Angela Bissell - The Sicilian's Secret Son

He stared at Ethan, so like himself as a boy, and a memory surfaced. A vignette of the Cavallari family in happier times, years before ugly revelations had torn them apart and planted them on opposite sides of an unbridgeable divide.

The day was hot and they were picnicking on the family estate. Luca was young, no older than Ethan, and he was riding high on his papà ’s shoulders, giggling and shrieking as Franco put his arms out like an airplane and raced across the lawn. His mother wore a pretty sundress and sat under a big oak, baby Enzo cradled in her arms. Luca could hear the sweet tinkle of her laughter, unaware that in years to come he would rarely hear his mother laugh.

Luca had loved his father. It pained him to admit it, but he had. He’d idolised him. Wanted to be him. In the eyes of his young son, Franco Cavallari had been an important man. Wealthy and successful. Handsome and charismatic. Other men treated him with deference—and respect.

Luca had been a teenager when he’d finally understood it wasn’t respect his father engendered in other men, but fear.

On the night Franco initiated his eldest son into manhood, Luca’s love for him had turned into something confusing and complex. A gut-churning mix of revulsion and love and hatred he struggled for years to understand.

His first big mistake was believing he could change his father. His second was not destroying Franco when he had the chance. Emotion had made him weak. Incapable of doing what had to be done.

If he had been stronger, if he’d taken Franco down, he could have saved his brother.

He took a deep breath and calmed his heart rate. He wouldn’t fail Ethan like he had failed Enzo. He could do this. He was a better man than Franco; he could be a better father. All he had to do was stay focused and control his emotions.

* * *

‘Is that him, Mummy?’

Ethan tugged on Annah’s hand. Standing with her feet glued to the pavement, she swallowed down a bubble of nervous laughter. ‘Yes, sweetheart,’ she said, staring across the road. ‘That’s him.’

‘Holy Moly,’ breathed a woman’s voice.

Annah glanced to her left. Harriet, a frazzled but good-humoured mother of five, stood with her youngest—a little girl with ginger ringlets—balanced on her hip.

Harriet, like Ethan, stared across the road. So did several other mothers as they trotted along the street and bundled their kids into cars. Annah couldn’t blame them. Luca Cavallari was a knee-weakening mix of smouldering sex appeal and unadulterated machismo.

‘Who is that ?’ said Harriet.

Ethan leaned around Annah’s legs. ‘That’s my daddy,’ he said proudly.

Oh, God. The footpath swayed beneath Annah’s feet. She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, Harriet was looking at her, bug-eyed.

‘Wow,’ said Harriet. ‘That’s...unexpected?’

This time she couldn’t stop the nervous laughter escaping. ‘You could say that.’

Harriet put a hand on Annah’s arm and squeezed gently. ‘Let me know if you need anything, hon.’

Annah managed a smile. ‘Thanks.’

Harriet headed off to her car, and Annah looked across the road again. Luca wasn’t even looking at her. His gaze was fixated on Ethan.

‘Mummy?’

‘Yes?’

‘You’re holding on too tight.’

‘Oh!’ Annah loosened her grip on Ethan’s hand and looked into his upturned face. ‘Sorry, sweetheart.’ She smiled, hoping it looked less strained than it felt, and he beamed back.

‘Are we crossing now?’

His little voice rang with eagerness, and Annah’s heart clenched. Ethan was excited to meet his father, but she was still grappling with shock and anxiety. She would have appreciated a few days’ grace—time to get her emotions under control before introducing Ethan to his father—but Luca had different ideas.

Annah had tried to put herself in his shoes. He had missed out on the first four years of his son’s life. Wanting to meet his child without further delay perhaps wasn’t unreasonable.

Reminding Ethan to look both ways for traffic, she crossed the road with him. Luca waited on the other side. He wasn’t wearing his coat, and his all-black attire combined with his sheer size and the intense expression he wore made him look rather intimidating. But as they drew close he squatted down, bringing his face level with Ethan’s, a smile curving his lips that not only softened his hard features but caused Annah’s pulse to hitch.

‘Hello, Ethan,’ he said. ‘My name is Luca.’

Ethan blinked and then looked to Annah, shyness overtaking him now that he was face to face with the commanding figure of his father.

Annah smiled reassuringly. ‘It’s okay, sweetheart. Say hello.’

He turned back to Luca. ‘Hello.’ His hand reached out and touched Luca’s bent knee, as though to make sure he was real. He pulled his hand back, broke into a grin, and boldly announced, ‘You’re my daddy.’

Luca shot Annah a surprised look.

She lifted one shoulder. ‘I thought honesty was best.’ She could have made something up. Introduced Luca as her ‘friend’. But then what? Ethan would learn the truth eventually, and then he’d know she’d lied to him.

Their eyes held for a moment.

‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.

Annah gave a single small nod, his gratitude sparking a warm glow she hadn’t expected—and wasn’t sure she should welcome. Not when she and Luca could be headed for opposite sides of a custody battle.

His attention returned to Ethan. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘Although where I come from we say papà .’

‘Where are you from?’ Ethan asked, and Annah suddenly realised she had no idea how far Luca had travelled to get here or where he lived these days. New York? London? Sicily? Rome?

Her stomach tightened. How would a shared custody arrangement work if she and Luca lived in different countries?

‘A long way away,’ Luca said.

‘Is that why you haven’t come to see me before?’

Annah winced inwardly. Seeing the discomfort on Luca’s face, she stepped in to rescue him. ‘Come on, sweetheart. The ducks will be wondering where we are.’

Ethan turned back to his father. ‘Are you coming to feed the ducks?’

Annah held her breath. In his handmade Italian shoes and tailored trousers, Luca wasn’t exactly dressed for a walk in the reserve, but she’d thrown the invitation out there anyway. This was part of her and Ethan’s weekly routine; Luca could fit in or not.

‘Yes.’ He straightened up. ‘Your mother invited me. Is that all right with you?’

Ethan clapped his hands. ‘Yes!’

Annah forced herself to smile. It was stupid, but Ethan’s enthusiasm towards his father felt like a kick in her ribs. ‘Come on, then,’ she said, imbuing her voice with a cheerfulness she didn’t feel. ‘Let’s go before it gets too cold.’

* * *

Half an hour later, Annah sat on a bench seat carved out of an old gnarled tree trunk and hunched her shoulders inside her jacket.

It wasn’t all that cold. This part of the nature reserve was sheltered from the cool breeze, and the early spring sunshine lent a modicum of warmth to the afternoon.

The chill was inside her. A cold knot of anxiety that wasn’t going to shift any time soon, at least not until she knew what Luca’s long-term intentions were.

She watched him and Ethan at the water’s edge, scooping handfuls of oats, seeds and food pellets out of a paper bag and tossing them into the midst of a noisy gathering of ducks. Farther out, a pair of white swans glided across the calm surface of the landscaped lake.

It was a pretty spot and one of her and Ethan’s favourite haunts. Throughout the reserve, wild daffodils already bloomed in bright patches of cheerful yellow. In another few weeks, spring would start throwing its confetti of colour across the countryside in earnest. The wedding season would gear up, and work would get busy. Annah and Chloe had made a name for themselves specialising in wedding flowers and event styling. Last year they’d even won an award for South West Wedding Florist of the Year.