CHAPTER FIVE
SATURDAY…Matt’s first day with his father.
Luc instantly made the most of his arrival, turning up in a red Alfa hatchback, presenting Skye with the car keys and announcing, much to Matt’s delight, that the car was for his Mummy, so she could drive him to soccer training during the week and matches on the weekend.
An expensive Italian car, not a cheap runaround which would have been far more suitable. The house they lived in did not have a garage attached. The car had to be left parked in the street and a red Alfa would stick out like a sore thumb in this neighbourhood. But did a Peretti think like that? No. And she hadn’t thought to advise Luc sensibly when he’d insisted she needed her own transport for the activities his son would want to pursue.
Like soccer. Matt’s friends at school were signing up for soccer today. Skye hadn’t driven a car since her mother had died and the Alfa made her nervous, not to mention having Luc sitting beside her in the front passenger seat. Somehow she managed to get them to the football oval without doing anything stupid.
Luc took care of the signing up. Skye gritted her teeth over the pride in Matt’s voice as he announced to his play-mates, ‘This is my father.’
So far he’d been quite shy with Luc, wary of what this new intrusion in his life might mean, not quite understanding the background and sensing Skye’s fearful reservations. But even a little boy could see that the other boys’ fathers did not match up to Luc Peretti, certainly not in looks, and not in authoritative and charismatic presence.
They were exchanging smiles now.
With a sinking heart, Skye realised there’d be no stopping an attachment forming. Luc was intent on it and Matt was responding.
He’d better not walk away, she thought fiercely. If he ever hurt Matt as he’d hurt her…Skye took a deep breath and unclenched her hands. It was impossible to fight this. All she could do was watch over it, which she had insisted upon. No way would she agree to Luc taking Matt anywhere without her, and nowhere that didn’t have her approval. To her intense relief he had made those concessions.
For now, she added to herself.
She didn’t trust him to keep to them for long.
Next stop was a shopping mall where Luc had Matt fitted with a proper pair of soccer boots, which he paid for. They proceeded to a toy shop where he also bought for Matt a soccer ball and a goal structure complete with netting so his son could practise shooting goals—which could have been done with simply setting up two sticks in the backyard.
Skye could feel herself bristling at the money being spent without a second thought. They ate lunch in a restaurant—another expensive exercise—with Matt full of excitement at being treated to his favourite chicken nuggets and a banana smoothie. He ate and drank with gusto, while Skye could barely swallow the chicken Caesar salad Luc had ordered for her, remembering it had been one of her favourite meals when they’d been going out together.
She didn’t want those memories revived. It was hard enough, having to be with Luc all day, having to be agreeable for Matt’s sake, feeling forced to accept the Peretti largesse which was bound to have an insidious influence on Matt.
At least the buying stopped with lunch. She drove them home and Luc spent the afternoon in the backyard with Matt, setting up the goal, showing how to kick the soccer ball with the side of the foot, not the toe, practising dribbling the ball and demonstrating other skills that fascinated Matt into trying to copy them.
It hurt to watch them—father and son—having fun together, chatting, laughing, cheering and clapping achievements. Matt was having a great time, completely relaxed now with his new Dad, liking him and loving the different kind of attention he was getting. Male attention. Male understanding. Male activity.
It brought home to Skye that no single parent could supply everything a child needed, no matter how well-balanced one tried to be. Better to have the input from both parents, if it could be given in harmony. And it had to be conceded Luc was delivering on his promises. So far.
At last the day was over, with Matt bathed, fed, put to bed and enjoying the novelty of reading his father a story before lights out. Luc was astonished that his five-year-old son could actually read, and when they left Matt’s bedroom, having kissed him goodnight, Skye found herself being forcibly steered back to the kitchen instead of carrying out her intention to see Luc out the front door.
‘Let go of me!’ she growled, resenting being denied a ready escape from the prolonged tension of his company.
‘I just want to say thank you, Skye,’ he said reasonably, releasing her arm once he’d accomplished his purpose of regaining territorial advantage.
She stepped away quickly, moving to put the small kitchen table between them, instinctively rubbing at the heat he’d left on her skin. He frowned at the action but she’d didn’t care if he found it offensive. He had no right to touch her, to use his dominant strength to get his own way.
‘I don’t want you frightened of me,’ he said in sharp concern.
‘Then please leave. You’ve had your day. You’ve said thank you. There’s no reason for you to stay any longer.’
He shook his head, still frowning. ‘Did I do something wrong with Matt?’
‘No. He had a happy first day with you.’
He raised his hands in a gesture of appeal. ‘So why can’t we talk about it?’
‘What do you want? My stamp of approval?’ she snapped, screaming inside for him to go because any more of him today was unbearable. She’d had to hold in so much for Matt’s sake, pretending she was pleased for him to have his father, giving Luc the freedom to court his son, while all the time feeling that the little world she had constructed was under terrible attack.
Instead of answering, Luc eyed her with searching intensity, looking for the reason behind her hostile stance. ‘Is it really so hard to share him with me, Skye?’ he asked in the soft tone that stripped her of defences.
She gripped the back of a chair, trying to hold herself together. Tears were welling—tears of emotional exhaustion—and the lump in her throat made it difficult to speak. ‘You’ve won him over,’ she pushed out. ‘It’s done. Please…just go now. Let yourself out.’
Her eyes blurred and she swung blindly around, stepping over to the sink, frantically turning on the taps so as to look busy, though there was nothing to wash, only a glass that had already been rinsed. She didn’t hear Luc move, didn’t even sense him closing in on her. Her whole concentration was aimed at not breaking up before he went.