Page 55 of The Housekeeper and the Brooding Billionaire

Eventually she nodded, and he led her to a window seat at the end of the corridor looking out over the lake. He waited till she was seated beside him, ankles crossed primly and hands clasped in her lap, but he read the tension in her narrow shoulders. He wanted to hug her to him for his own sake as well as hers, but he didn’t have the right after the way he’d ripped up at her.

Alessio scraped his hand around the back of his neck, trying to ease rigid muscles. ‘You’re right. It was hard, being in the nursery. I haven’t gone through that door in three years. I should be thanking you for noticing and caring, not attacking you.’ He met her dark blue gaze and let the truth out. ‘I’ve got in the habit of pushing people away, especially sympathetic ones.’ He shrugged. ‘In the past most of them had an agenda, to get the gory details of my marriage to share with others or to insinuate themselves into my life for their own ends.’

It was amazing how blatant some women had been, offering physical intimacy supposedly to ease his wounded heart. But he’d read the avaricious glitter in their eyes.

‘You don’t think I...?’

‘No!’ He covered her hands with one of his and felt something inside him ease when she didn’t pull away. ‘Not for a second. That’s why my reaction was unfair. I knew you saw my pain, and that made me feel...vulnerable.’ His mouth curled in a tight smile. ‘I’ve spent years telling myself I don’t do vulnerable.’

‘So you attacked instead.’ Her voice was unreadable.

‘I’m appalled, because I know you genuinely care. You’ve got no hidden agenda, and I know how rare that is.’ Maybe that’s why this affair felt different to anything he’d experienced. ‘Obviously you’ve guessed some of what happened.’

Her fingers twitched beneath his, but she didn’t pull away, and he felt himself relax a little. Charlotte was, he realised, the first person he’d reached for, emotionally or physically, in a long, long time.

‘You and your wife hoped to have a child.’

‘Antonia, my wife was Antonia.’ How long since he’d spoken her name aloud? ‘She spent so much time and effort designing the nursery. It had to be perfect.’ And it gave her a distraction from other things.

Alessio looked at his hand joined with Charlotte’s, fascinated that such a simple touch should feel so good. He met her eyes and read understanding and sincerity. He could trust her not to share his secrets.

‘We weren’t just hoping for a baby. Antonia was pregnant.’ He felt Charlotte’s jolt of surprise. ‘That’s why we married.’

‘I see,’ she said carefully.

No, she didn’t, but it was enough to explain about the baby without discussing his marriage.

He and Antonia had been friends for years and occasional lovers, but as soon as she found herself pregnant, both had wanted to bring up their child as part of a family. Both had wanted to be better parents than theirs had been.

‘We left Rome and settled here because it was quieter.’ That was true as far as it went. For a second, Alessio contemplated blurting out the whole story to Charlotte. But he wouldn’t burden her with that.

Her hand turned in his, squeezing. ‘It would be a great place to bring up a child.’

Alessio shrugged. ‘We hoped so. My memories of growing up here are mixed. My parents were the absentee type, but I loved the lake and the people here.’ He paused. ‘But it’s academic. The baby died. Antonia miscarried.’

Charlotte covered his hand now with hers, her touch solid and comforting. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Just that. Nothing about trying to imagine how he’d felt or some platitude about time healing. Yet Alessio felt his wound-too-tight grief ease just a little. Grief for their unborn child and for Antonia. Even for himself.

‘Thank you,’ he said eventually, his tongue thick. ‘I haven’t talked about it. Only a few people knew...’

‘I won’t tell anyone.’

That’s not what he’d meant. It had been a simple statement of fact. Maybe Beatrice was right and he should have found a grief counsellor. Alessio couldn’t imagine discussing his private life, and Antonia’s, with a paid stranger.

Yet talking with Charlotte felt natural.

‘Thank you.’ He squeezed her hands, then withdrew his. It wouldn’t do to grow too accustomed to her ready sympathy. Though it was harder than expected to pull away. ‘My anger in the nursery was misdirected. I—’

‘It’s okay, Alessio. I think I understand. You were hurting, and you lashed out.’

‘You make me sound like a toddler having a tantrum.’

Her mouth curved in a crooked, tender smile that shot a dart of longing right through him. Not longing for sex but for Charlotte in his arms, making him feel as if, for once, things would be all right.

Hell! Hewaslike a needy child. Maybe the toddler analogy was right.

‘We all have our moments.’

---