Happy Mother's Day! (27 page)

The tears ran unchecked down Erin’s cheeks. She was so happy she felt as though she might never walk at ground level again, but always float six inches above the ground.

‘As for deceiving you—that was not deliberate, though I did perhaps seek to take advantage of your obvious affinity for
cowboy boots.’ He laughed when the colour flew to her cheeks. ‘When we met I felt somehow that I was starting life afresh. I did not mention things because they did not seem important.’

By the time Francesco stopped talking there was a glazed look on Erin’s face. ‘I’ve been feeling so guilty—I felt as though I was taking advantage of you.’

‘Because I was an emotional wreck,’ he said drily. ‘And now you know that I am not nearly so needy and vulnerable as you imagined, do you still want me?’

A rapturous smile spread across her face like the sun. ‘I’ll always want you.’

‘Even if you learn that I will cheat, lie, manipulate and sell my soul in order to keep the one thing that I cannot live without.’

‘If that one thing is me, I see no problem.’

The air left her lungs in one long gasp as he literally fell on her, his long body covering her as they sank down together on the sofa.

For some time they kissed and touched, passion flaring hot and out of control. It was Francesco who pulled away, rolling off her straight onto the floor where he lay on his back, breathing hard.

‘What am I thinking? You just fainted and I jumped on you like a wild animal. The baby …!’

Erin, her face flushed, leaned over the side of the sofa and stroked his face. She was breathing hard.

‘Wild?’ she said, parting the front of his shirt with one fingertip—the buttons were scattered around the room—to reveal the red indentation where she had bitten into the smooth flesh of his shoulder.

She lifted an eloquent brow. ‘As for baby,’ she said, hand pressed to her tummy, ‘I asked the doctor about that area and he said no restrictions there.’

‘I know—I asked him, too.’ He grinned as she dissolved into laughter.

She slipped from the sofa and sat astride him.

He lay there, one hand flung above his head, the other on the curve of her thigh. ‘As much as I am enjoying being at your mercy, as you are the one who is meant to be recuperating should we not change places?’

‘I am quite flexible.’

‘This has not escaped my notice,’ he growled throatily. ‘You know, this and the baby—I don’t think life gets much better.’

‘I can’t believe we nearly got divorced.’ She went pale at the thought.

‘Getting your letter was a pretty big wake-up call for me.’

‘So you would have come even if you hadn’t found my phone and listened to the message?’

‘I would have come. It was only ever my pride that was stopping me. I will not die if you leave me, but I will never be a whole man again. You,’ he said, pressing his hand to his chest, ‘are here. You complete me.’

Erin’s eyes glowed with the love that lit her from within as she fell forward into his arms. She felt the sigh shudder through him as they closed tight around her.

She felt secure.

She felt safe.

She felt home.

She raised herself on her elbows and framed his proud, beautiful face in her hands. ‘I will never, ever leave you, Francesco. How could I when I love you?’

When he pressed his mouth to hers she kissed him back offering all of herself to him with no restraints. When he dragged his mouth away they were both breathing hard.

She lifted a hand to her flame hair. ‘God, I must look awful!’

The female vanity made Francesco grin. ‘You look beautiful, but exhausted. I know you have an aversion to bedrest but I was wondering.?’

‘How long did you have in mind?’

‘Oh, a minimum two days … maybe three.’

She sighed. ‘Well, if I
have
to.’

He ran a finger down the curve of her cheek. ‘Sometimes I can’t believe how beautiful you are.’ He sighed, shaking his head at the wonder of having her. ‘I came into the hospital that night just to watch you when you were asleep. I won’t have to do that anymore—all I’ll have to do is open my eyes because I warn you, Erin I’ve no intention of letting you out of my sight for a very long time. But right now we must obey the doctor.’

‘Two days’ bedrest?’ She looped her arms happily around his neck.

‘Minimum,’ he confirmed.

‘The bed part I think I could live with,’ she said, looking at him with a naughty twinkle in her eyes. ‘But I was wondering—does it have to be wall-to-wall rest? Can’t I have time off for good behaviour?’

‘Do you intend to be good?’

Erin, who had every intention of being quite bad, smiled into his eyes. He laughed. ‘You’re not going to be at all good, are you?’

Erin fitted her mouth to her husband’s and whispered against his lips, ‘It wouldn’t be me, would it?’

And the glorious thing was Francesco was the one man in the world she didn’t have to pretend to be anyone else with.

Giving a contented sigh, she asked him if he had ever considered wearing his boots to bed.

His throaty burst of laughter rang out.

T
HERE
was a gentle ripple of applause as the slim redhead walked into the room on the arm of a man with the looks of a dark fallen angel. She smiled and dipped her head in acknowledgement to the New York crowd.

‘I think I’m dreaming,’ she whispered to the man who walked beside her.

‘No,
cara,
you’re
living
the dream,’ he told her. ‘Go mingle—you’re the star of this show.’ For him she was the star of his life.

‘Do I have to?’

He smiled encouragement. ‘They’ll love you, just smile and look enigmatic.’

The advice made her grin. ‘You know what I’m afraid of?’ ‘What?’

‘I’m afraid that someone is going to realise I’m a complete fake. I mean, why is this happening to me? I’m not special.’

‘You’re the most
special
person I have ever met, and, as for being a fake, I knew you were the real thing the moment I laid eyes on you. I just don’t know how you do it,’ he admitted.

‘Do what?’ she asked.

He was the best-looking man in the room by a mile and
after eighteen months of marriage Erin still looked at him sometimes and couldn’t believe she had got that lucky.

‘You’re an incredible mother, you’re an award-winning photographer, it’s in no small part due to your efforts that my mother is her old self and, oh … I almost forgot—you’re a fairly passable wife.’

Erin smiled back at him. ‘What can I say? I’m brilliant!’

The past year and a bit had been incredible for her. Rafael was the most delicious baby in the world and looked just like his papa.

Rafael was a baby who seemed to bring out the best in people—even Erin’s mother had been moved to tears when she’d first seen him, though she had not quite forgiven Erin for making her a granny. She wanted little Rafe to call her by her Christian name.

And she remained totally mystified by Erin’s refusal to employ a personal trainer to get her figure back after the birth, hinting strongly that Francesco would look elsewhere unless she made an effort to compete with all those young lovelies with taut tummies.

But Erin’s insecurities were well in the past and, secure in the knowledge that Francesco was totally devoted to her, Erin had been able to laugh at her mother’s dire warnings. Besides, Francesco had expressed no complaints about any part of her anatomy. He had even found her sexy when she had been the size of a small supermarket … which was odd, but nice.

Rafe’s other grandma was not concerned about her daughter-in-law’s waistline—in her eyes giving birth to little Rafe had elevated Erin’s status to a level where she was above criticism. She adored her little grandson and had come with them to New York so that she could look after him while Francesco and Erin attended the opening night of Erin’s new exhibition.

After some heated discussion on the subject Francesco had reluctantly conceded on the subject of a nanny. And when he had seen that, far from being exhausted—beyond what was normal—by the task of bringing up baby the new mother had thrived he had stopped worrying.

Of course, in the future she might rethink the nanny ban because in about seven months’ time Rafael would have some company.

The news that she was carrying twins was still sinking in!

Francesco was still inclined to stop dead in the middle of the street without warning and say,
‘Twins!’
Which made people stare at him.

After her labour with Rafael he had declared that his son was
definitely
going to be an only child because he could not go through that ever again!

Erin still had seven months to convince him that to try for a normal birth with twins was not really quite as recklessly stupid as he contended.

The London exhibition the previous year had been a massive success and it had kick started her new career. She now had her photos hanging in galleries and private collections all over Europe and after tonight who knew? Maybe the States, too.

But no matter how her career went for Erin, her family was the most important thing in her life. And within that tight circle it was Francesco who made her believe she could succeed, he enhanced every aspect of her life just because he was there.

Francesco bent his head and whispered in his wife’s ear. ‘How do you always make my heart beat faster?’

Her breath caught in her throat at the tenderness in his eyes.

‘I love you so much!’ she whispered. ‘In fact,’ she confided
happily, ‘my cup pretty much runneth over. I’m so happy I might explode any minute.’

‘The exploding might have more to do with the twins,’ Francesco suggested drily.

‘Gosh, is that the scary critic?’ she asked, watching a small balding man with an air of vast self-importance approach.

‘That is Felix Mortimer himself,’ Francesco confirmed. ‘He’s smiling—you have made it,
cara.
I can see that I will have to get used to myself referred to as Erin Romanelli’s husband.’

Erin lifted her head for his kiss. ‘I love you so much.’

‘And I love you, but now run along—your public await.’ He tapped her encouragingly on the bottom.

He watched with pride as she was greeted obsequiously by the critic. Francesco smiled. He could spare his Erin for a little while, because Francesco knew that she would always come back to him.

Meant-To-Be Mother

ALLY BLAKE

Having once been a professional cheerleader,
Ally Blake
‘s motto is “Smile and the world smiles with you.” One way to make Ally smile is by sending her on holidays—especially to locations which inspire her writing. New York and Italy are by far her favourite destinations. Other things that make her smile are the gracious city of Melbourne, the gritty Collingwood football team, and her gorgeous husband, Mark.

Reading romance novels was a smile-worthy pursuit from long back. So, with such valuable preparation already behind her, she wrote and sold her first book. Her career as a writer also gives her a perfectly reasonable excuse to indulge in her stationery addiction. That alone is enough to keep her grinning every day! Ally would love for you to visit her at her website, www.allyblake. com.

To my gorgeous genius of a godson, Lachlan.
Hugs and kisses from your Auntie Ally.

S
IENA
C
APULETTI
was going home.

And where for most people that would bring about happy thoughts of familiar faces, their own bed and their favourite pillow, the concept had poor Siena in a cold sweat.

Well, okay, so the wet clammy feeling could also have come from the fact that she had just been on the receiving end of a well-flung can of cola courtesy of a pouting kid in the aeroplane seat next to her.

But still … clammy was clammy. Uncomfortable. Hot and cold all at once. Nope. It was definitely thoughts of
home
making her feel that way. Home just didn’t bring about warm and fuzzy feelings in Siena.

The splotch of insidious brown beverage inching its way across her Dolce and Gabbana skirt and matching jacket—the only ‘interview outfit’ she had packed for her short trip to her provincial home town—grew larger and overtook the proportion of clean cream tweed.

‘Excellent,’ she said under her breath.

Siena craned her head past the rows of seats as she flapped her sticky outfit away from her damp body. Where was a flight attendant when she needed one? Nowhere. That’s where.

It was a sign. She wasn’t meant to be heading to Cairns on that day
seated
on a plane; she ought to have been suited up in her usual baby-blue skirt suit, matching pillbox hat and beige high heels, working the aisle as a Cabin Director for MaxAir rather than finding herself at the mercy of one.

But when Maximillian Sned, the eccentric septuagenarian owner of MaxAir—the funky, cosmopolitan, fun-and-games airline for which she worked—had summoned her to meet him to discuss a ‘fabulous career move’—his words—at his palatial home north of Cairns, what choice had she had? Even though, if the rumour mill was correct, and let’s face it, it usually was, his offer was going to entail a
fabulous move
to Cairns to stay.

Double excellent.

A hard kick to the shins brought Siena back to the less than pleasant present.

Blithely ignoring the pint-sized, cola-flinging, kick-boxing champ to her left, Siena tried to remember the meditation class she had once taken—close your eyes, take deep calming breaths and think of a happy place. A beach hut in Hawaii? A Swiss ski resort? That shoe shop on Madison Avenue she couldn’t walk into without spending a week’s pay?

But Siena was surprised to find she could barely recollect the shapes and colours and sensation of being anywhere but the inside of a plane—

‘I am soooooo sorry it took me so long! We have a guy in the back row who can juggle soft drink cans. Seriously, soft drink cans! He was teaching me and I
almost
had it down.’

Siena opened one eye to find a perky, blonde, perfectly groomed flight attendant with ‘Jessica’ scrawled on to her name badge. She smiled prettily as she handed over a baby-blue
box of MaxAir brand moist towels to Siena and another drink to the pouting kick-boxer at Siena’s side.

Her vague happy place feelings slipped away to naught as Siena realised her day was not about to get any better.

Seven years as a sky girl and Siena could read people at first glance. She knew which passenger would try to sneak an illegal cigarette puff in the bathroom, which one would be a white knuckle flyer who would need a Bloody Mary as soon as they took off, and which one would try to pinch every female bottom and thus would be fast shifted to a window seat.

Jessica had just given the kid beside her a
new
can of cola. Crayons and warm milk would have been the better option. Siena could read that Jessica was sweet but entirely hopeless.

She wondered briefly if she ought to let Maximillian know when she met him. But no. Siena didn’t do meddling. Growing up with a brother twelve years her senior shoving unwanted advice down her neck her whole life had cured her of that.

‘Now, Freddy,’ Jessica cooed, ‘this time we have a cool bendy straw in the can so you can suck it up without spilling a drop.’

Spilling? That whole move earlier had nothing do with spilling!

Once Freddy was sucking away, Jessica smiled at Siena in apology. ‘You look awfully familiar,’ she said. ‘Do we know each other?’

Here we go again …
Siena was used to being recognised. For the past year her symmetrical, clear-skinned face had been smiling from billboards above motorways all over the country advertising the supreme, sassy, fun-in-the-air customer
service one could expect from a MaxAir flight. For a small gig that had taken an hour in a photographic studio near her apartment in Melbourne, she suddenly feared it might well change the course of her life.

Would Max really offer the promotional gig on a full-time basis, thus meaning a permanent move to Cairns as everyone expected? If he insisted, would she really have to turn her back on the company that had completely moulded her since she left school?

Her identity, her friendships and her entire life were so intertwined with her job she so hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but then a move back to Cairns was utterly, sincerely, outright not an option …

‘Maybe from a work Christmas party,’ Siena said, telling the truth but skirting the issue all the same. ‘I’m a sky girl for Max too. On the international runs.’

‘Oh, okay!’ Jessica bubbled. ‘That must be it. Are you on annual leave or is it just a weekender to the beach?’

If she mentioned her job interview word would be all over the Far North Queensland operation before they hit the tarmac. ‘My brother and his family live in Cairns,’ Siena said. ‘They just had a new baby.’ She kept back the fact that she hadn’t ever met Rick’s four-year-old twins either.

‘Gee,’ Jessica said, and, ‘wow!’

But Siena could tell the girl wasn’t
really
listening. Siena only hoped for the airline’s sake that she was still new.

‘Okay then, well, happy trails,’ Jessica said, her eyes searching out the juggler in the back row again already.

‘Happy trails,’ Siena parroted back the MaxAir motto.

She watched Jessica bounce her way back down the skinny domestic aisle, her French tipped fingernails clawing
on to the backs of passengers’ seats for balance and her blonde ponytail bouncing.

Siena blinked. It had been a long while since she had mastered the ability to walk an aisle in two-inch heels without needing a thing to help her balance.

She was a pro. A lifer. Born to fly. Far far away …

If only Max saw that she could be more to the company than a smiling face on a billboard. If only the rumour mill had Max offering her Rome.

Siena sighed and slid further down in her seat. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Cool, cosmopolitan Rome was at the heart of the MaxAir international routes. The top of the heap. The pièce de résistance. Now
that
would be a
fabulous career move.

The hum of the engine altered and Siena knew the plane was descending. She looked out the small window to see hilly green land undulating down to twisting white sands and deep blue water peeking back at her from between patchy white cloud cover. Tropical Cairns. Paradise.
Home.

Siena peeled her clamped fingers from the armrests and shook life back into them.

Okay, you have a few minutes, now deep breathe and focus on happy thoughts.

As the overhead lights called for everyone to do up their seat belts, Siena toed her fake red Kelly handbag further under her seat. Shopping in Hong Kong was a happy place. Why hadn’t she conjured that thought? Next time. And she had a feeling she would be needing many of those
next times
over the coming weekend.

Out of the corner of her eye, Siena noticed that young Freddy was sitting staring at his open seat belt with one half
in each of his hands as his cola balanced precariously between his knobbly knees. He had a cola moustache on his upper lip and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. But her friendly neighbourhood flight attendant was nowhere to be seen.

What sort of parents deemed him independent enough to look out for himself at the age of five? She’d seen it time and again in her job and had never been able to understand such thought processes.
She
of all people knew just how such an assumption of early independence could turn the poor kid—hostile, erratic, doing anything and everything to get attention. To get discipline. To get a parent to tell him no.

She found herself experiencing an unexpected moment of empathy. Well, the kid hadn’t spilt anything on her in the last five minutes and she had to give him kudos for that.

‘Would you like me to help you with that?’ she found herself asking.

‘Yes, please,’ the boy said with a cherubic lisp.

Siena shuffled in her seat and took a hold of the two halves of the seat belt. The young boy lifted his thin arms and Siena had a whiff of something sweet like a mix of cola and biscuits.

When the belt clicked into place he gave a little sniff and Siena realised that two tracks of shiny tears were sliding down his cheeks. Oh, heck. A sniffly kid, and now tears? Was she being punished for something?

In the end empathy won out again. For the next fifteen minutes she talked the kid down from his cola high, and up from his lonely low, so that when the plane landed, and Jessica and her bouncing ponytail took him away, she was sure that he had been replaced by a completely different kid.

Siena waited until the plane was all but empty to grab her carry-on and suit bag containing her uniform for the working
flight back to Melbourne on Saturday evening. She wasn’t in any hurry.

When she disembarked on to the tarmac the Far North Queensland heat hit her like a slap in the face. The air was thick, hot and wet. She could taste her own sweat on her lips. The tangy scent of the nearby sea hung heavy in the air. She could feel her dark curls frizzing by the second, her feet sweating in her designer shoes and the cola in her dress weighing her down as all evaporation ceased in the humid air.

Inside the thankfully air-conditioned terminal, a wiry silver-moustachioed man in a three-piece suit and hat in MaxAir’s incongruous powder-blue, completely unsuitable in the temperate climate, stood waiting with a sign reading ‘CAPULETTI'.

A driver? Max was pulling out the big guns. But, though it was a nice gesture, it only made Siena’s heart sink all the further.

‘I’m Siena Capuletti,’ she said, approaching slowly.

The man nodded. ‘Rufus,’ he said in a deep baritone. ‘Maximillian has asked that I be at your disposal for the weekend, Ms Capuletti.’

‘Right. Well. Excellent.’ Siena moved into the flow of the crowd, making her way through the backwater ‘international’ terminal, along tracts of unfashionable carpet long since in need of updating. She kept Rufus, who’d insisted on taking her baggage, in the corner of her vision. He had a look about him that made Siena think that if she pointed at another passenger and said, ‘Kill,’ he wouldn’t have any trouble obeying.

‘I have to make a quick call,’ she told him just before they left the air-conditioning. Rufus stopped where he stood like
a dog who had been told to
stay,
though he had all the warmth of a German Shepherd police dog.

Siena found a quiet corner and made the call she had been dreading for days.

‘Hello,’ her brother Rick’s deep voice rumbled.

For a moment she thought about hanging up. Why did she have to tell him she was back? It was a flying visit anyway. He didn’t even have her mobile number, so he wouldn’t even know it was her—

‘Anyone there?’ he asked, and Siena gave in.

‘Rick, it’s Siena.’

After a long pause he came back to her. ‘Well, well, well.
Piccolo.
It’s been some long while since I have heard your lovely voice.’

Rick’s passive aggressive comment was almost enough to have Siena switching off her phone and turning right around.

‘
Una momento,’
Rick said, and she heard a crash of something kitcheny followed by the shouts of two young boys in the background. It gave her a moment to recollect herself.

‘Michael! Leo! Stop that,’ Rick’s voice cried somewhere near the phone. ‘Sit at the table and your mama will bring your cereal in a second. Sorry,
Piccolo,
breakfast is like a battle zone around here. So where are you today? Paris? London?’

Here goes …
‘I’m at the Cairns Airport.’

She was met with deathly silence. It seemed he was as shocked that she was back after all this time as she was.

‘Well, I’ll be … Our little bird has returned to the nest. Does this mean I get to see your pretty face for real, not just on those big posters near the airport?’

Siena closed her eyes and leant her forehead against her fist. ‘I’m here until Saturday evening, so, sure. Why not? I
have a meeting with Maximillian tomorrow afternoon but, apart from that, this little bird is, well, as free as a bird.’

‘Great. Tell me which terminal and I’ll pick you up.’

‘No, it’s okay. I have a driver.’ She felt a mix of pride and stupidity in admitting as much and she cringed as she awaited Rick’s usual unimpressed laughter. But it never came.

‘But you
are
staying here,’ he said, not even a hint of a question in his commanding tone. ‘Tina can make up the spare room.’

She thought of the big king-sized bed and Egyptian cotton sheets that would be awaiting her at the suite Max had organised for her at the Novotel Resort in the beachside haven of Palm Cove, and imagined the chintz comforter, sagging single bed and recriminations no doubt awaiting her at the Capuletti home. Hmm, tough decision.

‘Come,’ he said, hearing her pause. ‘Stay with us. Please. I’m not asking the world of you, Siena, but it is more than time you met your nephews and niece.’

Siena used her spare hand to rub away her frown. It was the
please
that got her. She couldn’t remember a time when she had ever heard that word come from Rick.
Ever.
She was more used to:
Do this. Be that. If you don’t, one of these days you’ll give poor Papa a heart attack …

‘Sure,’ she said, her throat tight with emotion. ‘But only for a couple of days. I’m in town on a purpose and this meeting tomorrow is really important—’