Page 19 of Second Chance Christmas

She slid her gaze to his and sighed. “He wants us to go to London and do a photo op with him.”

Leonardo was careful not to react, but inside, he wanted to break something. “I see. Why?”

Another sigh. “Because he’s a politician, and he’s never not campaigning.”

“You’re divorced.”

“Yes, and divorce doesn’t play well to the electorate. But if you can show how amicable things are with your ex-wife and what a doting dad you continue to be—that’s one way to spin it.”

Leonardo nodded slowly, careful not to reveal any hint of his scathing opinion. “You just said he doesn’t see Audrey at all.”

“He doesn’t.”

“So this isn’t about seeing either of you, it’s just about the photo?”

Her cheeks flushed, but she nodded.

“And you’re going to do it?”

Her hands trembled so badly she dropped her knife. To cover it, she moved to lift the wine glass, taking a gulp. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Cassidy?”

She was quiet, shifting her hands to her lap and holding them there.

“He’s your ex-husband, and he’s given up custody of Audrey.”

“He’s still her father.”

“Is he?” Leonardo said gently. “It doesn’t sound like it to me.”

Her eyes swept shut. “It’s complicated.”

“I would have thought loving a child was the simplest thing in the world.”

“You don’t know a thing about love, though, Leonardo.”

He could tell she regretted the outburst. She lifted a hand to her temple, pressed her fingers to it, then smiled with such brittle falsity it took his breath away. “This really is delicious.”

The dinner? He didn’t want to talk about the damned steak. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

They ate in silence until their meals were finished, then Leonardo stood, clearing the plates.

“I was wrong to say what I did the other night.”

He didn’t ask which insult precisely she meant.

“You were always good at doing dishes.” A genuine smile flickered on her lips, like a moth in a flame. It was gone far too quickly, but it had been there, and it was so beautiful, it took his breath away.

She sipped her wine, resting her cheek on her palm, her elbow on the bench, and he didn’t push her to talk more about her ex. Not now. She was actually starting to relax; he didn’t want to ruin it. He rinsed the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher, then filled the sink with sudsy water for the bigger items.

“I’ll do those,” she demurred. “It’s only fair.”

He shook his head. “You sit. Sing for your supper.”

“Meaning?”

“Talk to me.”Like you used to. Just this once, let’s pretend we’re the same as we were then.

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