Resisting The Italian Single Dad

‘I thought…’ She glanced in his direction, confusion clouding her eyes. ‘I saw you from my office window earlier…’

Now he understood her confusion. ‘My wife’s friend Vittoria agreed to take Isabella this afternoon so that I could meet with you.’

He waited in the silence that followed for her response to hearing of Marta’s death. Most people responded with panic, a keen urge to change the subject or preferably, if circumstances allowed it, to find an excuse to get away.

‘I’m very sorry to hear about your wife. It must have been a very difficult time for you.’

Her softly spoken words sounded heartfelt. He glanced in her direction and swiftly away again, not able to handle the compassion in her eyes.

‘Do you have other children?’

‘No, just Isabella.’

‘Have you family or friends nearby, who support you?’

‘I have some friends, like Vittoria…but they have their own families to look after.’ Max paused, pride and guilt causing him to add more fiercely, ‘Anyway, we don’t need support.’

‘It can’t be easy coping on your own since Marta died.’

He didn’t answer for a while, focusing his attention on merging with the traffic on the Westway, but also thrown by all her questions, what she was saying…how easily she said Marta’s name. Most people skirted around ever having to mention Marta’s name, as though it was taboo to say it out loud. He swallowed against a tightening in his throat, suddenly feeling bone tired. At work he deliberately kept a professional distance from those who worked for him. The few friends he had in London, friends that in truth had been Marta’s friends and had probably stayed in his life out of duty and respect to Marta, had stopped asking him about how he was managing a long time ago. In the early months after Marta had died, he had made it clear it wasn’t up for discussion.

He saw a gap in the traffic open up in front of him and he pressed on the accelerator. He needed to get back to the office and he was keen to get this conversation over and done with. He wanted Carly Knight to show him how to get Isabella to sleep, not ask all these questions. ‘I grew up in a one-parent household, my mother raised me single-handedly. It’s a fact of life for a lot of people.’

‘Yes, but it’s not the future you had envisioned, and losing that must be very hard.’

He wanted to thump the steering wheel hard with the palm of his hand. Carly’s words were resonating deep inside him. He didn’t just miss Marta, he missed the future they had mapped out together, he missed the support of co-parenting, he missed having someone to talk to. All selfish things that only added to his guilt that Marta had died so young, that she would never see Isabella grow up. Marta would despair over just how out of sync he and Isabella were—their relationship was more often than not a battle of wills, and at the moment Isabella was winning. Of course he adored his daughter but he worried deeply about how dependent she was on him, which only seemed to be worsening in recent months, given her tendency to cling to him and her refusal to be cared for by others. How would she cope if anything ever happened to him?

‘Isabella’s nanny walked out yesterday. Dr Segal referred me to you this morning when I took Isabella to see her. She said you have helped some of her other patients.’

‘Your nanny walked out on you because of Isabella’s sleeping?’

‘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

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.’

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.