Cathy Williams - Summer Loving

She tried to stop the pain from biting deep. Selecting a seat as far away from his forceful presence as possible, she sat down.

‘That’s one thing we can agree on, at least. I suggest we set up a schedule. You spend time with her in the mornings while I meet with my clients; I’ll take over in the afternoons. As long as she’s happy, I need not interfere in...whatever it is you think I’m interrupting.’

He gave a harsh laugh. ‘You’re as non-interfering as a bull in a china shop.’

‘Only when I need to be.’ Like when confronted with an icily cold, angry, astoundingly gorgeous Italian male who threw out commands like they were sweets at a kids’ party. Or when you grew up isolated in a house ruled by a distant father who treated you as if you were invisible and brothers who were more than happy to emulate their father. ‘Sometimes it’s the only way people take notice of you.’

‘Is that why you’ve returned so suddenly? You want me to take notice of you?’ he enquired with disquieting softness.

That voice, that precise, perfectly pitched cadence, bathed her skin in goose bumps that had nothing to do with pain and everything to do with unwanted memories. It threatened to dominate her senses. Forcing them away took much more effort than she was happy with. ‘I’m here because my daughter needs to be home.’

Another dangerous gleam darkened his eyes. ‘Our daughter. She’s as much mine as she is yours, Ava.’

She stormed to her feet. ‘Really? You’ve barely seen her in the past year. You choose to stay in Rome and make one excuse after another as to why you don’t come home any more. So what are you doing here, really? What’s changed? What’s prompted this sudden yearning to play papà?’

A peculiar look crossed his face, too quick for her to assess its meaning. ‘She’s my daughter. My blood. There was never any question that I’d resume my parental rights.’

‘Resume! You can’t press pause on parenting every time you feel like it. So what, now you’ve suddenly found time to slot her into your schedule? For how long? What if another deal suddenly crops up in Abu Dhabi or Doha or Outer Mongolia? You’ll press pause again and fly off in pursuit of your next venture?’

A frown darkened his brow. ‘You think I’ll abandon Annabelle for a business deal?’

‘Oh, don’t act so annoyed. How many times did you leave me to jet off to parts unknown when another too-good-to-miss deal cropped up?’

He waved her away like a troublesome fly. ‘That was different.’

The uncaring delivery of his words stole her breath. ‘You expect me to think things will change because we’re talking about your daughter now instead of your wife? When you didn’t have any trouble choosing business over returning to bring her from Bali?’

Ava had spent far too much time torturing herself with the whys. What she needed was to concern herself less with the why? and more with the why now? Cesare never made a move without calculating at least a dozen steps ahead. Which made his sudden decision to summer at Lake Como and demand to have his daughter all the more suspect.

Dangerously suspect.

‘Things have changed, Ava.’

‘Enlighten me, then. How exactly have things changed?’

His gaze slid away. ‘The earthquake was an eye-opener for us all, I won’t deny it. I agree that Annabelle needs the safe and familiar around her right now. Both our jobs are very demanding. If something unavoidable comes up, she’ll be adequately cared for. Lucia will step in for now until I can hire another nanny. Between them, she’ll be cared for around the clock.’

She sucked in a breath. ‘Lord, you have the nerve to say the earthquake was an eye-opener but in the next breath you admit you’d happily abandon your daughter when the lure of a business deal proves too much!’

His stare turned icier. ‘I’ll make time for her as much as possible, but my work doesn’t stop just because it’s the summer vacation. I can’t just abandon it.’

‘Of course you can’t. I’m not even sure why I’m surprised. Cesare di Goia, venture capitalist with the Midas touch, hasn’t changed one iota, has he—?’

‘Annabelle turns four in a few weeks.’

Thrown by the sudden turn of the conversation, she frowned. ‘Yes, I’m very much aware of that. I’ve made plans.’

He glanced at his sleek silver watch. ‘But if you’re covering the Marinello wedding, you’ll need to be in Tuscany for the next three weeks.’

‘I see you’re well informed.’

He shrugged. ‘For some reason, Agata Marinello seems to think I need updating on every detail of her son’s wedding arrangements.’

‘You’re the guest of honour and your company is bankrolling Reynaldo Marinello’s reality show. You don’t need a crystal ball to suss why she wants to stay on your sweet side. Besides, I think all the guests receive email and social media updates.’

‘Which is exactly why I’ve blocked her messages as of this morning.’ A look of impatience crossed his face. ‘I haven’t even officially accepted the wedding invitation yet. Not with everything that’s going on—’ He stopped and shook his head. ‘I’ll ask for the jet to be refuelled. Paolo will deliver you to the airport within the hour to take you to Tuscany. Annabelle will remain here with me. When you’re done with the wedding, we’ll talk.’ He started to cross the room towards the house intercom.

Feigning ease she didn’t feel, she settled back in her chair and took her time to cross her legs. ‘I see you’re all about minimising your carbon footprint.’

He paused mid-stride. ‘You know my line of work necessitates the use of a private jet. If I didn’t, I’d suffer permanently from jet lag.’

‘Yes, I’m sure all the environmental charities would love that explanation.’ She’d aimed for spiky snark intended to win her further ground. Instead her reply faltered as her treacherous mind conjured up the very effective means by which Cesare conquered jetlag—the enormous king-size bed in the larger, chrome and grey bedroom of his Gulfstream. The silky satin sheets, the soft, decadent pillows...the en suite made-for-two shower...her intensely erotic initiation into the mile-high club...

She tried to stare him down, but heat slowly crawled up her neck, stung her cheeks. She knew her pale skin had given her away when a small knowing smile whispered over his lips.

‘I’m sure they’ll allow me this small concession given my support of their other eco-saving efforts. Now, if you’ve finished berating me, I’ll instruct Lucia to provide you with some refreshments before you leave.’ He walked towards the villa’s intercom next to the extensive drinks cabinet and lifted the receiver.

Any lingering arousal fled as his statement sank in.

‘The Marinellos changed their wedding venue three days ago—the official stance is a termite infestation at their Tuscany villa but I’m guessing your being here has something to do with the wedding’s relocation to Lake Como.’ She shrugged at his frown. ‘I’m meeting with them tomorrow afternoon to discuss staging and the pre-wedding catalogue. But even that notwithstanding, I don’t think you’ve quite grasped what I’m trying to tell you. Annabelle and I are a package deal, Cesare. Where I go, she goes.’

Slowly—excruciatingly slowly—he replaced the handset. Ava’s heart thumped so hard against her ribs she feared the organ would expire from overuse.

‘I warn you against rocking the boat, Ava. This isn’t really the time to bring things to a head between us.’ His voice was soft but edged in steel.

‘And maybe you need to give up this false pretence of trying to play papà, return to Rome and just let us be.’