Page 51 of Italian Baby Shock

‘What did I say about lying to yourself?’ Aristophanes said. ‘You think I didn’t see the way you looked at her at Maya’s birthday party? Your heart was in your eyes every time. You’re in love her, you fool. And I think you’re telling yourself any lie you can get your hands on so you don’t have to admit it.’

‘No,’ Cesare said hoarsely, even as the truth settled down inside him and wrapped around his heart, filling him with an icy terror. ‘No, that’s not true.’

‘It is,’ Aristophanes said, relentless. ‘You’re in love with her and you’re afraid. And I know why.’ He paused. ‘You’re not like your parents, Cesare. You do know that, don’t you?’

‘Do I?’ His voice sounded strange. ‘I am angry for what they did to me. I thought I was past that, but I’m not. And I can’t trust myself around Lark or Maya when I’m angry because—’

‘Because what? You think you’ll harm her? Harm Maya?’

He stayed silent, frozen all the way through, the terror of that thought robbing him of speech.

‘No,’ Aristophanes went on calmly. ‘You wouldn’t. You’re not that kind of man and you never have been.’

‘You don’t know that.’ His voice had gone hoarse.

‘I do,’ his friend said. ‘And if you won’t take my word for it, take Lark’s. She’s a smart woman and she’s in love with you, and I don’t think that would have happened if you’d been anything like your parents.’

Cesare took a breath, and then another, fighting his fear.

He’d always told himself he was a selfish man, but part of him had always known that was a defence. A defence against caring. Yet all the lies in the world hadn’t stopped him from caring for Maya. And he knew, in a sudden flash of insight, that they hadn’t stopped him caring about Lark either.

He’d told himself that making Lark and Maya happy was for his legacy, but that was a lie too.

He was making them happy because he loved them. He loved his daughter, and he loved his wife. He loved them so much it hurt. And he was terrified of it. Terrified that he was just like his parents...that love would turn him into someone he wasn’t. Someone toxic and violent, who would hurt those he cared out.

There was a silence down the other end of the phone.

‘What if you’re wrong?’ he said hoarsely. ‘What if I really am just like my father? Or my mother?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Aristophanes said briskly, because he’d always been uncomfortable with emotion. ‘You haven’t killed anyone yet that I know of.’

‘Ari, don’t—’

‘Cesare, stop. Your parents ruined your childhood, it’s true. But you don’t have to let them ruin your future. You have a beautiful daughter and a lovely wife. Be a shame to throw all that away because you’re not brave enough to man up.’

Cesare shut his eyes.

His friend was right. He was giving in to his fear, letting them ruin his life the way they’d always done.

His beautiful, courageous wife had set him an example. She’d had a child on her own, had loved her and cared for her despite her own doubts. She’d created a wonderful childhood for her—she hadn’t let her own run her life—and then she’d moved with him to Italy, sacrificing the life she’d made in England for Maya and for him.

She’d shown him what love was. That it didn’t have to be toxic or destructive, or full of rage and pain. She and Maya had shown him that love was happiness. Was laughter and joy and wonder and awe. It allowed for anger and hurt, gave space for those emotions, yet didn’t allow them to linger or fester. Love allowed for honesty. Love allowed for fear.

How could they give him all of that and he give them nothing in return?

His love for Maya had been instant and irrevocaable and he’d had no control over it. But Lark had been different. She’d slipped under his guards and wrapped herself around his heart and now he couldn’t get rid of her. She was there for life.

And he didn’t want to get rid of her. He wanted her to stay there for ever. Doing anything else wouldreallymake him like his parents.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered to his friend. ‘I have to go.’

‘I thought you might,’ Aristophanes said.

And laughed.

Lark was sitting in the salon, her books on the table in front of her, trying to study when Cesare suddenly burst through the door.

His hair was standing on end, his shirt half undone. He had no jacket and no tie, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept for a week.

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