Sweet Temptation by Cora Reilly

Daniele deserved a happy childhood after everything he’d gone through. Lies
were a slippery slope that eventually made you stumble. “Your uncle betrayed
your dad. He ran away because he didn’t want to be punished for his mistake.
That hurt your mom very much. She wasn’t herself after your uncle left her.
That’s why she didn’t know what she was saying, Daniele. Your dad does
everything to protect you and Simona because he loves you. He’d never hurt you
or your sister.”
“He didn’t hurt Mom?”
“No,” I whispered. It was the truth and a lie. A lie that would help our family
heal. Some lies we told others to protect them or ourselves; others we told
ourselves for the same reason. Today’s lie was a bit of everything.
“You?”
“He doesn’t hurt me either.”
Simona crawled toward the tree and made a move as if to drag herself to her
feet with a branch. I jumped to my feet and quickly snatched her away then
carried her over to Daniele. “Will you keep watch over her?”
He nodded, and I put her in his lap. He hugged her to his body, and she
seemed content for the moment. “You see,” I said softly. “You want to protect
Simona, and I want to protect you, and your dad wants to protect all of us.”
After I was done decorating, the kids and I went into my paint room. As had
been our routine over the last couple of weeks, both children got brushes,
watercolors, and paper so they could entertain themselves while I finished the
painting I’d started for Cassio. It was almost done. I wasn’t quite happy with the
spray on the waves rolling onto the beach. They needed to appear more vivid. I
wanted Cassio to smell the ocean air and feel the refreshing breeze when he saw
it. He had a photo of the exact same view in our bedroom, but I hoped he’d love
a canvas.
Loulou sniffed at the door, but she kept running over the paper and through
the paint pots, spreading colorful pawprints everywhere, so she wasn’t allowed
inside anymore.
Daniele dragged the brush over the sheet, creating blue lines, as if he, too,
was painting the ocean.
I put down my brush and walked over to him. He didn’t look up as I sank
down beside him. Simona hit the floor with her own paintbrush over and over
again, splattering paint everywhere. My overalls and bare feet were already
covered in a myriad of colors. Daniele had returned to his quiet self after our
conversation this morning, pondering what I said. I wished I could glimpse into
his head.