Resisting The Italian Single Dad

‘Yes.’ He glanced over and saw that she had an eyebrow raised, not buying it. He shifted in his seat, gripped the steering wheel tighter. ‘The fact that I’m away a lot of the time is probably a factor too.’

‘How often are you away?’

‘Two…sometimes three nights a week. When she was younger I took Isabella with me but the travel was too much for her.’

‘She’s probably missing you a lot—and the fact that you are coming and going means she has no consistency, which will have an impact on her ability to sleep.’

Her voice was calm, matter-of-fact, which annoyed him as much as what she had to say. ‘It’s the nature of my work… I don’t have a choice.’

‘I’ve never come across a situation that doesn’t have alternative choices, or solutions. What is it that you do?’

Maybe she should try living his life some time. In architecture, you were only as good as your last design and winning bids was a never-ending cycle of late nights and client meetings. ‘I’m an architect and property developer—my main office is here in London with other offices in Milan and Shanghai. My clients are worldwide, as are my properties.’

‘My guess is Isabella needs more stability and routine to sleep better at night.’

Reluctantly he nodded. She was right. And he needed Carly’s help in establishing that routine. It was time he started broaching his plans with her. ‘I have to leave for my second home on Lake Como later this week. My in-laws live there, and my father-in-law is celebrating his sixtieth birthday on Friday evening, and on Sunday my brother-in-law, Tomaso, is marrying. I have no choice but to go—Isabella is a flower girl at the wedding. I’ve no idea how she will behave. I need her to sleep in the nights before—that way hopefully she might not throw a tantrum, which she’s prone to do at the moment.’

Along Harrow Road they came to a stop while the driver of a concrete mixer ahead in the road tried to manoeuvre into a narrow construction site entrance. He turned to her and asked, ‘Will you work for me for the rest of this week, come to Lake Como this weekend, to help me in getting Isabella to sleep? I’ll pay you generously.’

Carly looked at him and then turned to stare at a nearby billboard advertising happiness via a deodorant, trying to contain her irritation. He was a client, clearly in need. But seriously! She turned back to him, cursing once again that he was so distractingly handsome, and tried to keep her voice calm. ‘I’m a sleep consultant, Mr Lovato, not a nanny.’

‘I know that.’

She forced herself to hold his gaze, even though his misty green eyes did something peculiar to her heartbeat. ‘Do you?’ She waited a pause before adding dryly, ‘I’m busy with other clients all of this week and have my own plans for the weekend.’

‘Nina told me earlier that you were on annual leave Friday—can’t you at least come to Lake Como with us?’

Nina! What had got into her this morning? ‘No—I’ve rented a cottage in Devon; I like to surf. I’ve been planning this trip since the New Year.’ Why was she telling him this? Why did she feel she had to justify saying no to him?

‘I’ll pay for you to rebook.’

‘I don’t provide the type of service you are looking for. Yes, I visit clients’ homes but I don’t stay overnight or get involved in childcare. I provide a bespoke plan that parents follow over a period of months. Isabella is not going to be sleeping through the night any time soon—it doesn’t work that way. My approach to your child sleeping contentedly takes time, patience and consistency.’

The traffic ahead of them began to flow again. Max eased his car forward, the expensive engine barely making a noise. ‘I’m not asking you to get involved in the childcare.’ His tone was one hundred per cent exasperation. ‘Isabella barely slept last night. I flew in from Chicago yesterday. She’s exhausted. I’m jet-lagged.’ He rubbed his brow and continued to stare forwards. ‘We need help.’ His voice was so low, Carly had to lean towards him to hear him. ‘This weekend…with Marta’s family, the wedding…it’s going to be trying. I want them to see that Isabella is happy and well cared for.’

Carly dropped her head and studied her hands, thrown by the honesty of his words. ‘I’ve bookings all of this week. I can’t—’

‘Come to Lake Como with us this weekend.’

She closed her eyes to the soft appeal in his voice. The image of him standing alone on the street staring after Isabella’s stroller, looking so alone, and then the anguish she had witnessed when he had turned towards the building had her tempted to say yes. But she needed to think this through. How many times had she believed others only to find out a very different truth? Not only did she have a stepfather who used his wealth to keep her at a distance, who thought throwing cash at her made up for a lack of love and affection and his poorly disguised belief that she would never be as good as his own three daughters, but Carly had trusted her own father when he promised he would visit her when her mother had ended their marriage. That promise had lasted all of twelve months until he decided to emigrate to New Zealand. Men had a habit of smashing her trust in them—her ex, Robert, had told her he loved her only to break off their engagement weeks before their wedding, telling her that he couldn’t marry her because he was still in love with his ex. Carly had learned never truly to believe or trust in others, always to dig deeper to find out the truth.

She needed more facts and details before she made any decision…and Isabella’s father needed to understand that she provided no magical cure for disturbed sleep. She buzzed down her window, needing some air. ‘I don’t sleep train. I don’t give you any magical formulas. I just assist in building a routine and developing the correct expectations in parents as to how children sleep. There’s no instant cure. There’s just slow improvement over weeks, if not months.’

‘I will take on board everything you have to say.’

‘Yes, but will you actually implement what I suggest? It takes a lot of time and patience.’

His jaw worked for a moment. ‘It depends on how persuasive you are.’

The hint of humour in his voice was matched by a glint of defiance in his eyes when he glanced in her direction.

Despite herself, Carly found herself having to fight the temptation to smile. ‘That sounds like a challenge.’

‘Lake Como is beautiful. You said earlier that you’d like to visit it some time. Why not now? The forecast is great for the weekend. Unlike here in England where rain is predicted. Surfing in the rain or boating in the Italian sunshine on Lake Como…there’s not much competition, is there? I promise you lots of free time. Isabella and I will show you around the area, even take you for the best ice cream, not only in Italy, but in the entire world.’

She folded her arms, telling herself not to fall for his promises that were so, so tempting. ‘That’s some claim.’

He shook his head, clearly amused. ‘What’s your favourite flavour of ice cream?’

‘Dark chocolate.’

He nodded. ‘Good choice. I meant it when I said I’d pay you well. I’ll quadruple your fees.’

Carly closed her eyes, disappointment slamming into her. Why did he have to ruin it all by mentioning money again? ‘I don’t want your money,’ she said sharply.

He gave her a quizzical look. ‘It was not my intention to insult you.’

‘I don’t like people who use their wealth to get what they want in life regardless of the consequences and how they affect others.’

‘And what are the consequences of you coming to Lake Como with me?’

Carly held his gaze for a moment too long, felt heat travel up along her neck at his softly spoken words. She grabbed her phone from the central console where she had placed it earlier, checking the time, trying to ignore a deep instinct that in going to Lake Como with Max Lovato her life would never be the same again. It wasn’t a rational feeling, yet it sat there in her stomach like a long trail of worry beads. ‘I’ll be cancelling my holiday. And I don’t know you—for all I know you could be an axe murderer.’

Before Carly knew what was happening, Max had his paediatrician, Dr Segal, on the loudspeaker confirming that he wasn’t a danger and, worse still, enthusiastically agreeing that Carly’s intervention was badly needed. Then he put a call through to Vittoria, who laughed when Max asked her to give him a character reference and proceeded to say that, though he was much too stubborn when it came to letting others help, she admired him greatly for how he was coping on his own. Max quickly ended the call with Vittoria, looking uncomfortable and taken aback by what she said.

By the time those calls had ended they had reached the offices of the family support group that was hosting her parent talk.

Outside the car, Max lifted her cardboard box from the rear seat. She went to take it but he wouldn’t let it go. Instead he held her gaze and said softly, ‘Vieni con noi. Come with us.’

Carly swallowed hard, hating the effect his voice, his gaze had on her. Max and Isabella clearly needed some help but something deep inside her was telling her not to go. ‘I need some time to think about it.’

‘When will you give me an answer?’

‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘Isabella is bright and intelligent—you’ll really get along.’

Carly could not help but laugh at the mischief sparkling in his eyes. ‘Are you trying to bribe me with a little girl?’ Not waiting for his answer, she walked away, saying, ‘I’ll call you with my decision tomorrow.’

CHAPTER TWO (#ucaba7513-66cf-5d63-b89c-ecfed0678995)

IT WAS LATE Wednesday afternoon and instead of chairing his weekly major projects review meeting, Max was sitting on a much-too-small chair in a Montessori school, surrounded by other similarly exhausted-looking parents.

Early on in his career, Max had been shortlisted in a prestigious competition for the design of an art gallery in Seville. He had been certain he’d win. His design had been stronger than all his competitors’. Winning the competition would not only have brought much-needed finances into the fledging practice but, more importantly, would have brought his name to international attention. But another practice had won. He had sought out the chair of the selection committee after the announcement, desperate to understand why his design hadn’t been selected. The chair had revealed that his competitor had brought the committee out to see their other completed projects and had organised for them to meet the building contractors who had vouched for their ability to flex to the ever-changing nature of big projects but still bring those projects in on budget. In short, his competitor had chased the business and had anticipated every issue the client would have concerns over. Max had learnt that, no matter how great the design, it was no match for the trust and reassurance that came from the strong connections face-to-face meetings brought.

Which was why he was here, listening to Carly Knight give a talk to parents on helping their children to sleep.

When he had entered the room, ten minutes late, she had done a double take. He had smiled, apologised for being late and explained that he had spotted on her website that she was giving the talk here this afternoon.