CHAPTER SEVEN

‘HAVE YOU EVER tried to find your father?’ Alessandra asked a short while later, her eyes filled with curiosity.

‘What for?’ he dismissed. ‘Why would I want to involve myself with a man who abandoned his wife and child?’

‘I get that,’ she said, pulling a face.

He closed his eyes. ‘Your father is an alcoholic and a gambler. He was incapable of looking after you. He didn’t abandon you. He’s always been a fixture in your life. There’s a difference.’

from the moment I left hospital. My father wanted nothing to do with me—he still doesn’t. He’s never been there, not for any of the significant events in my life. My first Holy Communion    , my Confirmation, the time I represented Milan in the under tens’ gymnastics,’ she said, ticking the events off on her fingers. ‘He wasn’t at any of them. The few times he’s bothered to join us as a family, he won’t speak to me. He’s never looked at me. I was there, I was present and still he didn’t want me. So don’t try and make out I can’t understand what it

by the people who should have been there for them. For good or ill, it had

alike

with furious passion, the honey-brown a darkened swirl. He’d seen that swirl before, when she’d been pressed against the wall of

as

naked: the way she had wrapped those lithe legs around him and clung to him, as if trying to burrow under his skin. Those same legs

golden cleavage, below which lay breasts that had become plumper since

now? Did they still taste so

this trouble in the

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