That would have to do, she thought, and before she could change her mind, she let herself out the room and padded on bare feet down the hall to Draco’s suite. Without hesitating, she rapped her knuckles on his door and, not even waiting for his reply, opened it and stepped inside.
Twelve
“Is there something wrong?”
Draco turned from the desk where he’d been standing, reading a sheet of paper. He placed the paper and the cut crystal tumbler he’d held in his hand on the glossy wooden surface of the desk and crossed the distance between them, concern pulling his eyebrows into a frown.
“No, I’m fine, I just wanted to talk to you a while. That’s all.”
Now that she was here, she suddenly felt nervous. She shouldn’t have changed into the nightgown that was for sure. While it had seemed a good idea at the time, right now she felt as if she’d put herself on display, when what she wanted was Draco’s total attention—and not in that way.
“The night wear looks lovely on you.”
Appreciation gleamed in Draco’s eyes, and Blair felt her body warm and stir under his gaze.
“Thank you,” she said, her words a little breathless.
She averted her eyes and sat down on one of the comfortable, overstuffed couches in his sitting room and cleared her throat.
“Your mother spoke to me about a few things today,” she started.
“I can imagine,” Draco said with a smile. “My mother generally has much to say on every topic.”
“She told me about Marcella.” There, she’d said it. The other woman’s name had slid off her tongue without so much as a hint of the envy she unrealistically bore his dead fiancée.
Draco’s eyes narrowed into cold, emerald chips. “What, exactly, did my mother tell you?”
Maybe this was a mistake. Blair smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her sleeve and drew in another breath before speaking.
“She told me you were engaged and that Marcella died while she was pregnant, before you could be married.”
“And?”
Blair shot him a look. His expression gave nothing away. If he still bore any love for Marcella it wasn’t evident on his features.
“I…I wondered if you could tell me about her. It might help me to understand a bit better.”
“Understand?” Draco paced the floor in front of her. “What is to understand? My life with Marcella has nothing to do with you and me. Marcella loved me, we were engaged to be married, and yes, she was pregnant with my child when she died of a heart defect she’d neglected to inform me of. Had I known—”
Draco broke off and swore volubly in Italian. He stopped his pacing and came to a halt in front of Blair.
“Had you known?” she prompted, wishing she hadn’t embarked on this conversation. To hear him talk of Marcella—to talk of love—could only flay her fragile heart. What the heck had she been thinking?
Draco sighed, a violent huff of air from his lungs that spoke volumes about his emotional frustration.
“Had I known, I would have been more careful. She would not have become pregnant. We would have married and grown old together. It would have been enough.”
“Perhaps she didn’t believe that. Perhaps she knew how important your family was to you. And with your brother gone, she felt she had no choice.”
“Choice? She gave me no choice. She knew her weak heart would never sustain a pregnancy, yet she never shared that information with me at any time.”
“I’m sorry, Draco. Losing her must have been hell for you.”
“Hell for me and for my parents. They had been looking forward to the baby so much. After Lorenzo’s death, a piece of them died too. Knowing Marcella was pregnant brought so much joy and anticipation to their lives. But that was destroyed when she died. Tell me, Blair, how is a man supposed to go on when the woman he loves holds such a truth from him, and by doing so takes not only her life but the life of his child?”
Words stuck in Blair’s throat at the raw grief so evident in Draco’s question.
“I was everything to Marcella. She was devoted to me, and it cost her life. Is that what you wanted to know? She would never have put work ahead of me and the baby, especially not the baby.”
Blair’s back stiffened. “Is that some sort of criticism of me?”
“Take it however you want to,” Draco responded wearily. “But at least be honest with yourself. I know you could never love another person as much as Marcella loved me, or be as self-sacrificing, because you only have one priority in your life—your precious restaurant. But that doesn’t matter. At least you are honest about it and you and I both know exactly where we stand. Besides, we both know that you have no intention of being a real mother to the child.”
Blair jerked as if he’d slapped her.
“And tell me, Draco. Just when in your business schedule do you think you’ll have time to be a real father? I barely see you. So, what kind of parent will you be? You’re so quick to criticize my desire to have a successful career, but maybe you should look at yourself first.”
She was shaking with reaction, as first fury, then something else coursed through her body. She didn’t want to think about how she felt right now, but all that ran through her mind was the truth that he would never consider a long-term future with her. Her thoughts were backed up by his next words.
“My duty will always lie first and foremost with my family. Don’t ever doubt that. I will be there for this baby—far more than you—so before you start flinging rocks at me you should check you are not standing in a glass house. You’ve made it clear that your career is worth more to you than a relationship with your child or with me. Even now, every day, you work toward your goal of returning to your kitchen.”
Blair couldn’t deny it. Every day she took lessons with Cristiano, but the past couple of days her enthusiasm for translating the recipes into the menu at Carson’s had waned a little. In her nightly calls to her father, he’d gone to great lengths to say how he was coping brilliantly with the workload. In fact, she hadn’t heard him sound as happy and fulfilled in a long time. It still concerned her that he hadn’t yet appointed a new chef, but she consoled herself that it was only a matter of time.
“At least I have a goal,” she responded staunchly, grasping at straws to bolster her flagging self-esteem. “I’m not solely allowing myself to be defined by the man I’m with or by our children.”
Draco grew still, and Blair knew she’d gone too far.
“I pity you,” Draco said through gritted teeth. “I pity you that you can lower yourself to insult a woman who was a saint in comparison to you. A woman who gave her life for what she thought I wanted. Remember yourself, Blair. You chose this course of events. You chose to be no more than the vessel that will bring security to the Sandrelli name and happiness to my family, rather than be a part of it. And when you have delivered on that promise you will go back to your restaurant and our lives will continue as they have for centuries.”
Ice poured through Blair’s veins. He couldn’t have put it more bluntly. He and his family belonged here in a way she never could. They were a part of the land, a part of the people, a part of each other in a way she’d never known and never would. At least her baby would have that, be part of that.
She blinked back the tears that burned like embers against the back of her eyes. She’d been a fool to think she could come here and talk to Draco about a future together. It would never have worked anyway. She was probably just mushy-brained because of this pregnancy—wooed into the lifestyle and surroundings and dreams of what she could never have or be.
Summoning all the dignity she could muster, Blair rose from her seat. The soft folds of fabric of her nightgown and peignoir settled around her body like a lover’s caress, and she shuddered to think that, if things could have been different between herself and Draco, he would no doubt have been removing the garments by now.
But instead of making plans for a new future she clung to every la
st shred of what she had left. She lifted her chin and met Draco’s glittering gaze head on.
“Thank you for the reminder. You’re right. Of course. To be honest, I can’t wait for all this,” she gestured to her belly “to be over so I can get back to my life.”
She saw Draco’s jaw clench, noticed the muscle working on the side of his face. She’d struck him a blow, but she’d struck one equally as deep to her own heart.
She’d fallen in love with a man who would always put others—their child, his family—ahead of her. Just for once in her life, she’d ached to be first in a man’s life; but she could never hope to be that person with Draco.
She forced one foot in front of the other until she reached the door, then gripped the handle and turned it sharply. Every cell in her body urged her to stop, to turn and look back at Draco. To see if he showed one hint of softening toward her, one chance to change his mind about her and the baby. But men like Draco took their responsibilities too seriously to ever be that yielding.
With her back still to him she said bitterly, “I feel sorry for you, Draco. At least I’m moving on with my life. You? You’re still locked in the past…”
She pulled the door closed behind her and staggered to her bedroom, and once inside, she ripped off the peignoir and nightgown, hearing the fabric shred as she sought to rid herself of its softness, its sensuality—its reminder of all it was and all she wasn’t. With shaking hands she removed the diamond ear studs Draco had given her, and unsnapped the clasp on the charm bracelet. She needed none of it. They were trappings of someone else. Someone she could never be. She was Blair Carson, chef and restaurateur, and damned proud of it.
And that’s what she kept reminding herself as she tugged on an old T-shirt and slid beneath the covers of her bed. She and her baby didn’t need anyone or anything else. Ever. And certainly not Draco Sandrelli.
The next few days dragged out interminably for Blair. Draco was cool and distant, and on those rare occasions they crossed paths, it was painfully clear that every last vestige of the camaraderie they’d tentatively shared was wiped from their existence.
Blair threw herself into her lessons with new enthusiasm; she needed something—anything—to keep her focused on her future. The time she spent in the kitchen and scouring the markets with Cristiano became a salve to her wounded soul, so much so that, when she sensed a tiny flutter of movement in the pit of her stomach one morning, it took her completely by surprise. At only fifteen weeks pregnant, she knew it was early by most standards to sense any movement of the baby, and initially she shrugged the bubbling sensation off as something else. But when it happened again she couldn’t be so sure.
She pressed a hand to her belly and waited for the sensation again, yet nothing happened. But later that night, as she settled into bed, she became aware of the sensation again. Tears pricked at her eyes as she stroked her hand against her belly again—suddenly, irrevocably, connecting with her baby in a way she’d never thought she’d experience. How different things could have been if only she could share this with Draco, she thought, as she let hot tears glide down her cheeks.
The next morning, she was surprised to see Draco in the kitchen waiting for her. They’d barely spoken more than a half dozen words to one another since the night his parents had come to dinner.
“I will be leaving for London as soon as the jet is ready,” he informed her. “But I will be back in time to take you to the doctor for your sixteen-week checkup.”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re not back yet. I can go on my own,” Blair stated baldly. In fact, she’d prefer it if he didn’t come, so strained had they been around one another lately.
“I said I will be back in time, and I will. I keep to my word, Blair. You’d do well to remember that.”
Blair flung a look at Cristiano, who had his back to them as he sprinkled sage into the omelet he was preparing for her breakfast, and blushed. She hated that Draco felt he could speak to her like this in front of one of his staff.
“Whatever.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me either way.”
It was petty and childish, she knew, to have answered him back like that, but his stiff, overbearing manner with her made her feel like a child. She sat at the table and pushed her eggs around on her plate, tension drawing a tight line across the back of her shoulders until she felt him move away and out the room.
She heard the revving engine of his car as he sped away from the palazzo and down the private road that led to the airfield, and deep inside of her a part of her wept that they had come to this.
By the end of the week, Blair was becoming used to the occasional tiny flutter that signaled the baby’s movement. Granted, the sensations were still slight, but for the first time in ages she didn’t feel so alone. She’d heard nothing from Draco in the time he’d been gone. Given her parting comment to him, it was no great surprise. She’d expected to feel more relaxed at the palazzo without him here, but instead she felt like an intruder. As if she didn’t belong. And she didn’t, not really. As he’d so succinctly put it that awful night, she was here to deliver. And once she did, she’d be heading back home.
Blair had been in the kitchen garden, picking a little flat-leaf parsley to add to the potato croquettes she was experimenting with, when she heard the distant peal of the telephone. Since Draco had left, the phone had hardly rung at all, and for a moment she felt her heart leap with anticipation that he might be calling her. As she entered the kitchen, she eschewed the idea. He was no more likely to call her than he was about to drop on bended knee and ask her to stay.
She shook her head slightly, castigating herself for being a fool. But to be honest with herself, she was missing him terribly. It was hard to admit that she wanted him here, with her. She, who needed no one, apparently needed him a whole lot more than she’d ever realized.
“Signorina! The telephone. It is for you,” one of the maids came rushing through to the kitchen, gesturing to the wall phone.
“Thank you.” Blair smiled.
Butterflies took flight in her stomach. Was she wrong? Could it be Draco?
The voice at the other end of the phone soon put that thought out of her head.
“Ms. Carson, my name is Doctor Featherstone, from Auckland City Hospital. Your father has been admitted with a heart attack. He’s stable at present, and we will need to operate. But he appears to be more concerned about his restaurant than his health. He refuses to consent to the surgery. Quite frankly, if we don’t operate he won’t be so lucky the next time around.”
Blair’s head swam. A heart attack? Oh God, no! She should never have left. She should have known he’d take on all the responsibility of the restaurant and refuse to hire another chef, or even share more of the workload with the sous chef. This was all her fault—and Draco’s.
“Can I speak with him?” she managed through lips that felt numb.
“He’s sedated at present, but I can pass a message on.”
“Please, tell him not to worry about Carson’s. I’ll be on the next plane home. Tell him I’ll take care of things. All he needs to do is get well again.”
She took a few details from the doctor, then hung up the phone and sank against the wall. A heart attack. She closed her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. She could have lost her father, and all because Draco insisted on her having his baby here in his beloved Tuscany. Well, as far as Blair was concerned, where the baby was born was neither here nor there anymore. Her father needed her, and, as Draco was so fond of pointing out to her, family came first.
Her duty to her father was no less than his to his family, celebrated history or not.
She pulled her ragged thoughts together and picked up the telephone to dial Information. She had to get home as quickly as possible. Her father’s health, even his life, depended on it.
Thirteen
By the time Blair staggered up the stairs to the flat above the restaurant she was shattered. The irony of flying from Rome to Lo
ndon and then making a connecting flight via Hong Kong to Auckland wasn’t lost on her. Briefly, she’d been in the same city as Draco and he hadn’t even known it. With the number of time zones she’d been through, she felt as if she’d been traveling for days, even if it had only been something over thirty hours. But she was here. Home. Where she was needed and wanted.
It was nearing lunchtime, but all she wanted was to fall into bed and sleep. She made a quick call to the hospital and asked to be put through to her dad, but her call was intercepted by a nurse who told her he was resting comfortably. Blair left a brief message with the nurse for her father, disappointed she couldn’t speak to him. She’d only be able to manage a few hours’ sleep before she’d need to be on deck downstairs. Calling him again would have to wait until morning. But still, he’d know she was here and taking care of things, and now he could consent to the surgery that would keep him with her longer.
Aside from the weariness of her first day back, Blair fell back into the rhythm and routine of Carson’s with a comfort and familiarity she’d always taken for granted. Her father had been scheduled for surgery later in the week and, all going well, he could expect a strong recovery—although he’d never be up to the strain of working at the pace required to keep Carson’s at the peak of its popularity.
Two days later, at the end of her shift, Blair made her way upstairs and gratefully sank into the sagging sofa bed she didn’t quite have the energy to pull out and climb into properly. She kicked off her shoes and wiggled her toes.
Despite some swelling in her feet and legs at the end of her shift, she was managing just fine with being back in a busy working kitchen. Although she was coping, it still felt as though something was missing for her. The thrill and excitement of the restaurant’s hectic pace didn’t fire her up and motivate her as much as it had done in the past.
She’d grown soft at the palazzo, she decided. But that didn’t explain the ache in her heart, or the sense that something far more important in her world was missing. She told herself it was only to be expected. She was in love with a man who only saw her as some sort of brood-mare, even if that situation was pretty much of her own making. It was no wonder she was a little deflated—okay, maybe a lot deflated. With the travel, followed by immersing herself straight back into work and the worry about her father’s health, she was entitled to feel a little down.
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