The Italian's Love-Child

by Sharon Kendrick

  She had begun to look forward to them. In a way, it was easier talking to him on the phone—then she didn’t have to look at his gorgeous dark face or cope with the very real awareness of him as a man, and how her feelings towards him hadn’t changed.

  Or rather, they had. The attraction she felt for him hadn’t, but getting to know him had made her realise what she had always feared, deep down—what she had thought the moment she’d seen him on the other side of the room at Michael and Lizzy’s party.

  That he was ‘the one’.

  But that was strictly a one-way street and there was absolutely no point going down there.

  He was waiting for her outside in Reception and his face was like thunder.

  ‘Did you bring the car?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Give me the keys.’

  She handed them over and wondered if she was becoming one of those frightful women who secretly wanted to be dominated. But she reasoned that maybe it was just nice to have someone take over for a change. She yawned.

  He didn’t say a word when they got in the car, and when they were headed out towards the Hamble he still maintained a simmering silence.

  ‘Luca?’

  ‘Not now, Eve,’ he said quietly. ‘I am trying very hard to concentrate on driving and if we have this conversation then I am very afraid I won’t be able to.’

  He waited until they were back in her cottage and then he let rip.

  ‘Are you going to explain what all that was about?’

  ‘You mean the film crew?’

  ‘Please don’t play games with me, Eve. You are an intelligent woman—you know exactly what I mean.’

  She sat down in one of the armchairs and looked up at him defiantly. ‘It’s for the programme.’

  ‘Yes, I gathered that much.’

  ‘They wanted to film the scan, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s all?’

  She shot a glance at him. ‘I don’t see what the problem is.’

  He gave an angry laugh. ‘You don’t see what the problem is?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘What, for half the nation to be staring at your naked stomach!’

  ‘It isn’t half the nation,’ she began automatically, and then stopped when she saw his face. ‘It’s supposed to help women see how easy it is,’ she tried placatingly.

  ‘And what about the labour itself?’ he demanded, hotly. ‘Are you going to let a film crew of men film that, so that the viewers can see how “easy” it is?’

  ‘No, of course not!’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Quite sure.’ In fact, the idea had actually been mooted at one of the production meetings, but Eve had turned the idea down flat.

  ‘I suppose you think I’m being very old-fashioned.’

  ‘Very.’ But wasn’t it also protective, and wasn’t there some stupid side of her which thrilled to that? It must be the hormones making her react like that.

  ‘I don’t want the viewers seeing what is essentially a very private moment. It should be for the mother and father, Eve—for us.’

  Except that there was no ‘us’. Overwhelmed by an aching sense of longing for what could never be, Eve closed her eyes.

  He looked at her. She was pale, he thought, and again a slow, simmering anger began to bubble up. What the hell was she doing, lying there being filmed, her stomach heavy with his child? How had he allowed this to happen? ‘I’m going to make some tea,’ he said shortly.

  She could hear him clattering around in the kitchen, and when he came back in with the tray he was frowning. ‘Why were you having a scan at this stage anyway?’

  She shrugged listlessly. ‘Just routine.’

  ‘Sure?’

  She nodded.

  He sat down, and picked up her hand, began to stroke it, almost thoughtfully, and Eve’s eyes flew open. It was such a little thing. Such a tiny, little thing and yet it felt like heaven. Her body craved comfort and human contact. She met his eyes, wanting above all else for him to take her into his arms, to hold her and to stroke her, but he did not and the dark eyes were thoughtful, watchful, wary.

  ‘For how much longer are you contracted to do this show?’ Idly, he circled a finger over her hand.

  She swallowed. Don’t stop touching me, she thought. ‘It finishes on the third.’

  ‘That’s next week.’

  She nodded.

  ‘And then?’

  ‘Then I’m on maternity leave. I’ll look at other options when…when I’ve had the baby.’

  ‘Eve.’ He paused. ‘Are you happy with what you’re doing?’

  ‘You mean the show?’

  ‘That is part of it. But your life here. What you see for the future. Just what do you see for the future, cara mia?’

  It was a long time since he had called her that, and it made her want to weep with longing. For what it might have been. For what it was not.

  ‘It’s like I jumped onto a merry-go-round and I can’t get off,’ she admitted slowly, and at that moment she didn’t care if she sounded vulnerable. She felt vulnerable—and pregnant women were allowed to, weren’t they? She was fed up with being brave and strong and coping. She did want to lean on Luca, if not emotionally, then at least practically. Just for a little. To pretend that he would really always be there for her…

  ‘As for the future—well, it isn’t something that I gave much thought to before. But now…’ Her voice tailed off.

  ‘Now?’ he prompted.

  ‘I realise that I have to. And I just don’t know any more. Oh, Luca!’ And to her horror, tears began to slide from her eyes. She bit her lip and tried to stop them, but she could not and it was as though she had been teetering on a knife-edge of control as she began to cry.

  An expression of pain crossed his face. Had he pushed her so far to cause her this? He pulled her into his arms and began to smooth his hand down over the silken mane of her hair, over and over again in a soothing and comforting rhythm. ‘Shh. Don’t cry, Eve. Don’t cry, cara mia. No need for tears. Everything is going to be fine, I promise you.’

  Her tear-wet cheek was buried in his neck. She could smell the raw maleness of him and feel the warmth which radiated from him. His arms were tight and strong and protective. Nothing could hurt her here. At least, no outside forces could—her ache in her heart was the most dangerous thing she had to fear.

  She drew away from him, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sniffed.

  ‘Don’t be sorry.’ He touched away a last stray tear with the tip of his finger. How shocked would she be if he told her that a part of him liked seeing her weak, like this? For her weakness meant that his own strength could come to the fore, and wasn’t that the way he liked it best? ‘What would happen if you told them you didn’t want to go back to work? At least for the foreseeable future?’

  ‘It would probably be the end of my career. Viewers have very short memories and even shorter loyalties.’

  ‘Yes, your career. Your damned career,’ he said softly. ‘What’s going to happen when the baby is born, Eve? Who will look after our son or our daughter when that car whisks you away to the studio every day?’

  She looked at him. He was still so close, close enough to kiss, but she did not dare. ‘I don’t know anything any more,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t even know how much I care about my career.’ Her eyes glittered defiantly. ‘I suppose you think that’s a shocking admission?’

  It was the best thing he had heard her say in a long time, but he was clever enough not to say so. ‘Why should it be?’

  She shrugged, thinking that the woman he had been attracted to was the smart, able career woman. ‘I guess I think that my job defines me.’

  ‘No job should define a person. And you haven’t answered my question,’ he persisted. ‘What’s going to happen when the baby is born?’

  ‘I don’t have a choice. I have to work.’

  ‘But that’s just the point, Eve—you do have a choice. You can
come back to Italy with me. As my wife.’

  There was a long, breathless silence.

  ‘You don’t mean that.’

  ‘I never say anything I don’t mean. But believe me when I tell you that I will not ask you again.’

  She sat back against the cushions. ‘Why? I mean—really?’

  ‘Truthfully?’ He rubbed his finger along the shadowed line of his chin. ‘I would like the child to be born in Italy, and I want to see that child grow up.’

  At least he hadn’t told her lies. Told her that he loved her and couldn’t live without her. ‘You think those are good enough reasons for getting married?’ she asked, and her voice was trembling in a way that didn’t sound like her at all.

  ‘I can’t think of any better,’ he said simply. ‘What is the alternative? That you bring up the baby here, alone.’ His eyes darkened. ‘Or maybe not alone. Think what you like of me, Eve—but the thought of another man bringing up my child as his own sickens me to the stomach.’

  She nodded. Oh, yes, she could see that. They were qualities of possessiveness and ownership, certainly, but at least he had had the guts to admit it. He wasn’t to know that the situation would never arise and she wasn’t going to tell him that no man would feature in her life, not after him. For who could hold a candle to Luca Cardelli?

  And the flip-side to his not being able to stand the thought of another man was the spectre of Luca being with another woman. Could she bear that? Imagine if Luca married someone else, and she had to send the child to stay with them, weekends and holidays and, worse, alternate Christmases? Another woman being a stepmother to her child. If there were qualities of ownership and possession, then Eve was just discovering that Luca didn’t have a monopoly on them.

  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?’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AS 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.

  EVE IS THE APPLE OF ITALIAN’S EYE! 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 con
venience.

  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.