Charlotte had watched from a distance, joining in when she had to, but protecting herself from seeing all this effort as anything more than Riccardo approaching a situation with the one hundred percent desire to succeed with which he approached all situations.
Aside from her. Because he’d assiduously left her alone. He’d laughed, he’d joked, but his attention had been primarily for his daughter. There had not been the slightest hint that anything physical had taken place between them. He had been, she was forced to admit, the perfect gentleman. The cynical side of her couldn’t help but think that he was covering ground quickly with Gina so that he could clear out of the house, having realised that sex with her mother was no longer an option.
‘Food,’ Riccardo said succinctly. He began helping her out of her coat while Charlotte, bewildered, wondered what he was on about.
‘You’re wearing my apron.’
‘Well spotted.’
‘It looks ridiculous.’ But she had to smile. Riccardo, decked out in old chinos, a tee-shirt and sporting an apron bought by Gina that declared the joys of motherhood, was priceless. ‘I wish I had a camera,’ she said. ‘This is a moment worth capturing.’
‘Go upstairs and have a bath.’
‘Yes, but…’
‘Gina’s with one of her school friends. Last-minute thing. Going to the movies, so she won’t be back home until about eight-thirty. I thought that would be all right as tomorrow’s Saturday.’
‘Well…’ Charlotte felt a little twinge of alarm. Gina had been their chaperone for the past couple of weeks, always around with them both and filling in potentially awkward silences with relentless chatter. When she hadn’t been around, Riccardo had disappeared to work and Charlotte had curled up in front of the television, always making sure to take a handy book to duck behind should he appear without warning.
‘It’s a good opportunity to discuss…domestic arrangements,’ Riccardo said vaguely.
‘Oh. Right.’ So that was what he was up to! Now would come the nitty-gritty details of when he would leave the house. Charlotte felt it in her bones, and knew that she should have been over the moon because her life would get back to normal, but she felt an empty void settle in the pit of her stomach.
Why fight the truth? She had become accustomed to having him around the house. She had always thought that two was such a tidy number. Just her and Gina, both of them against the world. But three was just so much rounder and more fulfilling.
If he thought that cooking a meal was the adult, civilised way of breaking the news, then she would show him that she was fine with that idea and dress accordingly, in her usual casual, staying at home ‘because I love my life without you in it’ gear—a pair of comfy combat trousers, and a baggy olive-green sweater.
She was not expecting what she found in the kitchen. Candlelight, for a start. Riccardo turned around as she walked in, and Charlotte smiled awkwardly at him.
‘I didn’t dress for the occasion.’ She spread her hands along her randomly put together outfit, feeling a bit of a fool even though he was in casual clothes as well. Though somehow he looked considerably less scruffy than she was.
‘No matter.’
‘You’ve cooked a meal from scratch?’ She spotted the recipe book propped against the bread bin and the sink full of pots and pans, which seemed to suggest an awfully ambitious meal just for two. Why did he have to get under her skin like that? Why did he have to make her like him?#p#分页标题#e#
‘There’s no need to sound quite so astounded,’ Riccardo said. He fetched something from the fridge. It turned out to be avocado and prawns.
‘I thought you hated cooking, and sneered at men who ventured anywhere near a kitchen unless in pursuit of a bottle of wine from the fridge.’ She sat down and tried to squash the foolishly special feeling rushing through her. This just wasn’t going to do, was it?
‘Obviously I wouldn’t make it my life’s work.’ He handed her the dish, the avocado and prawns both drowning under ample amounts of seafood sauce, which he had bought because the recipe had seemed ridiculously long considering the length of time that would be spent eating the damned thing. ‘It might taste better than it looks,’ he said, picking up his fork and diving into the starter. ‘Not bad.’ Fairly revolting. Ben the Chef probably did all manner of creative things involving herbs and spices, which immediately made Riccardo scowl.