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

have them for much longer, of course, and there’s no diversity in age. I do like the difference between tots and teens; it’s a lot of fun. But I get the same buzz of connection. When a child gets something you’ve been trying to convey, that moment of clarity is really special. My first primary school class are all in secondary school now but they come back and visit sometimes, and knowing I had a small role in shaping these curious almost-adults is inspiring.’

‘And your classes in Kensington? Were they more like today? You were working towards a gala there as well, weren’t you?’

Charlie took an arancini ball and pulled it apart on her plate, the hot mozzarella stringy between her fingers. ‘I wish you’d come to see the Kensington Community Dance project; it had an incredible vibe. Classes are classes; they all have a similar feel, although I didn’t teach ballet there, just jazz and musical theatre, but our gala was very different. No guest artists, very few proud ballet mums making sure their budding prima ballerina was suitably recognised. Not every child had the right clothes or shoes.’

Putting the remains of her arancini down, Charlie took a gulp of water. ‘I know it’s hard to see, living like you do with your beautiful house in your beautiful square, a driver to take you to work, reservations for all the best restaurants, but there is so much poverty almost right on your doorstep.’

‘I know,’ he said, stung. He might not volunteer, might not have time to actively participate in the community the way Charlie had, but he donated enough. He was very generous with local initiatives. ‘I’m not oblivious, Charlie.’

‘The community centre where the project is based tries to reduce some of that inequality. There are so many children living in the same borough and yet they might as well be on different planets. Some, the privileged children of embassy staff, our neighbours, go to private schools with every kind of activity you could imagine, from musical instruments to learning Mandarin to fencing. In their spare time they play tennis in the park at exclusive clubs, they go horse-riding, they learn ballet with the top companies. Whereas the children who come to the community centre, many of their parents don’t even speak English, their schools are too strapped for cash to offer any activities, they’ve never picked up a tennis racket or ridden a horse. We try and plug some of that gap but it’s not always easy. Cultural differences, family expectations, even having somebody who is free to bring you to the centre for your class: when your parents are working three jobs, getting you to tap class on time each week just isn’t a priority. But the gala, that was their chance to shine. It was about showing off their achievements, celebrating them as much as about funding the next year’s activities. They all put in so much work. I just wish you had been there to see it.’

Her voice was filled with sorrow, with hurt and an undercurrent of the anger that had flared up the day of the gala when he had come home, not to escort her there, but to pack for an unexpected trip to New York.

‘I’m really sorry that I was called away at the last minute. I did offer to donate whatever it was you needed to raise that night…’

Charlie looked up at that, her gaze holding his, cold and proud. ‘And that’s just it. All that work was to give the children a chance to show a world which writes so many of them off before they have even left school just what they could do, about showing that they were important, that they mattered. But they didn’t matter to you, and the work I did meant nothing to you. You thought a cheque would make up for your lack of interest. We did need the money, but just writing a huge cheque bigger than everything else we raised that night didn’t make you some kind of hero. It made you someone who devalued every carefully donated prize, every saved-up-for ticket, every home-made costume.’

‘That’s not true,’ he protested, but the words rang hollow and he knew it. He hadn’t been interested in spending an evening in a local hall watching children he didn’t know dance and sing.

‘You didn’t listen when I talked about it,’ Charlie continued. ‘You thought it was a cute way of keeping me occupied, that because it was unpaid it had no intrinsic value. And that was a problem, that is a problem. I’m not just your wife; I’m a person in my own right and what I do matters. It should matter to both of us, not just to me. But you think what I do is worthless and until you recognise that, until that changes, we have no chance of a lasting future, Matteo.’

Matteo stared at Charlie, devastated by the truth in her words, by the cold, proud hurt in her eyes, in her voice. He was responsible for this. He had made his beautiful, vibrant wife feel worthless, let her think that he thought her worthless, that she was nothing more than his consort. He’d made her feel that her actions and passions didn’t matter. Of course, of course that had never been his intention, had never ever been his meaning and yet in this case he couldn’t deny that his actions definitely spoke louder than words.

He inhaled, low and deep, trying to find the right words. ‘You’re right.’

Charlie looked up from a plate where she had been examining the remains of the arancini intently as if they held the secrets to the universe. ‘Pardon?’

Sitting back, he kept his gaze on hers, tried to make sure his expression was as open and honest as possible, even though emotions had never been easy for him to show. ‘You’re right. I was an absolute idiot and it’s a miracle you are here, that you didn’t leave