with bated breath for his son to speak, waited for the little arms to open up and demand a carry as he’d done for his uncle in the cathedral.
He should have known better. Instead of the grand reunion he’d spent the night imagining, his son looked back at his mother and said, ‘Play blocks now?’
ORLA HAD NO idea how she’d allowed herself to be steamrollered into flying back to Ireland with Tonino on his private jet. The only fleeting satisfaction she’d found that day had been when she’d entered the jet’s opulent cabin and stared into his eyes to airily say, ‘Oh, it’s just like Dante’s plane.’
Saying that had been a sharp but welcome reminder that Tonino might come from an immensely powerful and wealthy family, but that her brother was also immensely rich and powerful. It was a reminder to herself as well as Tonino.
Having a brother was such a new aspect of her life that all too often she forgot that she had him in her corner as much as she had Aislin.
Four years ago, when she’d learned she was pregnant, Dante hadn’t known of Orla’s existence. She could never have turned to him for help back then. Now, if Tonino did try to pull a fast one and launch a custody battle, she wouldn’t have to face it alone or without the means to fight back legally and financially.
Even if she didn’t have Dante, she felt differently now than she had four years ago. Back then, she’d been a frightened wreck. If the accident had done nothing else, it had toughened her up.
She had a feeling she would need every ounce of her newfound strength to keep Tonino at arm’s length.
They had been moments from kissing.
Kissing!
Her lips still tingled in anticipation of the kiss that had never come. Tonino had caught her in a moment of weakness, she told herself stubbornly. It had been early. Her headache had gone but she hadn’t had nearly as much sleep as she needed, leaving her tired, which in itself had weakened her.
That her insides still felt like melted goo could also be explained. She didn’t know how to explain it but there must be a rational reason for it somewhere.
As Finn and his nurse were flying home with them, conversation between Orla and Tonino was mercifully limited to pleasantries. Conversation between Tonino and the nurse was a different matter. While Orla read Finn a story, Tonino quietly peppered Rachel with questions about Finn’s condition. There was no godly reason why this should irk Orla so much, but it did. Watching the nurse flick her hair as she answered him irked her even more. When Rachel giggled at a comment Tonino made, Orla tightened her grip on the book to prevent herself from throwing it at the pair of them.
Her silent irritation continued for the duration of the flight. Only when they were back on Irish soil and she breathed the familiar air did she manage to regain some of her usual calm.
She was on home territory now. This was her turf and the drive to her home in Dublin was short.
‘Thanks for the lift,’ she said with as much politeness as she could muster when his driver pulled up. ‘What time shall I expect you in the morning?’
He arched a brow. ‘Are you not going to invite me in?’
Oh, how badly she wanted to give him a blunt, ‘No,’ but knew how ungracious that would seem. She tried to put herself in his shoes. She would want to see the home her child lived in if she were wearing them.
‘If I must,’ she answered, immediately feeling horrible for her churlish response. The horrible feeling lasted less than a second for Rachel visibly brightened.
‘You can stay for a coffee,’ Orla added, then immediately panicked as she thought of the jar of instant that had moved to Dublin with her from Kerry and had to be at least a year old.
‘This is a nice house,’ Tonino commented when he walked into the spacious entrance room. Set in a pretty, quiet, tree-lined street, Orla’s home was airy and open-plan, cluttered with toys and books but nonetheless clean. It had a homely feeling he warmed to immediately.
‘Thank you,’ she muttered.
Crouching down to Finn’s level, he touched the tiny hand lightly. ‘How would you like to show me your room?’
Finn immediately looked to his mother for guidance. She gave a short but reassuring nod. ‘You’ll have to carry him—he can’t do stairs, I’m afraid. His room’s the first on the left.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ the nurse offered.
‘I’m sure Finn and I can manage,’ he rebuffed pleasantly. His curiosity about the specifics of his son’s condition had driven him to ask the nurse in detail about it, which he felt certain had annoyed Orla and contributed to the foul mood she’d fallen into on the flight over. For his part, Tonino felt liberated. Leaving Sicily with his child and future wife—he had no doubt that Orla would come round to his way of thinking on marriage—had lifted his spirits immeasurably.
Tonino unstrapped his son and gently lifted him into his arms. He didn’t think he had ever held anything so precious and fragile and his heart bloomed to feel the tiny beating heart pressed against his chest. It bloomed even more when a skinny arm hooked around his neck.
Dark brown eyes that were a replica of his own stared at him solemnly. Tonino stared back, suddenly finding himself dumbstruck at the powerful emotions crashing through him.
Before he took the first stair, he looked at Orla and felt another crash of emotion punch through him.
Taking a deep breath, he carried his son upstairs and entered his bedroom.
It took a few moments before he could take another breath. Finn’s bedroom was everything a child’s room should be, with its dinosaur curtains, walls covered in dinosaur stickers and ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars. A vast array of stuffed toys was crammed on shelves and in boxes, along with boxes of puzzles and games, boxes of building blocks, books…
But there was no escaping the bed with its bars, there to prevent Finn from rolling out, and no escaping the unobtrusive but recognisable cameras there to monitor him while he slept and no escaping the medical equipment Tonino would have to become familiar with.
There was no escaping that this was a room for a child with disabilities. His child. And, as Tonino took stock of it all, he made a vow to himself that he would do everything in his power to make his son’s life as comfortable and as happy as he could.
For the second time in a day Orla had no idea how she’d come to allow Tonino to steamroller her into something, this time finishing the day together eating a Chinese takeaway. Indeed, at one point she’d thought she’d got rid of him—he’d taken one sip of his coffee, wrinkled his nose and then excused himself, saying he would be back. When he hadn’t returned an hour later, she’d thought he’d checked into wherever he was staying and decided to stay put.
He’d returned while she was clearing up the mess made while feeding Finn his dinner, carrying a large box, which was revealed to be a coffee machine.
‘Where did you get that from?’ she’d asked in astonishment. ‘It’s Sunday. All the shops are closed.’
He’d had the audacity to wink at her before disappearing again, returning an hour later with the takeaway and a bottle of wine. ‘I thought you must be hungry too,’ he’d explained while making himself at home turning the oven on. ‘I saw you only cooked for Finn.’
‘I’ve not had a chance to go shopping,’ she’d replied defensively while turning off the grill and switching the actual oven on.
A memory of the two of them sharing a Chinese takeaway