Hired: The Italian's Convenient Mistress

‘She thought she was coming home.’

‘He has an ear infection.’ Elijah watched as she easily measured out the antibiotics. ‘The doctor said that was why he was miserable and so naughty, but—as I explained to him—from what my sister tells me, and what I have seen of him, he is always trouble!’

‘He’s got croup too,’ Ainslie said, as Guido suitably barked. ‘Poor little thing. The medicine should help his pain, though, and the antibiotics will hopefully kick in soon.’

‘Hopefully.’ Elijah sighed. ‘For now I will make him some food, then he can go to bed.’ He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and looked at it for a moment, then headed to where Guido was sitting on the couch, his eyes half closed, half watching the cartoon that Elijah had put on for him.

There were people who had no idea about children, and people who had no idea about children, and Ainslie watched as he peeled a rather overripe banana and handed it to the little boy, who just blinked back at him, bemused.

‘Maria said he liked bananas.’

‘He’s not a monkey…’ Ainslie’s grin faded. ‘Let me,’ she said instead, and headed to the kitchen. She found some bread in the freezer and gave it a spin in the microwave, then took off the crusts and put some mashed banana in. She arranged it on a plastic plate and offered it to Guido, who this time accepted it.

Later—when he was falling asleep with exhaustion—Elijah carried his nephew upstairs and Ainslie followed, tucking the little boy, unresisting, into bed.

‘He has a night light.’ Elijah was looking at his bit of paper again. ‘He wakes up, but all he wants is his blanket put back on.’

Watching his strong hands tuck the blanket around the little boy’s shoulders, Ainslie could feel her nose running, and had to turn her head quickly away as he straightened up. She headed down the stairs and into the lounge, sniffing away tears as a short time later he came back in, holding two mugs of coffee.

‘Thank you.’ He handed one to her and sat down, took a sip of his drink and held it in his mouth before talking again. ‘I am not a stupid person…’

‘I know.’ Ainslie gulped. ‘I’m sorry about what I said about the banana thing…’ She managed a little smile, and he did the same.

‘I have nothing, nothing to do with children. Nothing!’ he added again, in case she hadn’t heard it the first or second time. ‘And my sister said that she wanted me to have him. That she wanted me to be the one who raises him.’

‘What happened?’

For the first time it seemed right to ask—right that she should know a little bit more.

‘There was a car accident—it ran off the road and caught fire on impact.’ He gave a hopeless shrug. ‘I was at work when the hospital called—in the middle of a meeting. Normally I would not be disturbed, but my PA called me out, said this was a call I needed to take. I knew it would be bad. I had no idea how bad, though—a doctor told me that Rico, Guido’s father, was already dead, and that my sister was asking for me. I came straight away. Guido had been at a crèche and they’d brought him to the hospital.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘She knew she was dying—she had terrible burns—but she was able to talk. She waited for me to get there so she could tell me what she wanted, so she could tell me herself the things Guido likes…’

‘That was the list you were reading?’

He nodded, but it was a hopeless one. ‘I love my sister, I love my nephew, but I have no idea how they really lived. I saw them often, but I have no clue with day-today things, I’ve never even thought of having children…’

‘Is there anyone else?’ Ainslie blinked, glimpsing how impossible it must be for him—for his whole life to be turned around, to be so suddenly plunged into grief and told you were to be a father.

‘There was just my sister—our parents are dead.’

‘But her husband’s family…’ It was never going to be the easiest conversation to have—sitting with a stranger who was engulfed by grief and exhaustion—it was always going to be difficult. But, watching his face harden, hearing his sharp intake of breath, even if she didn’t know him at all, Ainslie knew she had said the wrong thing.

‘Never!’ The venom behind the single world had Ainslie reeling.

‘Soon they will be here. Already they are making noises about taking care of Guido, and noises are all I will let them be. They are not interested in him.’

‘But they say they want him?’ Ainslie frowned, her mouth opening to speak again, and then she got it. As he flicked his hand at their impressive surroundings, she answered in her head the question she hadn’t even asked yet.

Elijah answered it with words. ‘They want this. And the insurance pay-out—and the property Maria and Rico had in Italy…’ He glanced over to her. ‘And in case you are wondering—I do not need it…’ He drained his mug. ‘Neither do I need a toddler. Especially one who spits!’ In the pit of his grief he managed to smile at the memory, and then it faded; his voice was pensive when next it came. ‘I hope Rico knew that I did actually like him.’

She didn’t understand, but it wasn’t right to ask—wasn’t right to demand more information from a man who had lost so much, a man who had just been plunged into hell.

‘You should try and sleep,’ Ainslie offered instead.

‘Why?’ He stared back at her. ‘Somehow I do not believe that things will be better in the morning.’

‘They might…’ Ainslie attempted, but it was pretty futile.

‘Thank you…’ He said it again, only it was more determined now. He was back in control and, ready to face the challenge of what lay ahead, he stood up. ‘Thank you for explaining about the medicine and for helping me to get him to sleep. I will be fine now. Can I get you a taxi…?’

‘Actually…’ Ainslie ran a worried hand through her hair. She had been so consumed with his problems that for a little while she’d actually forgotten her own.

‘Do you know a number?’

‘Sorry?’

He was picking up the phone. ‘For the taxi—do you know a number?’

‘I can walk.’ Ainslie’s voice was a croak, but she cleared her throat. Surely a youth hostel would still be open? Surely?

‘You’re not walking!’ Elijah shook his head. ‘I will take…’ He must have remembered at that point the sleeping toddler upstairs, because his voice trailed off. ‘I insist you take a taxi.’ Which was easier said than done. First he had to find a telephone directory, and then, as Ainslie stood there, he punched in the numbers and looked over. ‘To where?’

‘The youth hostel.’

‘Youth hostel?’ He frowned at her skirt and boots, at her twenty-eight-year-old face and glanced at his watch. In those two small gestures he compounded every one of her fears—she wasn’t a backpacker, and nine p.m. on a dark December night was too late to start acting like one. ‘How long have you been staying there?’

‘I haven’t.’ Ainslie gave a tight shrug. ‘I was on my way there when we met. I’m actually from Australia…’

‘I have just come from Italy—first class,’ he added, ‘and I looked more dishevelled than you when I got off the plane.’

Somehow she doubted it, but she understood the point he was making.

‘Well, I’ve been here for three months. I have a job—had a job…’

‘Working with children?’

‘That’s right.’

‘But not now?’ She shook her head, loath to elaborate, but thankfully he sensed her unwillingness and didn’t push.

‘Stay.’ It was an offer, not a plea. The phone rested on his shoulder as he affirmed his offer. ‘Stay for tonight—as you say, tomorrow things may seem better.’

Ainslie opened her mouth to tell him why she couldn’t possibly—only nothing came out.

Even if a hostel was open, even if she could get in one, the thought of registering, the thought of starting again, of greeting strangers, lying in a bed in a room for six, held utterly no appeal.

‘Stay!’ Elijah said more firmly. ‘Guido is sick—it makes sense.’

It made no sense.

Not a single scrap of sense.

But somehow it did.

CHAPTER THREE

THOUGH he never voiced it, Ainslie knew and could understand that he didn’t want to be alone. Jangling with nerves after the day’s events, while simultaneously drooping with exhaustion, she sat on the sofa, tucked her legs under her and stifled a yawn as Elijah located two glasses and poured them both a vast brandy. Even though she didn’t particularly like the taste, she accepted it, screwing up her nose as she took a sip, the warmth spreading down her throat to her stomach. She knew there and then why it was called medicinal—for the first time since she’d caught Gemma in between the sheets the adrenaline that had propelled her dimmed slightly, and she actually relaxed a touch—till he asked her a question.

‘You said you worked with children?’

‘I’m a kindergarten teacher—well, I am in Australia. Here I’ve been working as a live-in nanny.’

‘Why?’ Elijah frowned.

‘Why not?’ Ainslie retorted—though he was hardly the first to ask. Why would she give up a perfectly nice job, walk out on her perfectly nice boyfriend, and travel to the other side of the world to be paid peanuts to live in someone else’s home and look after their kids?

‘What were you running away from?’

‘I wasn’t running…’ Ainslie bristled, and then, because he had been honest, somehow she could be more honest with this stranger than she had been with her own family. ‘I suppose I was running away—only I didn’t know from what at the time. I had a nice job, a lovely boyfriend, nice everything, really…’

‘But?’

‘Something wasn’t right.’ Ainslie gave a tight shrug. ‘It was nothing I could put my finger on, but it turns out my instincts were right.’

‘In what way?’

Shrewd eyes narrowed on her as she stiffened, and Elijah didn’t push as, with a shake of her head, Ainslie stared into her glass and declined to elaborate. ‘Everyone said I was crazy, that I’d regret it, but coming to London was the best thing I’ve ever done—I’ve loved every minute.’

‘So why were you standing on the platform crying?’ Elijah asked, and her eyes flew back to his. She was surprised he’d even noticed. ‘And why are you checking into a youth hostel so late in the evening?’

‘Things didn’t work out with my boss…’ Ainslie attempted casual, but those astute eyes were still watching her carefully. ‘I’ll find something else.’

‘You already have,’ Elijah answered easily. ‘I don’t know how long it will be for, but I’m certainly going to be here till after Christmas…’

‘You don’t know me…’ Ainslie frowned.

‘I won’t know the girl the agency sends tomorrow either!’ he pointed out. ‘The offer’s there if you want it.’

‘Won’t his father’s family want to help out?’ She could see him bristle—see him tense, just as he had before when they were mentioned.

He was about to tell her it was none of her business—about to snap some smart response—but those green eyes that beckoned him weren’t judging, and there was no trace of nosiness in her voice. Elijah realised he didn’t want to push her away, didn’t want to be alone. For the first time in his life he actually needed to talk.

‘Our families have never got on. When Maria started going out with Rico I didn’t talk to my sister for two years.’

‘Were you close before that?’

‘We were all the other had. I was five when my mother died; Maria was only one. Our father turned to drink, and he died when I was twelve.’

He’d never told anyone this—could scarcely believe the words were coming out of his own mouth. Her jade-green eyes hardly ever left his. Every now and then she looked away, swirling her brandy in her glass as he spoke, but her gaze always returned to him. Her damp blonde hair was drying now, coiling into curls on her shoulders, and for the first time he walked through the murky depths of his past in the hope that it would guide him to the right future, that the decisions that must surely be made now would be the right ones for Guido.

‘We brought ourselves up,’ Elijah explained. ‘Did things that today I am not proud of. But at the time…’ He gave a regretful shrug. ‘There was a family in our village—the Castellas. They were as rough as us, and after the same thing—money to survive. You could say we were rivals, I guess. One day Rico’s older brother Marco came on to Maria.’ His eyes flinched at the memory. ‘She was still a child—thirteen—and she was an innocent child too. I had always been the one who did the cheating and stealing while Maria went to school; she was a good girl. Maria always hated Marco for what he did to her; she would not want him near Guido.’

‘So this isn’t about revenge?’

‘I had my revenge the day it happened,’ Elijah said darkly. ‘I beat him to a pulp.’

‘So the hatred just grew?’ Ainslie asked, but Elijah didn’t answer directly.

‘When I was seventeen I was outside a café, watching some rich tourists. It was a couple, and I was waiting till it was darker, till they’d had a few more drinks and wouldn’t be paying close attention to their wallets. They spoke to the waiter. Their Italian was quite good—they were looking to retire, wanted a property with a view…’ He smiled at the memory. ‘There was no estate agent in our small village in Sicily then—it wasn’t a tourist spot. I knew, I just knew, that I didn’t want to be stealing and cheating to get by any more. Finally I knew what I could do to get out of it.’

She didn’t comment further, didn’t frown at the fact that he’d stolen, didn’t wince at his past, and that gave him the strength to continue.

‘I sold them my late grandfather’s home—to me and to my friends it was a shack, just a deserted place we hung out in. It had been passed to us, Maria and me, but till then it had been worth nothing. But we cleaned it painted and polished it, and Maria picked flowers for the inside. I could see what they wanted, and knew that this villa was it.’

‘You sold it to them?’

‘They dealt with the lawyers, they had the papers drawn up.’ Elijah nodded. ‘Then, after that, I sold our own home. With every bit of money I made I bought more properties, then I moved out of our village and on to bigger things—and the Castellas were still there, thieving on the beach. With every success that came our way they hated us more—just as we hated them.’

‘You’re a real estate agent?’ Ainslie checked, wondering why that made him smile.

‘I’m a property developer. I buy homes like this one—beautiful homes the world over—and I retain the exterior, gut the interior, and turn them into flats.’

‘Ouch!’ Ainslie winced, staring around at this vast lounge, the size of a ballroom, at the ornate cornices and the marble mantelpiece over the dreamy fireplace, loath to think of it being destroyed.

‘Of course we try to retain as many original features as possible!’ He gave an ironic smile.

‘Philistine.’

‘Perhaps!’ Elijah conceded. ‘Maria, too, fell in love with this place.’

‘And she fell in love with Rico too?’

After the longest time he nodded, that single gesture telling her he would reveal more.

‘Not till years later. I was furious—so too was his family. None of us went to the wedding…’ He closed his eyes in regret. ‘She still worked for me, supported her husband. I kept pointing out that he wasn’t working, but slowly I started to see that they were for real. They had to be real. Because in spite of what had happened—with all that his brother had done—still she loved Rico. So we started speaking again, and then I realised how hard things were for them. Rico’s family blamed Maria for what had happened to them, for the slur to Marco’s name. They said that she had asked for it, that it had been her coming on to him…’

‘She was thirteen!’

‘Easier for them to blame her than change him. Rico is a mechanic, and his family ran the car repair place in the village, so he couldn’t work. I knew they couldn’t stay in the village—there was too much bad blood, too many slurs for them to ever make a real go of it. I suggested they move in here for a while—Maria spoke some English. I had purchased the place furnished, and I said she could oversee the plans, help with the architects and inspections till it was ready to get off the ground. It never did.’ He smiled as he said it. ‘The renovations started—only not the ones I had intended—Rico found work straight away, and they settled right in. I would often come to visit…’

‘You were living in London?’

‘No, I am mainly in Italy. But I am here once or twice a month, and every time I came here I noticed it had become more and more their home—a few new cushions for the couches, a rug here and there. And then when she got pregnant Maria started talking about a mural in the nursery. I gave in when Guido was born. I knew that they loved each other completely, and as a belated wedding gift I decided to sign the place over to them.’

‘Some wedding gift!’

‘Oh, it was to be their Christmas present too!’

Ainslie smiled at the faint joke. She knew nothing about property prices, save that London was fiercely expensive. She’d thought Gemma and Angus lived in luxury, but this house, right in the heart of London, was just stunning. Under any other circumstances she’d have paid to enter and be gazing at this lounge from behind a red rope! Ainslie gulped, staring over at the man sitting beside her on the couch. And under any other circumstances she’d be gazing at him on the silver screen, or in a glossy magazine.

Effortlessly 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.