The Italian's Love-Child (11 page)

Shouldn’t she give what they had—however precarious—a chance? Rather than risk time and distance making them grow further and further apart, so that it didn’t become a case of
if
he got another woman, but
when
.

She thought of what he was offering her. ‘It’s more than just marriage, though,’ she pointed out thoughtfully. ‘It’s a whole new life in a whole new country.’

‘An adventure! A beautiful country, and a beautiful city.’ His eyes glittered and his voice softened to rich velvet. ‘I could so easily make you fall in love with my city, Eve.’

She didn’t doubt it for a moment. He had managed to make her fall in love with
him
without even trying. But Luca was a passionate man, and there was an aspect to marriage he hadn’t even touched. The aspect which had turned everything upside down, including their lives.

‘When you say…marriage…’

He saw the way she bit her lip. ‘You are afraid that I am going to start demanding my “rights”?’ he mocked softly.

‘Well, are you?’ It should have been a teasing response and if it had been then who knew how he might have reacted? But, as it was, it came out more like a sulky little question and hung on the air like an accusation.

A pulse began to beat at his temple. ‘I will demand nothing of you, Eve,’ he retorted silkily. ‘If that’s what you’re worried about.’

Could it be any more complicated than it was? she wondered. What had happened had put up barriers between them, of course it had. Luca had shown no sign of wanting to make love to her ever since she had first told him that she was pregnant. At first she had put it down to his anger, but now that the anger had gone he still hadn’t gone near her. Which could mean that he no longer found her physically attractive.

Yet there were times when she caught him looking at her with a hot and hungry look in his eyes which made her think that perhaps he did. Though it was
different for men, she knew that. They responded automatically to a woman sometimes—though, considering her current state of swollen ankles and swollen belly, she might simply have imagined it.

And now he said he would demand nothing of her. Did that mean that he expected
her
to make the first move? And how could she—so lumberingly and unattractively pregnant—make an overture towards him which he might then reject? Or maybe he wouldn’t demand because he didn’t want her in that way, not any more.

‘You’re having second thoughts?’ he mused.

‘I haven’t even got through the first ones yet.’

He laughed then and it was the laugh that did it. To have the ability to make a man like Luca laugh surely meant something. She loved him and she was expecting his baby and he had offered to marry her. What was not to accept? What was to make her cling onto what she had here—a job which had become increasingly unimportant when compared to the enormity of bringing new life into the world?

She smiled. ‘What type of wedding did you have in mind?’

A
S IT
was, with all the arrangements to be made, it was close onto a month before the wedding could take place, and by then she was almost up to the limit of when it was safe to fly.

There was a licence to be obtained, a dress to buy and a simple reception to be organised.

Though her choice of wedding dress was strictly limited by her physical dimensions.

‘You look lovely,’ sighed Lizzy.

‘Liar! I look like a whale!’

‘Well, you don’t, and even if you did—who cares, when you’re getting married to Luca?’ sighed Lizzy. ‘He obviously loves you whatever you look like!’

Eve didn’t like to disillusion her. What would have been the point? She had taken Lizzy up to London with her, where, armed with a ridiculous amount of money, she had persuaded a hot, up-and-coming young fashion designer to try to work magic with her appearance. The result was a coat-dress, cleverly cut to disguise the bump, in fine cashmere of the softest, palest ivory. An outrageous hat had been made to match. ‘It’ll naturally draw the eye to your face,’ said the designer. ‘Which is just
glowing
with pregnancy!’

A bouquet which was luscious and extravagant enough to cover the bump completed the ensemble. In fact, the whole outfit was an illusory one, thought Eve as she twirled in front of the floor-length mirror.
Something made to look like something it wasn’t—and maybe an accurate reflection of the marriage itself.

Still, she had agreed to go through with it, and she would do so with all her heart.

The day after she had accepted Luca’s proposal she had gone into work and told them. And unfortunately someone had phoned the local press.

E
VE IS THE
A
PPLE OF
I
TALIAN’S
E
YE
! reported the South Hampshire daily.

‘In a way, I admire you,’ Clare told her, a touch enviously. ‘Giving all this up for love. And marriage.’

And Eve didn’t have the heart to disillusion her, either.

On her final broadcast, she explained that she was getting married and moving to Rome.

‘Why, you looked positively wistful when you said that,
cara
,’ drawled Luca, who had watched the show. ‘So was that genuine, or just good acting?’

Did he think of her as an actress, then? Able to hide her emotions behind a veneer of professionalism? And if so, wasn’t that a skill which might prove useful in the ensuing months?

The wedding took place in the Hamble, in the yacht club where she had first seen Luca. A girl of about the same age as Eve had served them champagne and Dublin Bay prawns and Eve thought how heartbreakingly young she looked.

It was a small affair with Lizzy and Michael, and Kesi as bridesmaid, and Luca’s sister Sophia had flown over, leaving her husband with her baby back at home. Eve had felt nervous about meeting her, but
she was strung out with nerves anyway, and thought how faraway her voice sounded during the ceremony.

She felt strange, as if it were all happening to someone else, as if she were in a bubble which protected her from the rest of the world. And although her heart ached with love and longing, the vows they exchanged seemed to have no real meaning because they didn’t really mean
anything
. Certainly not to Luca.

It was ironic in a way that she, who had always considered herself a very modern woman, should be entering into a very old-fashioned marriage of convenience.

Luca took her in his arms afterwards, briefly brushing his lips over hers in a kiss which didn’t mean anything either, for there was no promise in it. Not for them the usual passion of the newly-weds, only restrained by social niceties, just a perfunctory kiss to make it look as everyone thought it should look.

‘You look very beautiful,’ he murmured.

But what bride could possibly feel beautiful at such an advanced state of pregnancy?

Yet Sophia had hugged Eve like a sister, and run her hand over the bump in a delighted way which spoke of pride, rather than something to be ashamed of. ‘Stand up to him,’ she had said, when rose petals and rice had flown off on the wind towards the water. ‘He has had too much of his own way for all his life. And I’ll see you in Rome, once you are settled,
sì
?’

Settled?

Eve wasn’t sure that she would ever feel settled again, and when they arrived at the front of Luca’s
apartment she felt the very opposite as he turned to her, his dark eyes glittering.

‘Shall I carry you over the threshold, Eve?’

‘Is that an Italian custom, as well as an English one?’ she said breathlessly.

He smiled. ‘It is indeed. Come.’

And he scooped her up in his arms and carried her into the apartment.

‘Put me down, I’m too heavy,’ she protested.

‘Not for me,’ he demurred.

No. He was a strong man and Eve wondered if he could feel or hear the thundering of her heart. It was, she realised, the closest they had been for a long time. With one hand beneath her knees and the other locked around her expanded waistline and her leaning against his chest. She could smell the raw, feral masculine scent of him, feel his hard body as it tensed beneath her weight.

If this had been a real wedding, he would carry her straight into the bedroom and lay her down and slowly undress her and make love until the morning light came up.

But it was not, and he did not. Instead, he put her carefully down in the centre of the vast, spacious sitting room as if she were some delicate and precious container, which was exactly, she guessed, how he saw her. For she carried within her his child, and nothing could be more precious than that to the man who had everything else.

The undrawn curtains framed the stunning beauty of the night lights of Rome, though she was blind to it. All she could see and sense was him. He was still wearing the dark and elegant suit he had worn for
the wedding, though she had insisted on changing from her wedding finery for the journey home.

‘It’s more comfortable this way,’ she had explained in answer to his silent look of query as she’d appeared in a trousers and a pink silk tunic, which by no stretch of the imagination could be classified as a ‘going-away’ suit. But it was more than that. She hadn’t thought she could bear to go through the charade of people congratulating her, them—making a fuss of her on the flight, behaving as if they really were a pair of exquisitely happy newly-weds, when nothing could have been further from the truth.

His eyes had narrowed. ‘So be it,
cara
,’ he had said softly. ‘Comfort is, of course, essential.’

And now they were here, and she was ready to begin her new life and she didn’t even know what the sleeping arrangements would be.

He saw the wary look on her face. Like a cornered animal, he thought grimly. Was she afraid that he would drag her to the bedroom—insist on consummating this strange marriage of theirs?

‘Would you like to see your room?’

Well, that told her. ‘I’d love to!’ she said brightly. ‘I’m so tired I think I could sleep for a whole century!’

‘A whole century?’ he echoed drily.

In any other time or in any other situation, Eve would have exclaimed with delight at the bedroom he took her to. It was perfect. A room full of light, furnished in creams and softest peach.

But Eve had seen
his
bedroom. Had shared that vast bed of his, where tonight he would sleep alone. For one brief and impetuous moment she almost turned to him, to put her hand on his arm and say
shyly that she would prefer to spend the night with him. But he had moved away to draw the blinds, and part of her was relieved, knowing that if they made love it would change everything—it would shatter what equilibrium she had and make her vulnerable in a way she simply couldn’t afford to be. And there were far too many other things going on to risk that.

He turned back from the blinds, and the blocked-out night made the light in the room dim, throwing his tall, lean figure into relief so that he looked dark and shadowy, like an unknown man in an unknown room in an unknown city.

And that, she thought painfully, was exactly the way it was.

‘Goodnight, Eve,’ he said softly.

‘Goodnight, Luca.’

‘Do you have everything you need?’

No. ‘Yes. Thank you.’

She stood exactly where she was, listening to the sounds of Luca moving around, until at last she heard the sound of his bedroom door closing quietly, and it was like a sad little signal.

Sighing as she looked at her brand-new, shiny wedding ring, she began to get undressed.

But when she woke up in the morning and drew open the blinds, she sucked in a breath of excitement at the sight of the city which lay beneath her, and it changed and lifted her mood. It couldn’t fail to. It was like a picture-postcard view, she thought. And there was so much to discover.

She showered and dressed and wandered into the kitchen to find the tantalising aroma of good coffee and Luca squeezing oranges, a basket of newly baked bread on the table.

He gave her a slightly rueful look. ‘I hope this is okay?’

She sat down, suddenly hungry. ‘It looks wonderful.’ She remembered the time when she had stayed with him, exclaiming that his fridge had been completely bare, save for two bottles of champagne and a tin of caviare. And he had taken her out to a nearby café for breakfast, explaining that he never ate in.

‘You’ve taken to eating breakfast at home now, then?’ she questioned as she poured her coffee.

‘I shopped for these first thing,’ he said, feeling like a man who had accomplished a mission impossible! ‘I guess things are going to have to change around here.’

Automatically, her hand crept to her stomach. ‘Well, er, yes,’ she said drily.

He laughed. ‘Homes have food, so I guess I’m going to have to learn how to shop. And cook.’

Eve laughed. He wore the expression of a man who had just announced his intention to wade through a pit of snakes. ‘If you shop—I’m happy to cook.’

‘You cook?’

She gave him a look of mock reprimand. ‘Of course I cook! I love cooking.’ She risked it. ‘I could teach you, if you like.’

A woman teaching him!

‘You might not be able to stand taking orders from a woman, of course,’ she said shrewdly.

He met her eyes. ‘Oh, I think I could bear taking orders from you, Eve.’

She hastily broke the warm, fragrant bread. She was going to have to watch herself, if some simple, throwaway comment like that was going to have her
heart racing with some completely disproportionate pleasure, as if he had just offered her the moon and the stars.

He sat down opposite her, feeling oddly relaxed. It felt strange to be eating breakfast with a woman in his own home and not covertly glancing at his watch and wondering how soon he could get his own space back.

‘I’ve made you an appointment to see an obstetrician tomorrow morning,’ he said, and then added, ‘He’s the best in the city.’

She supposed that went without saying. Everything that was the best would now be hers for the taking, and she must try to appreciate it. Not get bogged down with wanting everything to be perfect, because nothing ever was, everyone knew that.

‘And I think we might arrange a small party—that way you can get to meet everyone at once—what do you think?’

It was her first real entrée into his life. A whole circle of Luca’s smart and sophisticated friends—how were
they
going to accept her? She hadn’t even put that into part of the equation. ‘What will they think?’

He raised his eyebrows in faintly insolent query. ‘That you’re my wife and that you’re expecting my baby—what else is there for them to think?’

He was right. Even if it had been a conventional love marriage, he would not have gone around telling his friends so. They would just have made the assumption. Would they notice that he didn’t touch her? That they behaved as benignly as two flatmates? She stirred her coffee. ‘Luca.’

He let his eyes drift over her. Her hair was loose
and the morning light was spilling over it. He had never seen so many different hues in a head of hair and it looked like molasses and honey with warm hints of amber. Her green-grey eyes were bright and clear, their lashes long and curling even though she wasn’t wearing a scrap of make-up. She looked wholesome and clean and healthy, he thought, and that, surprisingly, was incredibly sexy. He hadn’t slept a wink last night, imagining her in the bed next door to his. What, he wondered, was she wearing in bed at the moment? Did pregnant women feel the need to cover up? He shifted slightly. ‘Mmm?’

‘I’d like to learn Italian, please. And as soon as possible.’

He heard the determination in her voice. It didn’t surprise him, but it pleased him. ‘All my friends speak English,’ he commented. ‘Spanish, too.’

‘Yes. Yes, I sort of somehow imagined that they would.’

‘And the baby is going to take a while to learn how to speak!’ he teased.

‘Yes, I know that, too! But I don’t want to be one of those women who move to another country and lets her…her…husband do all the talking for her.’ The word sounded strange on her lips. As if she were a fraud for saying it.

‘I can’t imagine you letting
anyone
do the talking for you, Eve,’ he said drily. ‘But, of course, I will arrange for a tutor for you. That might be better than going out to a class, particularly at the moment, don’t you think?’

She nodded. How easy it was to arrange and talk about practical things. And how easy to suppress
feelings and emotions. To put them on the back-boiler so that they didn’t disturb the status quo.

‘It seems strange to think of our baby talking,’ he said slowly.

‘Too…too far in the future to imagine?’ she questioned tentatively.

‘A little. But I was just thinking that his or her first language will be English, won’t it? The mother tongue.’ He thought then of the reality of what her being here meant. Or rather, what it would have been like if she had stayed in England. He wouldn’t have got a look-in, not really. It would have been false and unreal and ultimately frustrating and unrewarding. Suddenly, he understood some of the sacrifice it must have taken for her to have come here—to start all over in a territory which was completely unknown to her.