Keeping Her Close: In Christofides' Keeping / The Call of the Desert / The Legend of de Marco

She sighed again, and turned over to face where Lola slept so peacefully. Her father was gone. And, while she might be in this untenable situation with Rico now, she was not like her mother. She would not be so easily separated from her daughter. She was infinitely stronger and more resourceful. They would get through this, and she would not let him consume them utterly just because he craved control.

The following morning, early, Rico sat at the breakfast bar in the state-of-the-art kitchen. The Financial Times couldn’t hold his interest. He looked around and grimaced, seeing for the first time exactly what Gypsy had seen yesterday evening. The place was a potential minefield for an innocent toddler. Watching how Lola had gleefully run around last night, having to be plucked from danger every two seconds, had made him sweat. He’d never had to account for a small child before.

His heart clenched at recalling her vibrant energy, and how right it had felt to have her here—how quickly he’d felt that if anyone so much as looked at her the wrong way he’d want to flatten them.

She was beautiful—more beautiful than anything he could have imagined. She was bright, sharp, inquisitive. And, he had to concede grudgingly, all the evidence pointed to the fact that Gypsy was indeed a good mother.

Finding Gypsy in the kitchen making hot chocolate last night had made him feel unaccountably off-centre. Because she’d looked right in that domestic milieu. It had been almost as if he couldn’t remember a time when this penthouse had just been his London pied-à-terre, a place where he invited his mistresses for transitory pleasures. The sense of triumph had disturbed him, making him sound more caustic than he’d intended when he’d outlined his plans for the week.

When he’d gone to look in on Lola as she’d slept, a wave of emotion he’d never felt before had nearly felled him. His hand had shaken as he’d reached out to stroke soft skin—soft as a rose petal. And he had known in that moment, as he’d looked down at her flushed and downy cheeks, at the riot of golden curls around her head and that tiny, fragile and yet so sturdy body, that he was possibly falling in love for the first time.

As for her mother…Rico welcomed the hardness that settled in his chest at just thinking of her. All he felt for Gypsy was a singular irritating desire, which he hated to acknowledge, and the need to seek vengeance. To make her bend to his will. To punish her for keeping their daughter secret from him.

Just then he heard Lola’s cry come from the baby monitor, which Gypsy had obviously left in the kitchen last night. She cried out again, and the cries became more forceful as she woke up. Rico tensed all over. Silently he cursed Gypsy. Why wasn’t she attending to their daughter? Perhaps something was wrong?

Feeling a very unwelcome sense of panic, Rico was about to stride from the room when he heard Gypsy’s soft, sleep-filled and husky voice. ‘Good morning, sweetheart…’

He heard the rustle of movement but still couldn’t relax; hearing Gypsy’s voice was sending a new kind of tension through his body.

‘Did you sleep well, my love?’

Lola cooed in response, and Rico heard the sound of kisses. Heat flooded his body.

‘I bet you did…you’re my best girl, aren’t you?’

With an abrupt move, Rico shut off the monitor. The problem was she was his girl now too, and the sooner Gypsy came to terms with that the better.

He finished his coffee with one gulp and went to his study to make some calls.

Gypsy was just finishing feeding Lola her breakfast when Rico walked into the kitchen. Immediately her heart thumped hard, and she felt self-conscious in the same baggy jeans and an ancient college T-shirt, with her hair dragged up and held in place with a big clip.

Lola grinned happily at Rico, sending specks of food flying as she waved her spoon around and chattered in baby-speak. Immediately aware of how pristine Rico was in comparison to her, in his dark trousers and white shirt, Gypsy leapt up to get a cloth and wipe the floor.

His voice came curtly. ‘Leave it. Mrs Wakefield will see to it.’

She flushed, but sat back down again. ‘I don’t want to give her any more work to do.’

Rico smiled tightly. ‘While your concern is commendable, Mrs Wakefield has a veritable army of cleaners under her, so don’t worry about it.’

He leaned back against the fridge and looked with such indulgence at Lola that Gypsy found it hard to breathe. Then his expression changed visibly to something much cooler as he looked at her. ‘I trust you slept well?’

She nodded, watching as Lola grabbed her cup. She was getting to that age when she was determined to do everything herself. ‘Yes. Very well. I’m lucky that Lola has always been a pretty good sleeper, and she was tired last night.’

‘You look tired,’ he said abruptly, and when Gypsy glanced up she could see his face flush, as if he was angry with himself for noticing.

She shrugged, feeling even more self-conscious and haggard. ‘I’ve been working hard…’ She amended it, ‘Was working hard.’

He obviously noticed her T-shirt and asked now, ‘You went to London University?’

Gypsy busied herself cleaning Lola, who squirmed to get away. She hated having to tell him anything, but nodded and said, ‘I studied psychology, and specialised in child psychology.’

‘When did you graduate?’

‘Two years ago.’ Just weeks before she’d met Rico in that club. Not that she was going to mention that now.

Rico finally walked over to the coffee machine, and with his intense regard off her for a moment Gypsy could breathe again. She cast his broad back a quick glance. ‘I’ll need to go out today to get some things for Lola. I need nappies and some other supplies.’

Rico turned around and leaned back easily against the counter, coffee cup in hand. ‘I’ve taken the day off work. My doctor will be here in about an hour to take the swabs and then we can go out together. We can get what you need, and there’s a park near here where Lola can play for a bit. We’ll have to stay out of the apartment anyway, as people are coming in to child-proof it.’

Surprise washed through Gypsy at the speed with which Rico was adapting his world to accommodate Lola—and also, she had to admit, the fact that he wasn’t already gone to work, having left behind an impersonal note, or indeed no note. On the contrary, he was taking a day off. She couldn’t remember one instance when her own father, or her vacuous stepmother, had taken a day off for her. Not even on school sports days. Not even on the day when she’d come to her father’s home to move in. His cold housekeeper had brought her to a room and told her to stay there until dinnertime.

Feeling unaccountably threatened, and vulnerable from the memory, Gypsy said churlishly, ‘Afraid that if you turn your back we’ll be gone?’

Rico’s eyes flashed, but he took a lazy sip of coffee and drawled, ‘Let’s just say that trust is certainly an issue.’

She couldn’t say anything in response. She didn’t want to let him know how much he was surprising her. ‘We’ll be ready after I’ve washed and changed Lola.’

Rico put down his coffee cup then, and for a second Gypsy could have sworn that something intensely vulnerable flashed across his face. But it was gone before she could be sure.

‘Good,’ he said curtly, and watched as Gypsy’s jaw tightened in response.

She lifted Lola up to take her out of her seat. Rico had to school his features. For a second an impulse had risen up out of nowhere to offer to help with Lola. It had come out of a desire to get to know her better, to know her routine, watch what Gypsy did with her. Rico forced himself to remember that if he hadn’t seen Gypsy in the restaurant he’d still be unaware of the fact that he was a father.

Gypsy walked into the bedroom later that day, exhausted, and succumbed for a moment to sit on the bed. She felt upside down and inside out. After the genial and twinkly-eyed doctor had been and gone that morning, having taken swabs from Lola and Rico, Rico had changed into jeans and a thick jumper and they’d gone out, wrapped up against the cold. Clearly he didn’t trust them to be further than ten feet away from him.

They’d gone to the local shops, where Gypsy had bought what she needed, insisting on paying, much to Rico’s obvious chagrin. He’d looked ridiculously out of place in the local pharmacy. And then they’d gone to a local park, where Rico had largely ignored her and focused on Lola, who had basked happily in this new friend’s attention. Now, after holding herself so tightly for hours, and being so excruciatingly aware of Rico’s physicality, Gypsy’s defences were extremely shaky.

Rico’s unquestioning certainty that Lola was his still stunned Gypsy. And the fact that Lola was out in the living room right now, playing happily with Rico, made Gypsy feel very funny.

Gathering her energy again, she went to the nursery to get a bib for Lola’s dinnertime. When she opened the door she gasped out loud, belatedly remembering Rico’s scathing looks at her flimsy nondescript clothes that morning. She’d heard him making sporadic calls on his phone during the day but hadn’t thought much of it till now…

In shock, she took in what had to be thousands of pounds worth of clothes for her and Lola, hanging up or put away in drawers. The temporary nursery had been moved to a little ante-room off the bathroom, and was kitted out with even more accessories.

A potent memory of her father made her vision blur with anger. At the age of thirteen she’d been mesmerised when she’d seen the profusion of beautiful clothes he’d bought for her—until she’d realised to her shame and horror that they were all either too big or too small. And that he’d bought them specifically for her to wear socially, at his side, not out of any genuine paternal affection. He’d forced her to wear them, reading her acute embarrassment as ungrateful thanks. He’d had no comprehension of a daughter on the threshold of puberty, with a rapidly developing body.

And now Rico had taken a decision to do more or less the same thing. At no point during the day had he even asked her opinion. Or suggested that they go shopping together. Not that she would have complied, she knew grimly, but it would have been nice to be consulted. He was buying them—throwing money at the problem.

Gypsy gathered up some of the baby clothes, with their ostentatious designer labels, and stalked into the living room, where Rico was standing at the window with Lola held high, pointing things out. He looked around, those grey eyes glowing, only to rapidly cool as he took in Gypsy’s stiff stance.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ She held the clothes out stiffly, some falling to the ground.

Rico’s eyes flashed as he turned to face her. ‘You’re both in dire need of new wardrobes. I can provide that.’

‘I’ve already told you,’ Gypsy spat, ‘we don’t need you, or your money. To spend money on clothes this expensive is pure extravagance. There’s enough in there to clothe an entire village of babies, not just one. As it is, Lola’s growing so fast that she’ll have outgrown most of them before she can even wear them.’

Rico’s face tightened, a muscle moving in his jaw, and Gypsy felt like a complete bitch. Because she had the strangest sensation that she’d just hurt him.

‘I will provide for my daughter. That is non-negotiable. And while you are with me, under my roof, you will not go outside the door looking like a bag lady.’