‘Mummy, where’s Hippo?’
Nico’s voice cut through the simmering atmosphere and Kristen tore her eyes from Sergio’s angry face and focused on her son.
‘He’s at home, sweetheart. Would you like to go and find him?’
Relief washed over her when Nico nodded. She could tell that he was tired, and when he climbed onto her lap and put his head on her shoulder she cuddled him. He was her baby and she would fight to the death for him. She glanced at Sergio and flushed at the sardonic expression in his eyes.
‘Hippo is his favourite toy,’ she explained. ‘He takes it to bed with him every night.’
‘In that case I’d better drive you both home,’ he said coolly. ‘I don’t want to upset Nico. But I warn you, cara,’ he added in a dangerously soft voice, ‘don’t try to play games with me.’
* * *
When Sergio parked outside Kristen’s small terraced house she noticed, as he no doubt did, that the front door badly needed a coat of paint. It was one of many jobs that she never had time to do, she thought with a sigh. Walking into the house, she was horribly conscious that the wallpaper in the hallway was peeling. Decorating was another job on the to-do list that lack of time and her tight budget did not stretch to. Since her mum had died she had been getting by, surviving, but not really living, she acknowledged. Grief had sapped her energy and dulled her spirit and it was a bitter irony that seeing Sergio again had made her feel more alive than she had done in months.
Sergio followed her into the kitchen and she saw him frown at the sight of the empty wine bottles on the table. The clothes rack was draped with her underwear and the sink was full of dirty dishes that she hadn’t had time to wash up in the rush to get out that morning. Fortunately the living room was reasonably tidy, although shabby, Kristen acknowledged. It was funny how she had never noticed how worn the carpet was until now, and the red wine stain—courtesy of Steph spilling her drink the previous evening—added to the room’s neglected air.
Sergio had carried Nico in from the car, and Kristen felt a tug of possessiveness at the sight of the little boy resting his dark curls on his father’s shoulder. He was her baby.
‘I’ll take him straight up for his bath. I expect you want to get back to the hotel.’
‘I’m not in any rush.’ Sergio’s jaw tightened at her unsubtle attempt to dismiss him. ‘We need to talk.’
Had four words ever sounded so ominous? Kristen watched Sergio glance disparagingly around the room. It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that, unlike him, she could not afford to buy a luxury mansion in Mayfair, which the newspaper had reported he was currently purchasing, but she thought better of it and led Nico up the stairs.
Left alone in the dismal sitting room, Sergio recalled the empty wine bottles in the kitchen and almost gave in to the urge to chase after his son, snatch him into his arms and take him to Sicily immediately. The house was in dire need of renovation, and it was apparent that Kristen had had a party recently—unless she had drunk several bottles of wine herself.
He grimaced. His mother had preferred gin and, even though it was years since his childhood, he couldn’t bear the smell of it. Patti’s temperament had been unpredictable at the best of times and alcohol had made her either maudlin or cruel. Unfortunately there had been no way of telling what mood she would be in and, as a small boy not much older than Nico, Sergio had felt constantly on edge, fearful of angering his mother and provoking her violent temper.
A loud scream dragged him from his thoughts. The sound of a child’s hysterical sobs chilled Sergio’s blood and he took the stairs two at a time and burst into the bathroom to find Nico—not being beaten, as he had wildly imagined—but in the throes of a full-blown tantrum while Kristen endeavoured to wash his hair.