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  ‘If I must,’ she answered, immediately feeling horrible for her churlish response. The horrible feeling lasted less than a second for Rachel visibly brightened.

  ‘You can stay for a coffee,’ Orla added, then immediately panicked as she thought of the jar of instant that had moved to Dublin with her from Kerry and had to be at least a year old.

  ‘This is a nice house,’ Tonino commented when he walked into the spacious entrance room. Set in a pretty, quiet, tree-lined street, Orla’s home was airy and open-plan, cluttered with toys and books but nonetheless clean. It had a homely feeling he warmed to immediately.

  ‘Thank you,’ she muttered.

  Crouching down to Finn’s level, he touched the tiny hand lightly. ‘How would you like to show me your room?’

  Finn immediately looked to his mother for guidance. She gave a short but reassuring nod. ‘You’ll have to carry him—he can’t do stairs, I’m afraid. His room’s the first on the left.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ the nurse offered.

  ‘I’m sure Finn and I can manage,’ he rebuffed pleasantly. His curiosity about the specifics of his son’s condition had driven him to ask the nurse in detail about it, which he felt certain had annoyed Orla and contributed to the foul mood she’d fallen into on the flight over. For his part, Tonino felt liberated. Leaving Sicily with his child and future wife—he had no doubt that Orla would come round to his way of thinking on marriage—had lifted his spirits immeasurably.

  Tonino unstrapped his son and gently lifted him into his arms. He didn’t think he had ever held anything so precious and fragile and his heart bloomed to feel the tiny beating heart pressed against his chest. It bloomed even more when a skinny arm hooked around his neck.

  Dark brown eyes that were a replica of his own stared at him solemnly. Tonino stared back, suddenly finding himself dumbstruck at the powerful emotions crashing through him.

  Before he took the first stair, he looked at Orla and felt another crash of emotion punch through him.

  Taking a deep breath, he carried his son upstairs and entered his bedroom.

  It took a few moments before he could take another breath. Finn’s bedroom was everything a child’s room should be, with its dinosaur curtains, walls covered in dinosaur stickers and ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. A vast array of stuffed toys was crammed on shelves and in boxes, along with boxes of puzzles and games, boxes of building blocks, books...

  But there was no escaping the bed with its bars, there to prevent Finn from rolling out, and no escaping the unobtrusive but recognisable cameras there to monitor him while he slept and no escaping the medical equipment Tonino would have to become familiar with.

  There was no escaping that this was a room for a child with disabilities. His child. And, as Tonino took stock of it all, he made a vow to himself that he would do everything in his power to make his son’s life as comfortable and as happy as he could.

  * * *

  For the second time in a day Orla had no idea how she’d come to allow Tonino to steamroller her into something, this time finishing the day together eating a Chinese takeaway. Indeed, at one point she’d thought she’d got rid of him—he’d taken one sip of his coffee, wrinkled his nose and then excused himself, saying he would be back. When he hadn’t returned an hour later, she’d thought he’d checked into wherever he was staying and decided to stay put.

  He’d returned while she was clearing up the mess made while feeding Finn his dinner, carrying a large box, which was revealed to be a coffee machine.

  ‘Where did you get that from?’ she’d asked in astonishment. ‘It’s Sunday. All the shops are closed.’

  He’d had the audacity to wink at her before disappearing again, returning an hour later with the takeaway and a bottle of wine. ‘I thought you must be hungry too,’ he’d explained while making himself at home turning the oven on. ‘I saw you only cooked for Finn.’

  ‘I’ve not had a chance to go shopping,’ she’d replied defensively while turning off the grill and switching the actual oven on.

  A memory of the two of them sharing a Chinese takeaway in his Palermo apartment had hit her. For some unfathomable reason, tears had blurred her vision.

  While their food had kept warm in the oven, he’d helped her give Finn a bath and put him to bed. Having him there in the close confinement of the bathroom then the confinement of Finn’s bedroom had put her on edge. As hard as she’d tried only to concentrate on her son, she was acutely aware of every movement Tonino made.

  It was only the shock of being in his orbit again and the shock of how close they’d come to kissing making her feel so edgy around him. That would lessen as she became accustomed to his presence in their lives. Sooner or later the tightness in her chest would lessen too and her heartbeat would find its natural rhythm when with him, rather than the erratic tempo it adopted every time she caught his eye or captured a whiff of his spicy cologne. He’d clearly meant what he’d said early that morning about them starting over. He’d spoken to her with only courtesy since. If he still felt anger towards her, he hid it well.

  And now they were sitting at her dining table, Tonino clearly so ravenous he didn’t care that their food had lost much of its moisture, comfortably drinking his way through the wine while she stuck to water. Orla ate as much as she could manage but it was hard to swallow when her insides were so cramped, hard to work her fork from her hand to her mouth while fighting her gaze from staring at the hunk of a man devouring his food opposite her.

  It was the first time they’d been alone since Finn had returned from his walk nearly thirteen hours ago. Since they’d nearly kissed. Without Finn or his nurse’s physical presence to distract her, Orla found her awareness of Tonino becoming more than a distraction, throwing her back four years when she’d spent ten days with her entire being consumed by this one man.

  ‘Do you feel better now?’ he asked after he’d demolished the leftovers.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Only that if looks could kill, the looks you were giving me on the plane over would have struck me dead.’

  She had the grace to blush. Not looking at him, she muttered, ‘I just wanted to get home.’

  He nodded musingly. ‘Of course. You were missing your home.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Have you lived here long?’

  ‘Four months.’ Orla, mortified that he’d picked up on her earlier bad mood, mustered something she hoped resembled a smile.

  ‘Dante bought it for you?’

  ‘Aislin bought it.’ She wasn’t about to explain that the money to purchase it had come via Dante paying her sister a million euros to pretend to be his fiancée for a weekend. Of course, Aislin and Dante had fallen in love over that weekend for real, but the lead-up to their falling in love was a private matter between the two of them. Having been the subject of gossip for the entirety of her life, it was not something Orla ever indulged in. ‘Dante paid for it to be made Finn-friendly.’

  She finished her water and tried not to stare longingly at the remaining wine in the bottle. Alcohol, she was sure, would help her relax. Or, as was more likely, send her to sleep.

  Relaxing in Tonino’s company was something that was going to take time. A lot of time.

  Now that most of the memories of their time together had returned, she found herself replaying it. Much of it felt as vivid as if it had happened only days ago. She’d been relaxed with him then. She’d found an ease in his company she had never felt with anyone other than Aislin before. It had been as if a stranger she’d known for ever had walked into her life. A stranger who’d made her bones melt with nothing but a look.

  It horrified her to find her bones still melted for him. Every time he reached for his glass and his muscles flexed beneath his shirt the baser part of her melted too. Every time she caught his eye he
r erratically thrumming heart would jolt. Her lips still tingled for the kiss that had never come.

  ‘You and Dante have only got to know each other recently, is that correct?’ he asked.

  Lord help her but his voice melted her too.

  She nodded. ‘I always knew about him, but he knew nothing of me. He had no idea he had a sister.’

  ‘Why didn’t you find him four years ago?’

  ‘I couldn’t go up to a stranger and say, Hello, I’m your long-lost sister, could I? It wouldn’t have been fair.’

  He pulled a rueful face. ‘I suppose. So, tell me, was your real reason for being in Sicily to find your father?’

  She gave another nod.

  ‘You’d never met him before?’

  ‘I wasn’t allowed.’

  ‘Why not?’

  She shrugged. ‘I was his dirty little secret.’

  He winced at her descriptor. ‘What changed? What spurred you into seeking him?’

  ‘I became an adult.’ She smiled wryly. ‘For the first time ever, I had a couple of weeks ahead of me with nothing to do. I woke up one morning and thought to myself that it’s now or never.’

  ‘Did you meet him?’

  ‘No. He was abroad when I visited on my first day there. I tried again when you went to Tuscany but I don’t remember what happened.’

  ‘So you might have met him?’

  She shook her head. ‘Aislin always told me I didn’t.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I know it in my heart too. Every time I’ve thought of him since I’ve wanted to cry.’

  Tonino stared at the downcast face with the lips pulled tightly together and his heart twisted. ‘Why didn’t you share this with me at the time? I could have helped you. My father and your father were old friends.’

  ‘How was I supposed to know that? You never told me who you really were.’ Her rebuke, although politely delivered, hit the mark.

  ‘We were lovers, Orla. You should have told me your real reason for being in my country.’

  His mention of them having been lovers sent colour careering over her neck and cheeks. ‘Yes, well, you should have told me you actually owned the hotel rather than just managing it but there you are.’

  ‘There we are.’ He winced and mock saluted his agreement, admiring her quick, tart retort. The Orla sitting in front of him had a much sharper tongue than the Orla he remembered. ‘Two people who kept things close to their chests while still getting naked together.’

  ‘Don’t go there,’ she warned. The colour now flamed so brightly he could warm his hands on her face.

  ‘If we hadn’t gone there we would never have created Finn together.’ He downed the last of his wine and grinned.

  She smiled sweetly, then, in a perfectly pitched saccharine voice, said, ‘And on that happy note, it’s time for you to leave.’

  ‘Are you kicking me out?’

  ‘There’s no food left and it’s late.’

  ‘Are you not worried I won’t have anywhere to stay?’

  ‘No. And you’re not staying here, if that’s what you’re trying to wrangle.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. But, please, let your mind rest easy—I have a place to stay.’

  ‘Good. Best you get going to it.’

  ‘Without an after-dinner coffee?’

  ‘Caffeine is the last thing I need.’

  ‘In that case I shall return early in the morning for it.’

  ‘If you turn up as early as you did this morning, the only thing you’ll get is a long wait on the doorstep.’

  He got to his feet and gave another mock salute. ‘Until the morning.’

  ‘Are you still here?’

  Grinning, Tonino let himself out. He’d reached his car when he heard the front door lock behind him.

  * * *

  ‘You are possibly the most infuriating man in the world,’ Orla snapped when she opened the front door the next morning.

  Tonino looked at his watch and gave an expression of such innocence that she had to bite her cheeks not to laugh out loud. ‘You told me not to come as early as I did yesterday.’

  ‘So you come half an hour later? Seriously? It’s seven o’clock.’

  ‘And you’re up and dressed and looking beautiful.’ She looked as fresh and as beautiful as the clear blue skies covering Dublin that morning. Dressed in a knee-length leaf-green jersey dress, her hair loose around her shoulders, her pretty green eyes enhanced with a touch of mascara, a brush of colour over the high cheekbones. Fresh, beautiful and damned irresistible.

  One day soon, he vowed, Orla would open a door to him with a smile and greet him with a kiss rather than a scolding.

  Late into the night he’d lain in his bed thinking back over their time together. The more he’d remembered, the more he’d come to understand why the few affairs he’d had since she’d disappeared had fizzled out with barely a whimper. Their affair had hung over him. It had shadowed him doggedly. Seducing Orla into marrying him would allow him to put the shadows to bed in more ways than one. He would have her in his bed and his child permanently in his life. The fact he would never be able to trust her was irrelevant. He didn’t need to trust her. He just needed to marry her, the final step that would prevent her ever disappearing from his life with his son again.

  Finn was in his high chair at the dining table. He greeted Tonino with a smile and a wave.

  ‘I was just feeding Finn his breakfast. Why don’t you make yourself a coffee while we finish up?’ Orla strove to keep her tone polite but she could have cheerfully strangled Tonino. She wished she could say it was some sixth sense that he would turn up stupidly early again that had had her awake before Finn but it hadn’t been. It had been the dream of them, in bed together, that she’d wrenched herself out of that had accomplished that feat. She’d sat straight upright, heart pounding, burning and throbbing on the inside, not knowing if the dream had been a replay of something real or just her subconscious imagination, and dived straight into the shower to wash the burning feeling away.

  She’d cleaned her skin, but her insides...

  Mush. Her insides had been a hot, sticky mush the water couldn’t touch. They were still mush.

  Her hands were shaking. She could barely hold the spoon to feed Finn.

  ‘Coffee?’ Tonino’s deep voice reverberated in her ear.

  ‘No. Thank you. Did you want something to eat?’ She ground her toes into the floor in a futile effort to stop her right knee shaking too. ‘There’s bread and cereal in the cupboard.’

  Dark brown eyes met hers. ‘I had something before I left the hotel.’

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘At Bally House.’

  ‘The hotel?’

  ‘Sì.’

  ‘You lucky thing.’

  ‘You have been there?’

  ‘I wish,’ she said reverently. Bally House Hotel was once a medieval village with its own church and flour mill. A huge renovation undertaken a few years ago had transformed it into Ireland’s premier hotel, the destination of choice for A-list stars to marry in. ‘I tried to talk Aislin into getting married there but she wasn’t having any of it—she was set on marrying in Sicily.’

  ‘We can marry there.’

  ‘We’re not getting married.’

  ‘I am confident that one day soon you will come around to my way of thinking, dolcezza.’

  ‘And I am confident that you are full of misplaced ego. I will not marry you, end of subject.’

  Mercifully, the nurse descended the stairs, cutting the conversation short.

  Less mercifully, the look in Tonino’s eyes told her this was a subject he had no intention of dropping.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘ARE YOU OKAY?’

  Ever since they’d left the government offices where they’d official
ly added Tonino’s name as father on Finn’s birth certificate, Orla had lapsed into silence. Her head was turned from him, her body pressed against the door as if she were preparing to make an escape the moment the car came to a stop.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Her tone suggested she was far from fine.

  ‘You do know this is for the best?’

  She twisted her head to meet his stare and sighed. ‘Yes. I do know that. Whether you believe me or not, I always intended to tell you about Finn. Always.’

  Tonino looked at his son—now his legal son—fast asleep in his car seat.

  He wanted to believe her. For their son’s sake. But he couldn’t escape the one verifiable fact that she’d made the deliberate choice to keep him in the dark about the pregnancy before the accident. Blaming Sophia’s deliberate sabotage was too easy—and he did believe that Sophia had confronted her; it was exactly the kind of thing the poisonous bitch would do—Orla should have told him about the pregnancy whether she believed he was engaged or not. Instead she had chosen to swallow Sophia’s lies and deprive him of the wonder of experiencing the pregnancy with her, which in turn had led to depriving him of over the first three years of his son’s life. Tonino, as his parents would testify, had never been one for forgiving or forgetting.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ she said after a long period of time had passed when he’d left her assertion unacknowledged.

  He loosened his tense shoulders and inclined his head. ‘Anything.’

  ‘Last night you said our fathers were old friends. Did you know Salvatore well?’

  ‘Well enough. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I know so little about him. I don’t like to ask Dante because I can see it makes him uncomfortable. I think he feels guilty that they had such a great relationship while I was this dirty little secret.’

  He could understand why she felt like that. No one had known of Salvatore Moncada’s secret love child, not even Tonino’s own father, who had been Salvatore’s closest friend.

  He wondered how his father would react when he learned Salvatore’s illegitimate daughter was the mother of his grandchild. Probably with open arms. His mother too. There hadn’t been a single conversation between Tonino and his parents in recent years where the subject of him settling down and having babies hadn’t come up, the implication being he needed to find a suitable replacement for the fiancée he’d so callously thrown away. In his parents’ eyes, Sophia had been perfect. Beautiful and rich and from a good Sicilian family. Their engagement had been celebrated in the same way the British celebrated a royal engagement. Their fury at him ending it had been off the charts. They’d taken it personally. They’d accused him of disrespecting the family name and destroying the decades-long friendship with the Messinas. There had been threats. At one point he’d thought his mother was going to slap his face.