The Italian’s Ruthless Marriage Command

‘A week, perhaps less.’

Taylor summoned a smile as he released Ben down onto his feet. ‘Take care.’ The words seemed fairly innocuous as she caught her nephew’s hand and crossed the lobby at Dante’s side.

Gianni was seated behind the wheel of the Mercedes as Dante released one of the large doors and moved lithely down the few steps to slide into the front passenger seat.

Ben waved until the car swept through the electronic gates and disappeared from sight.

‘I wish Zio didn’t have to go away.’

She drew him close and dropped a kiss on his nose. Poor little scrap, he sounded quite forlorn.

‘He’s a very busy man,’ she offered gently, and met solemn dark eyes.

‘He promised he’ll call tonight before I go to bed.’

One thing she’d learnt was that Dante kept to his word. ‘I’m sure he will.’ She caught hold of his hand and bestowed a teasing smile. ‘Now, young man, let’s go have breakfast.’

After which she’d oversee his normal morning routine, help him dress, pack his knapsack, drive him to kindergarten…then she’d return to seek seclusion in her home office and write until it was time to go collect Ben.

It was a plan which should work reasonably well, if she managed to gain total focus on the twist needed to extend the suspense element in the story she was currently working on.

The ability to clear her mind and enter the fictional world of her characters required concentrated effort, and fortified with a cup of Earl Grey tea, she opened her current manuscript file and reread the previous day’s work, edited and made a few minor changes before tuning in to the creative process.

At midday she took a break and fixed herself a ham and salad sandwich in the kitchen, filled a glass with apple juice and chose to eat lunch on the terrace.

The sun held little warmth and there was a fresh breeze which hinted at late afternoon showers, borne by a bank of clouds hovering on the horizon.

There were days when she permitted her mind to wander during a lunch break…others when she preferred to keep the momentum going by printing out the morning’s hard copy and editing it as she ate.

Today there was a tendency to lapse into introspection and enjoy the sensation of freedom from Dante’s presence for several days.

Leading separate lives whilst residing beneath the same roof wasn’t really happening, Taylor reflected.

Whether by accident or design Dante entered the informal dining room and shared breakfast with her and Ben each morning…and most evenings he arrived home from the city office in time to join them for dinner. What was more, he supervised Ben’s bath-time, and shared the telling of their nephew’s bedtime story.

Whatever her reservations, she had to concede Dante had Ben’s continuing welfare at heart as he displayed genuine caring and affection at every turn.

Gradually Ben’s tendency towards solemnity was beginning to fade as he smiled more often, and the occasional bad dreams where he woke crying in the night were beginning to diminish.

The move into Dante’s home was proving to be the right choice…for Ben.

So why was she so tense and on edge? Instinctively wary and unable to relax?

The simmering electricity existent beneath the surface whenever she was in Dante’s presence…what was that?

Did he sense it? Or was it merely a figment of her imagination?

Whatever, it was a complication she didn’t want or need.

Oh, for heaven’s sake…take a reality check, why don’t you?

She was one of two surrogate parents, committed to raising their nephew together. This was all about Ben… all of it.

She shared a beautiful, spacious house with a home office to die for, her own suite of rooms, staff to cook and clean, financial freedom.

So why did she have this niggling feeling something was missing? It hardly made sense.

Taylor drained the rest of her juice from her glass, collected her plate and returned both to the kitchen, then she filched a bottle of water from the refrigerator and retreated back to her work until it was time to collect Ben from kindergarten.

He burst through the door when summoned, a finger-painting clutched in one hand, his knapsack in the other, and a delighted smile lighting his face.

‘I got a gold star!’

She caught him close in a warm hug. ‘You did? That’s fantastic.’

‘I did a finger-painting of you, me and Zio Dante. Shelley said it’s very good.’

Shelley was one of the carers employed to teach and supervise the pupils…a young, bubbly brunette adored by the children.

‘Can I see it?’

Ben unfolded the paper with care and took great pride in identifying each figure. ‘That’s you with long hair, and I made Dante big, ’cos he’s tall, and that’s me.’

Taylor felt her heartstrings tug a little at the sight of a small figure holding the hand of the adult standing either side of him.

Her eyes welled with moisture, and she swept him into her arms. ‘It’s a beautiful painting.’

Ben looked at her closely. ‘Why are you crying?’