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.’

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 was like for you, growing up without a father, because my father abandoned me too, and, worst of all,

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

were more alike than

furious passion, the honey-brown a darkened swirl. He’d seen that

arms, as if her contours had been shaped especially for

way she had wrapped those lithe legs around him and clung to him, as if

dipped, exposing the top of her golden cleavage, below which

like now? Did they still taste

what had got him into all this trouble in the first place, sitting in that Milanese restaurant, fascinated by her plump

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