Harlequin Romance March 2021 Box Set Cara Colter (the mitten read aloud TXT) 📖

It’s a lot of work as well, just for a different audience and with a different vibe. This will be a lot more fun. Besides, benefits have their place, of course they do, but I’ve been to a lot over the last year and although some have been brilliant and come from a genuine desire to change things, others are a little more about being seen to do the right thing, don’t you think?’ Her chest squeezed with painful hope as she posed the question. Because, of course, benefits and being seen to do the right thing was exactly how Matteo operated. Not because he was unthinking or uncaring, but because he was representing Harrington Industries and every cheque was as much a PR exercise as a donation.

‘In what way?’

‘I just found some of those dinners and concerts and balls we attended a bit hypocritical,’ she said carefully. ‘There were people wearing outfits that cost more than the money they donated, sipping fine champagne and doing business deals while ostentatiously writing huge cheques. Don’t get me wrong, I know this is how much of the world works and the money raised can be life-changing. It’s just not my style. Meanwhile, these children will have a wonderful experience and learn the value of thinking about others. What’s wrong with that?’

Matteo held up his hands as if in mock surrender. ‘Wrong? Nothing at all. It’s just as I said, it’s an awful lot of work.’

‘In this case, work you volunteered me for,’ she pointed out, and he laughed.

‘Point taken.’

They were nearing the village now and the path thinned so they were forced into single file. Charlie fell behind Matteo, her mind still tumbling with thoughts stemming from their brief conversation.

The truth was that Matteo’s careless suggestion that she step in to help his goddaughter had stirred up the still unresolved hurt and anger from the night of the Kensington gala. The night when they hadn’t even argued, just stared at each other in mutual inability to empathise with the other. The night that had led her to tell Matteo she couldn’t see a way their marriage would work and maybe she should leave. The night he had said that maybe that would be best. She didn’t know if he had expected her to go through with it but while he was in New York she’d packed her things and returned to her grandmother’s.

He still didn’t know how much he’d hurt her—no, he knew how much but had no real idea why. He understood that he’d closed down emotionally, been physically as well as mentally absent, but didn’t realise that his lack of interest in her activities, in her life had been equally hurtful. But was it fair to dredge up that argument again? After all, he was committed to trying to put things right. And, truthfully, she couldn’t deny that the last two weeks had been among the best of her life.

But if she didn’t say anything then how could they solve all the problems that had led to the breakdown of their marriage in the first place? If she wanted to just enjoy these weeks in Italy and then head off in their separate ways then brushing the past under the carpet was the best policy—and that option was available to her; Matteo had made that very clear. But, with every day, Charlie knew that she didn’t want that outcome. That this marriage, this man were worth fighting for—and that meant that, sooner rather than later, she needed to be completely honest.

At that moment they reached the hall where Natalia taught dancing and the rehearsals were to take place. The gala itself would be held in the gorgeous surroundings of the Villa Rufolo on an evening when it wasn’t holding one of its famous concerts, the audience for once made up primarily of locals, not well-heeled visitors—although the illustrious line-up of stars had led to tickets selling to plenty of outsiders.

Charlie inhaled. The parents would think their children perfect no matter what they did on stage, but knowledgeable outsiders raised the stakes and the children had lost well over a week of rehearsals already. She only had ten days until the dress rehearsal, which meant she had just ten days to make sure each dance was perfect and every one of the children knew every step, cue and mark. It was down to her.

No more delaying, she told herself. Straightening her shoulders, she pushed open the door and walked confidently into the hall as if she did this every day.

Which in her old life she had.

She could hear an excited buzz as she walked in, the high-pitched squeals of children playing, the low confidential hum of gossiping parents, all undercut with anticipation for the strange new teacher that only Lucia had met. She was aware of every head swivelling to look at her and Matteo, what felt like hundreds of pairs of eyes sweeping up and down her, judging her posture, her walk, her outfit and bearing as silence descended so suddenly it was as if someone had switched the volume down.

Still displaying an utmost confidence externally, despite her inner trepidation, Charlie walked up to the front of the room and turned to face the parents seated in rows at the back, the children sitting cross-legged and expectant on the wooden floor. Matteo stood just a step away.

‘Buon giorno,’ she said calmly, projecting her voice with every bit of stage training she possessed, ensuring that her words reached every corner of the room despite not raising her voice. ‘I’m sorry to say my Italian is not up to the job of teaching you in your own language,’ she said, and waited for Matteo to translate. ‘I know some of you can understand English, and I will speak slowly for those of you that do and my husband, Matteo, will translate for the rest of you. It’s not ideal, I know, but luckily much of the language of dance is universal. I’m