reaction. ‘The Ricco part yet to be confirmed by you.’
Mattia stared at her as if his last chance of escape had vanished. All the colour drained from his cheeks.
Guilt sneaked up on Elene unexpectedly. She had whacked him over the head with this. ‘I’m sorry. It’s hard, you know?’
‘Yes, I do. Very hard.’ His stunned gaze dropped to Aimee and ever so slowly a glimmer of something she couldn’t quite recognise crept into his expression. Hope? Longing? She waited quietly.
Mattia finally turned back to her. ‘Hicks-Ricco. Aimee will always be aware of her mother. I like that.’
On hearing her name, Aimee banged a fist on her father’s chin. ‘Ma-ma-ma-ma.’
Elene sighed with relief. He wasn’t denying the obvious, had accepted the truth far quicker than she’d given him credit for. ‘I understand you’re full of questions, but can we leave them for now? At least until Aimee’s fed and gone down for the night. Please?’ Now she was begging, and she hadn’t begged since she ran away from her ex. Craig hadn’t taken any notice so maybe Mattia wouldn’t either. But since Aimee came into her life there was no end to the things she would do to get what the little girl needed. Except give her up.
Mattia was staring at her, not in a bad way, nor one that made her sit up with hope, just neutral, as though seeking answers without verbalising the questions. Finally, he nodded. ‘I agree.’
Phew. She headed for the microwave that was regularly beeping the message that the jug of oats was ready. ‘You’ve got milk?’
‘Here.’ With Aimee in one arm, he deftly opened the fridge to retrieve the cardboard container and pass it to her. ‘Cutlery in that drawer to your right.’
How domestic—if bobbing on the top of a tsunami could be called homely. Getting through the coming
