stunning, he was quite simply the most beautiful man she had ever witnessed in the flesh. The features that had first dazzled her on the tube merited closer inspection now.
His jet hair was thick and glossy, and there was a slightly depraved look to his piercing blue eyes—but that could, Ainslie conceded, be more born of exhaustion than excess. His very straight Roman nose was a proud feature. All his features were wonderful in their own right, yet combined they were stunning. But what moved Ainslie most, what exalted him from good-looking to stunning, were the full lips of his mouth—the curve of them when he smiled. It was a mouth that softened his features, a mouth that flexed around his expressive language, a mouth that drew you closer, that held your attention when he spoke.
‘It felt right that she have this house. Right that I could take care of her still. She’s my sister—was my sister…’ His voice husked, his mouth struggling with the correction.
‘She still is…’ Ainslie said softly. ‘Always will be.’
‘This place was their home. It is right that it’s Guido’s home now.’
‘What will you do?’
‘I don’t know.’ He stared into the bottom of his near-empty glass as if he were trying to gaze into a crystal ball. ‘Marco and his wife, Dina, have never seen him, have played no part in his life, and yet now Rico and Maria are dead they say they want to be involved.’
‘Were you involved?’
‘I’ve never babysat, never changed his nappy…’ Elijah answered. ‘But I spoke with my sister on the phone most days. As I said, I’m in London once or maybe twice a month, and I normally stopped by. I was—am—a part of his life. It just never entered my head it would be to this extent.’
‘It might be the same for Marco and Dina,’ Ainslie offered. ‘Maybe they’ve had a shock? Maybe they’ve realised…?’ Her voice trailed off as he shook his head.
‘I don’t trust them.’ He drained the last dregs before continuing, ‘I don’t want that man near my nephew—he is the last person Maria would want for him. I know people can change, and I know that it was a long time ago. But some things—well, they are too hard to excuse or forgive.’
‘There’s no one else?’
‘No one apart from one reprobate uncle who likes to burn the candle at both ends and has an appalling track record with women.’
‘Oh!’ Ainslie blinked, rather liking the sound of him. ‘Where’s he, then?’
‘You’re looking at him.’ He even managed to laugh, but it faded quickly. ‘The trouble is, as wrong as I think Marco and Dina would be for him, I don’t trust that I am right for Guido either. I don’t have a lifestyle that really fits in with raising a child. I can provide for him, I can give him the best of everything…’
But he deserved so much more than that, and they both knew it.
‘It might be time to grow up, I guess!’ Elijah said, putting down his glass and standing. ‘Either that or try and find a way to put aside lifelong rivalries and remember it isn’t a patch on the beach we’re fighting over any more.’
‘You’ll work it out.’
‘Just not tonight…’
They shuffled through the house and up the stairs.
‘This is a guest room,’ Elijah announced. ‘And there’s another one here.’ Elijah pushed open another door. ‘You can choose.’
‘I don’t care…’
Ainslie shrugged, so he chose for her, depositing her backpack in a pretty yellow and white room that was to be her home for tonight.
‘I’ll just check on Guido.’
They both did.
Stood in his parents’ bedroom and peered into his cot. His flushed face was paler now, his thumb was in his mouth and his bottom was in the air, and tears welled in Ainslie’s eyes as she stared down at him. Safe and warm but suddenly alone, without the two people who would have loved him the most. The vast bed in the room looked horribly empty as they crept out.
‘Will we wake up?’ As he turned to go he thought better of it. ‘Who will wake up to Guido?’
And it was a very sensible question. Babies who woke in the night wouldn’t usually be factored in to Elijah Vanaldi’s agenda. Little whimpers of distress wouldn’t necessarily jerk a man like him from slumber.
‘I’ll wake.’ Ainslie smiled softly at his exhausted face. ‘You should try and get some rest.’
She’d wake if only first she could sleep.
Her head was racing at a million miles an hour as she lay in the strange bed, listening as Elijah showered. Familiar sounds in an unfamiliar place, and for the first time since she’d put the key in the front door this afternoon she was able to draw breath.
To actually think about what she should do with her own situation.
If she pleaded her case Gemma had made it clear that without warning or hesitation she would call the police, and Ainslie knew that no one would employ a childcare worker who was being investigated. Even if she could prove her innocence, the slur alone would be enough to ruin her time in England. Elijah had offered her a position, but for how long? A day? A week? How long would it be till he went back to Italy?
Ainslie blinked into the darkness. He was trusting her to help him—what would he say if he knew that she had been accused of theft?
As the shrill screams of Guido pierced the night Elijah sat up, gulping in air as he awoke from a nightmare…
His sister had been dead—no, she’d been dying—her body horribly disfigured, her voice a strained, hoarse whisper as she’d tried to speak through her swollen and damaged windpipe, imploring him to listen, warning him of the Castellas descending, claiming her baby, taking what they considered theirs. He’d gone to hold her hand, to tell her it was all okay, that he would take care of things. Only her hand… He could feel bile rising in his throat as he replayed the image.
It was just a dream, Elijah assured himself, sheathed in sweat, and trying to pull himself out of it. A nightmare. The horrible panic, the utter dread with which he’d awoken should be abating now, should be dimming as reality filtered in. Instead, Elijah could feel his heart quicken as he took in his surrounds. Another shot of adrenaline propelled him out of bed in panic. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his hips, dashing to his nephew as he realised he hadn’t awoken from a nightmare—he was living one.
‘He’s okay!’
It was like falling off a cliff into soft outstretched arms. Ainslie was leaning over Guido’s cot, pressing her finger to her lips to tell him to be quiet, dressed in vast, shapeless pyjamas that were covered in some pattern he couldn’t make out. Guido’s little night light caught the gold in her blonde hair as briefly she looked up from the child she soothed, her voice soft and calming—not just to Guido, but to himself.
Only Ainslie herself wasn’t soothed. Clemmie and Jack had both regularly
