Resisting The Italian Single Dad. Katrina Cudmore

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       CHAPTER TWO

      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.

      He had waited all day for her call and when none came he knew he needed to take matters in hand.

      Carly spoke with a professional enthusiasm to the group, explaining her approach to sleep with the aid of an overhead presentation and a detailed account of some of the previous families she had successfully worked with. Max listened to her talk, realising it would be so easy to believe in everything she said. But Max knew that life wasn’t so simple. He raised his hand when she spoke about the importance of initially staying with your child as they fell asleep.

      Her brow furrowed. ‘Yes, Max?’

      ‘Shouldn’t we be encouraging our children to be independent? Everything you are saying will make them even more dependent on us.’ Max was gratified to see some of the other parents nod in agreement.

      ‘The most independent and contented people are those who are secure in their love—isn’t that the gift we want to give our children?’ Without waiting for him to answer, Carly continued her talk.

      Max shook his head. Didn’t she understand the importance of making a child independent? All of her tenderness and comforting talk was nonsense. Children needed to learn to cope on their own. Just as he had done growing up. His mother had rarely been around when he was a child as she had often worked a double shift in her job as a hotel chambermaid. Being independent hadn’t done him any harm…how many other people were running a billion-euro business at thirty-three? And he had coped when his mother had died when he was nineteen. He’d got on with his life. Isabella was without a mother too. She was at a greater disadvantage than other children so it was important that she learned to be strong. Not to rely on others. What if anything happened to him and Isabella was completely reliant on and attached to him? How would she manage? One thing was for sure, Carly Knight’s tenderness and comfort would be of little help then.

      At the end of the talk Carly patiently answered the other parents’ questions. Begrudgingly he admitted that some of what she said made sense, especially the need for routine and consistency. He knew he needed to revise his work commitments, but his clients expected him on location to personally present at design bids, and with a workforce of over five hundred staff, it was his responsibility to make sure that work continued to flow into the practice. And as loath as he was to admit it, sometimes a hotel room was preferable to facing the emptiness of his house late at night when Isabella had eventually fallen asleep. The loneliness that engulfed him in those late hours often felt as though it were eating him up from the inside out.

      As the other parents drifted out of the room, after giving Carly enthusiastic 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.’