Resisting The Italian Single Dad. Katrina Cudmore

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СКАЧАТЬ applause, he stood and approached her as she packed away all the sleeping aids she had shown around the group.

      She raised one of her perfectly arched eyebrows. ‘It was an unexpected surprise to see you here.’

      Hidden in her teasing tone was a hint of scepticism. He shrugged, leant against the wall next to a table filled with pots of tender, newly sprouting plants, name stickers haphazardly applied to the terracotta-coloured plastic. ‘I thought it would be a good opportunity to get a head start in understanding the techniques you’ll use with Isabella.’

      Carly placed the lid on the yellow cardboard box. ‘In other words, you’re here to try and persuade me to come to Lake Como with you.’

      ‘Yes.’

      She shook her head. ‘At least you’re honest, unlike a lot of other people.’

      Surprised by her jaded tone, he said, ‘I thought in your line of work you’d see the positive in everyone.’

      Today she was wearing a knee-length, primrose-yellow summer dress. She rested her hand against her upper chest, where the top buttons were undone to reveal smooth creamy skin. ‘I try to be…’ She eyed him carefully as though trying to weigh up just how much she could trust him.

      He hesitated for a moment, but decided to go for broke…no matter how humiliating it was to be practically begging this woman. He cleared his throat. ‘I’m a proud man who doesn’t like to admit when he’s getting things wrong…’ he paused, taken aback by the sudden need to unburden himself in the face of Carly’s attentive blue gaze ‘…but I’ve been getting things wrong with my family for far too long. I need help. I need your help. Will you come?’

      ‘I don’t usually—’

      He stepped forward, handed her the paper sheet he had folded into his jacket pocket earlier this morning. ‘Isabella created this drawing yesterday with Vittoria, I thought you might like it. I think she has an artistic flair.’

      She took the sheet and smiled at the tiny pink handprint that had then been covered in a rainbow of assorted Pollock-like paint drips. ‘Considering your profession it’s no wonder that Isabella would have an artistic flair too. What type of projects is your firm involved in?’

      ‘We mainly specialise in large commercial contracts.’

      She nodded and lifted her laptop bag. ‘Any that I would be familiar with?’

      He went and picked up the cardboard box. ‘The Ayer building in New York, Yumba International Airport.’

      She held the classroom door open for him to pass through, her eyes widening. ‘The Ayer building—wow, I’ve seen photos in the press. It’s a stunning building.’

      After she said her goodbyes to the owner, who was in her office, they walked out into the school garden and then to the road beyond the security gate. ‘What did you think of my talk?’

      ‘You have a flair for public speaking—really engaging.’

      His answer seemed to amuse her, but then with a more serious expression she said, ‘I meant the content, the substance of my approach.’

      She had said earlier that she liked his honesty. He didn’t make it a habit to talk about his past, or anything to do with his family. But he knew he had to open up to Carly if he wanted her support. He lowered the box to the ground, shrugged on his jacket against the chill in the evening. ‘It’s very different from how I was brought up—I had to be independent from a young age. I can see the benefit to a lot of what you say…but I need help implementing it.’

      She gestured for him to pass the cardboard box to her. Nodded down the road. ‘My underground station is in that direction. I have to go—I’m meeting a friend later.’

      ‘Can I give you a lift?’

      She shook her head. ‘The underground will be faster.’

      ‘So, have you made a decision about this weekend?’

      She frowned and indecision shone in her eyes. Why was she so reluctant to go to Lake Como with him? His instinct told him that there was more to it than just her planned weekend away. She didn’t trust him. He smiled. ‘Honestly, the ice cream in Lake Como is really good.’ He gestured to the dull day surrounding them. ‘And you can’t say that you’d prefer to stay here with this weather.’

      Her eyes narrowed. ‘What time is your flight tomorrow?’

      ‘My plane has a slot for five p.m. at London City jet centre.’

      ‘I’ve a full schedule tomorrow until three.’

      ‘A driver from my office can collect you if you give me your address. We can board immediately, so provided you are there by four-forty we can go. Will that work for you?’

      Carly inhaled a deep breath. Looked down at Isabella’s painting she was still carrying in her hand. ‘I’ll go because of Isabella. You can pay me my standard fee but also make a charitable donation to the family support group I gave the talk to on Tuesday. They do incredible work helping disadvantaged parents—please make sure your donation is generous.’

      She turned away from him and walked quickly towards the station, the low heels of her summer sandals clipping on the footpath, her loose blonde hair shimmering in the sudden burst of sunshine that broke free of the cloud mass.

      For a brief moment he felt elation.

      And then he remembered what it was he was facing this weekend.

      Isabella asleep in his arms, Max stared out of the jet’s window, his thoughts clearly far, far away, which Carly supposed was a welcome change from how he had longingly been eyeballing his phone, which was lying on the coffee table sitting between them. After Isabella had fallen asleep, he had asked her to pass it to him but she had whispered, ‘No, it will disturb Isabella. Use this time to enjoy holding her; giving her the comfort she wants.’ He had thrown her an exasperated look but she had just shrugged and returned to pretending to read the magazine the jet’s hostess had passed to her along with the best Americano Carly had ever tasted.

      The implications of Max’s words yesterday that his plane had a slot at five for take-off hadn’t fully registered with Carly until she had seen his private jet sitting on the runaway. He owned a plane. Max Lovato was even wealthier than she had first guessed and that wealth made her uncomfortable and extra cautious around him. It made her want to push him to prove that he was a good father to Isabella. To figure out what his real priorities in life were—wealth or family?

      Soon after take-off Carly had suggested that Isabella should have a nap; from her eye rubbing and yawns it was clear she was tired. Max had questioned whether they should instead keep her awake in the hope she would sleep through the night but had accepted Carly’s explanation that they needed to avoid Isabella being overtired and taken her into the jet’s bedroom. But Isabella had refused to settle and had clung to Max instead. Guessing that Isabella was picking up on her father’s stress, lying down in the middle of the day clearly not being his thing, Carly suggested that they come back out into the lounge and cuddle. Within five minutes Isabella had fallen fast asleep.

      Now, Carly tried to focus on an article about the benefits of superfoods and whether they were superfoods or not, but her attention kept being СКАЧАТЬ