Page 28 of Forbidden Fruit
Another nod, then she picks up the Barbie she carries everywhere with her and mumbles to herself in a corner of the bathroom, leaving me to focus on Anton. I get into the shower with him. He’s shivering in his dirty clothes and I help him out of them, then wash away the traces of sickness on his face, massaging his head as I wash his hair.
Without any fuss, he lets me put him to bed.
“I’m putting a little bucket right here by the side of the bed,picculinu. If you feel like you’re going to vomit, you just have to do it in here.”
“I don’t want to dirty everything again,” he cries and rubs his eyes with his fists while clutching his Teddy like it’s its only lifeline.
“Everything can be washed,anghulu. It doesn’t matter. If you don’t reach the bucket, I don’t care.” I caress his cheeks in an attempt to soothe him, and he leans against my touch, his lips trembling. “What matters is you, okay? You let me worry about cleaning. Maybe we’ll even putBabbuto the task. Can you imagineBabbudoing all the cleaning?” I ask with a smile that gets reflected back at me. It’s small, but it’s a start.
“Babbualways cleans the house on Sunday.”
I frown, but I believe him.
I kiss his brow and return to the living area, Livia in tow. I can’t get the image of Lino Marquesi with a vacuum in his hands out of my head. The task seems so… simple and mundane. And caring. And since when are simple chores a turn on for me?
It’s official, I need to get out of this house more and do something for myself.
Before I cut vegetables and prepare a bone broth for Anton, I dial Mr Marquesi’s phone. Nerves jitter in my throat and it’s my turn to feel clammy. But not from sickness.
He answers on the first ring. “What’s wrong?”
Just like that, my nerves disintegrate, replaced by frustration. Tone clipped, I answer, “Anton is sick. He threw up when coming from school and has a fever. He’s in bed now, but you should come home.”
And I certainly shouldn’t tell my boss what to do, but I can’t help it. As much as I love these two kids and how they burrowed into my heart, Anton needs his dad. Especially in this state and when his mother isn’t here to comfort him.
“He needs you,” I add more softly.
“I’ll be home in twenty minutes.”
“I…” Before I can even reply, he’s already hung up. His manners are still lacking. I’ll forgive him because I’m sure he’s worried for his child, but it doesn’t cost anything to be nice.
Nineteen minutes later, I’m playing with Livia on the plush beige rug in the living room when a dishevelled Lino enters. “Where is he?” he asks, worry clearly written across his furrowed brow.
I stand and walk to him, leading him into the corridor at the bottom of the stairs with a hand on his elbow. I barely notice that his eyes latch on the spot where I touch him, too enthralled with how this simple touch electrifies the place where our bodies meet in the most innocent way.
I shake myself out of it and drop my hand.
“Anton is in his room, sleeping. I think you should wake him up in an hour or two to have him drink the broth. It’s full of minerals and proteins. He might not keep it down though. He’s scared of dirtying the sheets, so you should tell him that it wouldn’t matter if he did,” I offer.
“I don’t need you to tell me how to parent my own child, Miss Winfrey. I didn’t ask for your advice, I asked where he is.”
I can’t take him belittling me. “And you don’t need to be a dick about it.”
Faster than a man has the right to move, Mr Marquesi grabs my chin between his thumb and forefinger and crowds my space. “Watch your mouth,” he growls.
His hold isn’t threatening or hurtful. It’s laced with possessive ownership that has no place between us. And after that day in the alley, his touch is charged, rendering me speechless.
My breath catches in my throat. I freeze, my eyes widening at his impulsive movement, and watch as his gaze lands on my lips andstaysthere. His thumb travels up every so slowly, dragging my lower lip down, then releasing it.
The air around us crackles with something new and ferocious.
“Babbu,” Livia breaks the bubble with that one word and we both take a step back. His hand floats in the air where it was a second ago before he drops it and turns his gaze to his daughter.
He picks her up and advances towards the stairs, but I stop him, my hand encircling his wrist. He doesn’t look at me, but he stops in his tracks.
“I called the doctor. They should be here in an hour. And the soup is ready.”
His jaw ticks, and he nods. Then he’s gone and I go back to the pool house, wondering if I’ll get fired tomorrow.