Алисон Робертс – Latin Lovers: Italian Husbands: The Italian's Bought Bride / The Italian Playboy's Secret Son / The Italian Doctor's Perfect Family (страница 13)

The waiter, aware of the precise second they’d put down their menus, came to the table.

As Allegra had thought, Stefano ordered for both of them.

‘How would madam like the steak done?’

Stefano began to speak and Allegra interjected frostily, ‘Mademoiselle would like it medium rare.’

There was a moment of surprised silence and Allegra realized she’d just spoken like a child.

Acted like one.

Felt like one.

Why did Stefano do that to her? she wondered wearily. Why did she allow him to? Even now, when she was here as a professional, when he wanted her for her expert services?

‘If you wanted to order for yourself,’ Stefano said mildly once the waiter had gone, ‘you could have told me.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Allegra dismissed firmly, although Stefano still looked unconvinced. ‘Why don’t we talk about Lucio now?’ she suggested. No more raking up the past, the memories swirling about like fallen leaves around them. ‘He’s your son?’

Stefano looked genuinely startled. ‘No, he’s not. I don’t have a son, Allegra.’ He paused, and she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes—that darkness again, a glimpse of his soul. Then he continued, ‘I’m not married.’

‘I see.’ She took a sip of water and tried to frame her thoughts. Her feelings. Relief was the overwhelming emotion, and on its heels came annoyance for she’d no business being relieved about Stefano’s single status. ‘I just assumed,’ she explained. ‘Most adults who come to me are the parents of the child in question.’

‘Understandable,’ Stefano replied, ‘and in truth Lucio is like a son to me. A nephew, at the very least. His mother, Bianca, is my housekeeper.’

And mistress? Allegra wondered. She pressed her lips together to stop herself from voicing her suspicion aloud, knowing just how petty and petulant she would sound. ‘I see.’

Stefano smiled although there was a hardness in his eyes. ‘You probably see quite a lot that isn’t there,’ he replied, and Allegra blushed. ‘But, in fact, Lucio and Bianca are like family to me. Bianca’s father, Matteo …’ He stopped, shrugged. ‘The relevant details are that Lucio’s father, Enzo, died nine months ago in a tractor accident. He was the groundskeeper for my villa in Abruzzo. After his death, Lucio began to lose his speech. Within a month of the accident he stopped speaking completely. He hasn’t …’ He paused, his expression darkening, eyes shadowed with painful memory.

‘He’s retreated into his own world,’ Allegra surmised softly. ‘I’ve seen it before, when children experience a sudden and severe trauma. Sometimes the easiest way of coping is by not coping at all. Just existing without feeling.’

‘Yes,’ Stefano said, and Allegra heard ragged relief in his voice. ‘That’s just what he’s done. No one can reach him, not even his own mother. He doesn’t cry, doesn’t throw tantrums …’ He shrugged helplessly, hands spread wide. ‘He doesn’t do anything, or even seem to feel anything.’

Allegra nodded. ‘And you’ve tried therapies before this, I presume? If this has been going on for nine months?’

‘He’s been evaluated,’ Stefano explained heavily. ‘Although not as quickly as he should have been.’ Regret turned his voice harsh. ‘At the time of his father’s accident, Lucio wasn’t even four years old. He was a quiet boy as it was, and so his condition went undetected. Bianca had taken him to a grief counsellor, who said that some withdrawal was a normal sign of grieving.’ Stefano’s head was bowed and Allegra felt a tightening pang of sympathy for him and his situation. It was so familiar from her work, but it always hurt. Always.

‘Then,’ Stefano continued, ‘as he began to lose speech, develop certain behaviours, the counsellor recommended he be evaluated. When he was, he was diagnosed with pervasive developmental disorder.’

‘Autism,’ Allegra finished quietly and Stefano nodded. ‘What types of behaviours was he exhibiting?’

‘You can look at his case notes, of course, but the most obvious one was lack of speech or eye contact. Methodical, or repetitive, play. Abnormal level of sustained concentration, resistance to cuddling or physical contact.’ Stefano recited the litany of symptoms in a flat voice and Allegra could imagine how he—and Lucio’s mother—had felt when they’d heard the doctor. No one wanted to hear the news that their child was flawed in some way, especially when the problems associated with autism were not easily treated.

The waiter came with their first courses and they spent a few moments eating, both grateful for the slight respite. When their plates had been cleared, Stefano continued.

‘He was first diagnosed with autism a few months ago but Bianca resisted. She felt certain that Lucio’s behaviour stemmed from grief rather than a disorder, and I feel the same way.’

Allegra took a sip of water. ‘I presume it has been explained to you,’ she said gently, ‘that the symptoms associated with autism often manifest themselves at Lucio’s age.’

‘Yes, of course, but right around the time his father died? It’s too much of a coincidence.’

‘It also doesn’t make sense for Lucio to lose speech and develop other worrisome behaviours months after a trauma,’ Allegra countered, her voice steady and quiet. ‘Especially at such a young age.’

‘Are you trying to tell me you think he’s autistic?’ Stefano demanded.

‘It’s a possibility,’ Allegra replied. ‘A misdiagnosis among professionals is rare, Stefano. Psychiatrists aren’t just slapping a label on a child without care or reason. They draw on extensive evaluation and data—’

‘I thought you’d had experience with a child who was misdiagnosed,’ Stefano replied coolly.

‘Yes, one. One child in hundreds, thousands. And it simply happened that he responded to art therapy, and I happened to be his art therapist.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m not a miracle worker, Stefano. If you want to hire me to prove Lucio isn’t autistic, then I can give you no guarantees.’

‘I don’t expect guarantees,’ Stefano replied. ‘If, after extensive work, you come to the same conclusion as the other medical professionals, then Bianca and I will have no choice but to accept it. However, before that time, I want to give Lucio another chance to heal. For the last several months, the doctors involved have been treating him for autism. What if his real problem is grief?’ He lifted his bleak gaze to meet hers and Allegra felt a wave of something unfamiliar, something tender, sweep over her.

‘It is possible,’ she allowed, ‘and I couldn’t really say any more until I saw his case notes. Why do you think art therapy in particular might help Lucio?’

‘He always loved to draw,’ Stefano said with a little smile. ‘I have a dozen thirty-second masterpieces by my desk. And while I’ll admit I was sceptical with the idea of creative therapy—’ he shrugged, his mouth quirking cynically ‘—at this point, I’m willing to try anything. Especially when I heard about your success with a similar case.’

‘I see.’ She appreciated his honesty, and it was no more than what most parents initially expressed. ‘So Lucio lives in Abruzzo?’

‘Yes, and I won’t move him. Bianca had to take him out of nursery because he couldn’t abide strange places any more. Regular trips to Milan or further afield would not be possible.’

‘So,’ Allegra surmised slowly, ‘you need an art therapist—me—to come to Abruzzo.’

‘Yes, to live there,’ Stefano completed without a flicker. ‘For at least a few months initially, but ideally …’ he paused ‘… as long as it takes.’

He poured them both wine from the bottle the waiter had uncorked and left on the side of the table. Allegra took a sip, letting the velvety-smooth liquid coat her throat and burn in her belly.

Several months in Abruzzo. With Stefano.

Professional.

‘That’s quite a commitment,’ she said at last.

‘Yes. I imagine you have some cases you’d need to deal with, business that would have to be wrapped up. I’m returning to London in a fortnight. You could be ready by then?’ There was a slight lilt to his voice, but Allegra knew it wasn’t really a question.

Stefano wasn’t even asking her to come to Abruzzo. He was expecting her. Telling her.

As high-handed as ever, she thought. As arrogant and presumptuous as he’d been when he’d patted her on the head and told her to go to bed.

Dream of me.

What more is there?

She shook her head, a tiny movement, but one Stefano still noticed. ‘Allegra?’ he queried softly. ‘Two weeks surely is enough to do what you need to do here?’

Questions clamoured in her throat. ‘What if I can’t come to Abruzzo, Stefano?’ she asked, and heard the needling challenge in her voice. ‘What if I say no?’

Stefano was silent, his eyes blazing into hers for a long, heated moment. ‘I didn’t think,’ he said finally, quietly, enunciating every syllable with chilling precision, ‘that you would allow the past, our past, to threaten the future of an innocent child.’

Allegra’s face flushed with anger. ‘This isn’t about the past, Stefano! It’s about the present, and my professional life. I’m not your star-struck little fiancée to order about at will. I’m a qualified therapist, a professional you are seeking to contract.’ She broke off, letting her breath out sharply.