Loving Cristiano was not.
And yet, she’d loved him most. She’d loved him until the feeling had seemed to burst through her, threatening to squash her vital organs with its intensity and turn her into a frame of what she’d once been.
She’d loved him when there was no hope, only desolation.
And she loved him now, though he felt only anger and resentment towards her.
She let herself in the front door with a downcast face.
“Milly’s still asleep,” Marie said, as she entered. “Good swim?”
“Great,” Ava lied.
“Good. Jackson’s headed out already but said he’ll be back in a few hours with the tree. You just need to pick a spot.”
She nodded. “Great. Good. Thanks.”
Her shower was cool. She wanted it that way. She didn’t want to be dulled and comforted. She wanted to feel. She wanted to reawaken every nerve ending in her body and revel in their presence.
She pressed her back against the tiles and let the water rush over her. And she imagined it was Cristiano’s hands. Strong and capable and innately in tune with her body. She put one of her hands over her wrist and held it, remembering how it had felt when he had done that to her. Weeks earlier, before he’d known about Milly.
He was back in her life, but in the most agonising of ways. He was forever out of her reach.
She stared in the mirror and told herself she would forget him. And she hoped that if she said it often enough, it would come true.
8
“That’s a perfect place for it, Milly,” Ava cooed, inwardly squashing the mental image she’d cherished of recreating last year’s tree perfection. This was not going to resemble department store elegance so much as craft time at kinder, but that was fine by Ava. For this year at least. “What about this one?” She unhooked another of the timber decorations and placed it carefully in the palm of Milly’s hand.
“Oh! Pretty!” She squealed, staring at the little elf with wonderment. “Hat! Hat like my!”
Ava shook her head with a laugh. “Do you have a hat like that? I don’t know.”
“Yeah! Yeah!”
Ava eyed the tree. “Well, my little Elf, where shall that one go?”
Milly walked on her plump little legs to the tree and scanned the branches. They smelt like pine and forest. Jackson had outdone himself, selecting a fresh tree that wasn’t too large for the lounge room, but was certainly large enough to give it gravity and ceremony.
“Dah!” Milly pointed to one of the furry branches that had already had several ornaments bestowed on its prickly length. It was sagging underneath the weight, and Ava pretended to consider it.
“Perhaps. Though I’m not sure we can fit many more without snapping the branch. Why don’t you give it a try?”
“Never too young to start learning physics, huh?” His voice set her pulse hammering. She tried hard to find a sense of calm, but how could she? Milly had no such impulse. She toddled over quickly, her feet carrying her towards Cristiano with such force that, when she reached him, she hurtled against his legs and promptly crashed back to the floor.
“Ow,” she complained, fixing him with a look that spoke volumes of his treachery.
He laughed gently and scooped her into his arms. “Sorry, angel.” His eyes drifted to Ava, over Milly’s head. “I was distracted.”
Her heart turned over in her chest.
Ava took a steadying breath. “I thought you had to work.”
He nodded. “But then I realised how silly I’d be to miss yet another special day in Milly’s life.” He hadn’t intended the statement as a criticism, but he heard it as she did and he winced inwardly. “Mind if I join you? I brought mince pies.”
“You did?” Had he remembered how much Ava loved them? Or was it just a coincidence? She turned away from him, pretending to examine the tree, and might have burst out laughing if it weren’t for the all-consuming tension that was holding her spine straight. It was severely lopsided and low-balanced, courtesy of Milly’s ministrations.
“You always loved them, I thought,” he said, answering her question. He had remembered.
It made her feel strangely vulnerable.
“Yes,” she agreed, the word cold in the face of how she was feeling. She angled a smile in his general direction. “Why don’t you take over from me and hand the decorations out. I’ve been neglecting the top of the tree.”
“Yes, I can see that,” he murmured with amusement. “Okay, garotinha, down you get. You have more work to do on this tree.”
“Dah,” she said, pointed at the tree, and he nodded gravely.
“These decorations?” He pointed to the boxes on the nearby table.
“Uh huh.”
He lifted two out and was about to hand one to Milly when Ava squawked. “I’ll take both of those thanks. I’m sticking to plastic and wood for Milly.”
He looked at the two he’d chosen and understood immediately. They were very fine glass, and looked to be quite antique.
“They were some of my mother’s childhood ornaments,” she explained, as he handed them to her. She climbed two rungs on the small ladder and pinned them to a couple of branches, then stepped down again.
“They are quite lovely,” he agreed, selecting a far less delicate decoration from the boxes and passing it to Milly. She dropped it instantly, and then in her haste to pick it up, stood on it clumsily.
Ava and Cristiano’s gazes locked, and a shared expression of amusement passed between them.
“Wooden ones for Milly. Loud and clear,” he said with a nod, lifting a pale green glass bauble out of the box and bringing it to Ava. She cupped it in her hand, feeling its familiar smoothness.
“These ones were always my favourite,” she held it up high, so that it caught the light from the windows. “Look at the way they get a little kaleidoscope in their centre.”
He didn’t look at the decoration. He couldn’t take his eyes off Ava’s face. Her expression was one of child-like joy as she studied the rainbow colours.
She was a child, he thought with a pang of conscience. Only twenty four years old, and she’d spent the last three years navigating pregnancy and parenthood on her own. It must have been a heavy burden to carry, and yet she’d obviously done it with aplomb, if Milly was anything to go by.
She flicked her gaze to him and then jerked her eyes away self-consciously. Only it was too fast, and she was holding the decoration aloft rather than keeping one hand on the ladder. She lost her footing and fell to the floor, unable to stabilise herself. He caught her quickly, but not before her foot had twisted awkwardly.
“Goodness, I’m as bad as Milly,” she croaked, desperate to shake out of his touch. Up so close, held in his arms, she could feel his heart and she could smell his musky fragrance. Her body was on fire. “I’m fine.” She stood up, but immediately crumpled again. This time, though, she gave him a wide berth and reached for the ladder for support.
He understood. His own hands felt like they’d been lit with a fuse after wrapping around her neat waist.
“You’re not fine,” he denied, seeing the way she was holding one foot off the ground.
“Mummy owe,” Milly said, moving towards Ava and putting a hand on hers.
“I’m okay, darling. Just a bit,” her eyes lifted to Cristiano’s, “…embarrassed.”
“Mummy owie,” Milly insisted, pointing to Ava’s foot. Her ankle had already swollen.
“You are right,” Cristiano said, ruffling Milly’s hair. “Mummy’s hurt her ankle, but daddy’s going to play doctor and look after it, okay?”
Milly looked from one to the other, as though a light bulb was flaring to life. “Mummy? Daddy.”
Ava felt a wall of emotion wrap around her. Despite the fact that Milly had no little friends and didn’t go to any crèches or kinders, she innately understood the value of a mummy and a daddy. Of two parents who love the same small person.
“Mummy’s going to be a good patient, aren�
�t you?” He said, putting a hand around her waist and hooking it under her arm.
She sent him a droll look of frustration, and he grinned back at her. “At least, promise me you’ll try.”
“You don’t have to do this, Cristiano. I can look after myself.”
He didn’t react nor respond, until he’d settled her onto an armchair and crouched in front of her. Milly was like a fascinated flower girl at an odd wedding. She stood at his elbow, her face a mixture of worry and fascination.
“I know you can,” Cristiano agreed firmly, lifting her ankle into the palm of his hands. “May I?”
She arched a brow at him in surprise. “Don’t you think that’s a little redundant, all things considered?”
He dipped his head forward in a silent concession. He ran his fingers over her foot and ankle, gently prodding, observing her when she winced. His touch was gentle and almost professional seeming, and yet it sent little darts of awareness along the length of her leg and into her soul.
“Well?” She prompted quietly, when he just held her ankle and stared at it.
He lifted his eyes to hers as though she’d woken him from a dream. He blinked to clear the heaviness of his thoughts and nodded. “Nothing’s broken, but you’re going to need to keep it elevated for the next few days. No running around like an escaped elf.”
She pulled a face. “I can’t stay off my feet. It’s just not possible.”
“Sorry, you’ll have to. Pretend. Doctor’s orders.” He strode to the other side of the lounge and lifted a footrest, which he placed a short distance in front of the chair, then gently guided her ankle onto it.
So gently that her heart turned over in her chest.
“Thank you,” she said awkwardly.
Their eyes seemed to be tethered together through an invisible string.
“Dah?” It was Milly’s voice that broke the contact. She was pointing at the tree and Cristiano responded with a grave nod.
“Yes, you’re quite right, Milly. I will have to take over, won’t I?” He crouched down beside Ava, scanning her face until her mouth was dry with anticipation. “You are going to have to delegate.”
“You really don’t have to do this, Cris. It’s just … it’s just a tree.”
“I know.” His smile was lopsided; her pulse was skittering.
To his credit, he took direction far better than either of them had anticipated. And though he got a crash course in how to balance a tree appropriately, he didn’t complain for a moment.
Milly was rubbing her eyes by the time Marie and Jackson came in, and Ava was surprised to see how much time had passed.
“What the heck’s happened to you?” Jackson asked, lifting his wide-brimmed hat from his head.
“A tree decorating accident,” Ava said with a shake of her head.
“Elf down?” Marie joked, and Cristiano laughed.
“That is what I said.” He turned to Ava with an expression of mirth. “You realise you have quite the reputation.”
She shrugged her shoulders and pretended her heart wasn’t pitter pattering in her chest. “Well deserved and much appreciated,” she said, her voice a little uneven.
“You can’t get up,” Marie was saying with her naturally authoritative manner. “And you need someone to make sure you don’t attempt it. Jackson and I’ll take Milly for the night. She loves coming to our place to stay. That way you can make sure you get a good night’s sleep.”
“Oh.” Ava blinked, and felt her face wash with self-consciousness. Had there ever been a more heavy-handed attempt at a set-up? “That’s really not necessary. Cris can help get her in bed and then …”
“Nonsense,” Marie rebuffed firmly. “You’re not going to be able to use the stairs. You’ll need to sleep down here, and you can’t be up and down to Milly, can you? We’ll take her. We’ve had her before. You know how much we love it.”
Ava sent Marie a look that would have frozen a stone, but Marie reflected it with a sugary smile.
“It makes sense, Ava,” Cristiano surprised her by siding with Marie’s suggestion.
“Does it?” She asked with obvious confusion, her gaze dropping to Milly. She tried to think rationally, but all that was clear to her was that she would be alone with Cristiano. And that she wasn’t sure her nerves would cope.
“Good, that’s settled,” Marie said with a nod. “Jack, run up and pack Milly’s stuff while I get something from the kitchen.”
Ava opened her mouth to speak but Marie shook her head. “Aves, our quarters are literally a hundred feet away. You can shout if you need me. And vice versa.”
Ava nodded slowly, but she was overrun with ambivalence.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have long to consider it. Jackson, Marie and a giggling Milly disappeared within minutes, leaving Ava, a very swollen ankle and Cristiano completely alone.
He pushed the front door shut and slid the bolt across it, then turned slowly to face her. The air crackled with tension; as though billions of tiny fireworks were being let off around them. Ava toyed with her fingers in her lap. Her heart was racing and her stomach was in knots.
“Ava –,”
“Cris –,”
She smiled awkwardly. “I was only going to say that there’s an old cane upstairs. If you’d get it for me, I think I’ll be fine to get around on my own.”
Something flared in his eyes and she knew he was trying not to react. Because she knew him. Everything about him. She understood that he was angry; but not why. “Why do you have a cane?” He said with a tight smile, revealing nothing about what his first reaction had been.
Her own smile was natural, despite the tension. “Oh, it’s decorative. If you go and get it, you’ll see. It’s really pretty.”
He arched a brow, and against his better judgement moved towards the stairs.
“On the wall in my bedroom,” she called to his retreating back.
Cristiano’s temperature rose with every step he took. He paused at the door of Ava’s room and braced himself for whatever he might see within the walls. Proof of Angus? Proof of her marriage? A wedding photograph above the bed?
He steeled himself for any discoveries he might make and then pushed the door inwards.
Her room was … lovely. He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. It was modern, stylish and tasteful. Very Ava. There was no sign of any man; only Ava. And Milly. A large black and white photograph of the two of them was hanging on the wall beside the bed. Their faces up so close, their smiles matching. He stood in front of it with an odd tingling sensation running the length of his spine.
This was his family.
These two creatures, both beautiful and fascinating in their own ways.
He stared at the picture for a long moment.
“Cristiano?” Ava’s voice was impatient. His lips twitched with an involuntary smile. If he didn’t hurry, she’d undoubtedly drag her way up the stairs to see what was taking so long.
He spun away from the picture and scanned the walls. The cane was hanging near the door. It was a simple stick, nicely carved, with pale gold detail around the handle. He frowned as he unhooked it, and carried it down the stairs. “Got it,” he said as he entered the room and his body lurched at the sight of her, so elegant but in obvious discomfort.
“Here you are,” he held the cane out in a silent challenge. Damn her stubborn streak to hell. Her independence was a force he’d never fully appreciated.
“Thank you.” She used her hands to lever her leg off the stool and gingerly placed it on the ground. She winced as it touched the floor but she made an effort to conceal the reaction from him. She curled her fingers around the cane and put most of her weight on her good leg as she pushed to standing.
The pain was excruciating. Sharp arrows of intense soreness spasmed up her leg. She swore softly. Before she could collapse back onto the sofa, or worse, the floor, Cristiano’s strong arms lifted her to his chest so that he was cradling her close to him.
“Damn it, Ava,” he said, staring down at her with obvious frustration. “Why are you so determined not to need anyone?”
His words, his actions, his nearness, struck her dumb.
He strode through the downstairs reception area into the guest bedroom and shouldered the door open. Memories were everywhere, cluttering the very air he walked through.
This room; the pleasure and pain. He eased her to the bed with a gentleness that turned her heart over, propping pillows behind her head and beneath her sore ankle.
“Stay here,” he said warningly as he cut across the room.
“Not sure I’m capable of anything else,” she admitted with a frustrated grimace.
“Good.” His eyes pinned her to the bed. “You are my prisoner.”
His words ignited the flames that were embers in her belly. The flames she’d believed would never flare again, in the face of his disapproval and sense of betrayal.
He left the room, but only for a few moments. When he returned, it was with a tray of sandwiches and some fruit mince pies. A steaming cup of tea was perched precariously on the edge of the tray and she reached for it before it could slide off and scald him.
“Thank you,” she said sincerely, grasping it in both hands.
“This is hardly gourmet fare, but I hope it will tide you over until breakfast.”
“It’s perfect,” she assured him. “I’m really not very hungry anyway.”
He nestled the tray onto the mattress and then surprised her by taking up the vacant side of the bed. He crossed his ankles and stared straight ahead. Non-threatening body language, yet she still felt like she was about to burst.
“I’ve learned to cook in the last three years.”
The statement appeared to come out of nowhere. She turned to face him, curious despite herself. “You have?”
“Yes. I spent four months in the south of France at a small but very old vineyard. The owner was an old woman. She did all the meals. I enjoyed talking to her about the history of the grapes. All manner of things.” He smiled as he thought of Martine and her dimly lit kitchen. “She talked, she cooked, and I watched. Eventually she trusted me enough to chop some things. Eventually to stir.”