Her New Year Baby Secret

by Jessica Gilmore

  ‘I think I mentioned before that I was born quite a long time after my brothers. It was like being an only child in many ways and I was quite isolated. My mum liked to pick out my friends, my clothes, my activities, and I soon learned that my role in the family was to make her happy—and she was happy when I did exactly what she wanted. It’s dangerous, linking love to approval, making a child feel that it’s conditional. And that was very much how I felt. I didn’t dare complain, I didn’t dare disagree because when I had her approval I knew I was loved. But I wasn’t happy. My school was quite a long way away from my home and I was dancing most evenings from a young age, so I didn’t have many friends. Ashleigh was my closest friend, but I only knew her for a short while and then her family moved back to Australia. By the time I hit my mid-teens I was a bit of a loner and really naïve.

  ‘My mother had planned for me to apply for professional training when I was sixteen—but I think I told you in Venice that my heart wasn’t in it. It was the first time I had said no, first time I’d let her down and she didn’t hide her disappointment in me. But I felt free for the first time. I started to go out, to gigs to see local bands, to make my own clothes and find my own look. The more I started to work out who I wanted to be, the harder she tried to hold on. We had such terrible, horrible rows, said nasty, vicious things.’

  They had both been guilty, she knew that. But Sophie had still been a child in many ways and her mother had left her in no doubt that she wasn’t good enough, not any more. That Sophie’s own style, her own wishes, her own hobbies were wrong and behind her bravado her fledgling self-confidence had begun to crumble.

  ‘That was a long time ago. How are things now?’

  ‘Fragile,’ she admitted. ‘Uncomfortable. That’s why I rarely go back to Manchester.’ She found a smile. ‘See, we do have some things in common.’ But their solutions to their family problems had been drastically different. Marco had taken control of his life, made a huge success out of his passions, his business. Sophie? She had run from one controlling situation to another.

  She took another sip of the comforting tea and tried to order her thoughts. She hadn’t spoken about Harry since the day she had finally come to her senses and walked out of the door. If she told Marco, it would be like probing a wound to see if it had really healed or still bubbled with infection.

  ‘Like I said, I was a bit of a loner and really naïve. Ripe to be exploited. I met Harry at one of his gigs. He was the singer—all brash confidence and raw sexuality. I had never seen or spoken to anybody like him before and I was besotted before we even spoke. When he singled me out I thought I was the luckiest girl alive. It was every teen cliché come true. My parents hated him, of course. He was older than me for a start, arrogant, entitled. Looking back, he was just really rude, but I thought he was authentic and being true to himself. The more they tried to stop me seeing him, the more attractive he got.’

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘Seventeen, a really young seventeen. I thought I was Juliet, of course, brimful of forbidden love.’ Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘There is nothing more guaranteed to drive your hormonal teenaged daughter into the arms of a complete sod than to try to stop her seeing him. If they’d relaxed and made him welcome, or at least pretended to, maybe I’d have seen the truth a lot sooner.’

  Maybe.

  ‘Things were tense for a year. Home was like a battlefield, every sentence an ambush. My parents couldn’t cope. Their sweet, biddable daughter had been replaced by a foul-mouthed hellion. I drank, stayed out all night, ditched school—and of course Harry encouraged me all the way. It shouldn’t be an excuse, but, remember, I needed approval to feel loved and Harry’s approval was intoxicating. I lived for it—and he knew it. Eventually my dad put his foot down in a “not in my house, young lady, you live in these walls you obey my rules” kind of way and I said “fine”. Packed my bags and walked out the day I turned eighteen.’

  He echoed her thoughts. ‘We’re both runaways, then. You’re right, we do have something in common.’

  ‘Only, you moved to a new city and started a successful business. I moved into a squat three miles away and became a cook, cleaner, cheerleader and paid heavily for the privilege. Harry had me exactly where he wanted me. My original plan had been to go to college and study art and textiles while living with him, but he persuaded me I’d be wasting my time. That I wasn’t that talented, that original.’ To her horror she could feel the tears gathering in her eyes and swiped her sleeve angrily against them. ‘He said I’d be of more use getting a job so we could get a flat—obviously he was too busy being a musician to dirty his hands with real work. So instead of college I worked in a greasy spoon café. I was there for six years. I paid for our flat and our food. I cleaned our flat. I cooked our food. I soon learned not to ask Harry to do anything, not to expect anything from him. Including fidelity.’

  She swiped her eyes again. ‘I know what you’re thinking because I’m thinking it too. Why did I put up with it? Why did I let him treat me that way? I think it every day. He made me feel like I was completely worthless, that I couldn’t do anything, be anyone without him. That I was lucky to have him. And I believed him. The worst part is that every now and then he’d do something sweet, remind me why I fell in love with him in the first place. I lived for those moments, craved them, would lie there every night he didn’t come home and relive every one of them.’

  His hands had curled into fists and a primal part of him welcomed his anger. ‘He didn’t deserve you. You know that, right? You left, you got away.’

  ‘Eventually. We were at a wedding and when he saw the head bridesmaid his tongue was practically hanging out. I’d turned a blind eye to his flings before, but when he kissed her on the dance floor—in front of his friends and family—I knew I had to get out before he destroyed me completely. I called a taxi, packed my things and went straight to the train station. I didn’t trust myself not to waver if I saw him.’

  ‘That was very brave.’

  ‘I was running on adrenaline,’ she admitted. ‘If I’d thought about what I was doing, moving on my own to a city I didn’t know, to a place where I knew no one, I would have just given up.’

  But he was shaking his head. ‘You’re stronger than you think, Sophie. When I look at you I don’t see a victim or weakness. I see a survivor. I see resilience. I see strength.’

  Warmth flooded through her, not just because of his words but because of the respect she saw in his eyes. ‘It’s been a slow journey, Marco. I don’t feel strong, not all the time. I’ve worked really hard to get to this place. My flat is tiny and horribly overpriced, but I pay the rent for me. It’s my home, my sanctuary. I’ve finally put my designs out in the world. I have friends here, good friends. I’m my own person.’

  ‘You’d still be your own person if you married me. I wouldn’t stand in your way.’

  She would give anything to believe him—but she didn’t. ‘When I told you about the baby you went into decision-making overdrive. We would do this, I would do that, this is how it would be. I know you were thinking of me and the baby, but I can’t live like that, Marco, not again.’

  He had paled, his eyes hard. ‘You think I’m like your ex? That I would control you? Put you down?’

  ‘No, no...’ She reached a hand out to him. ‘You’re nothing like Harry. Your kindness was one of the first things I lo...liked about you. But you do like things your own way. That’s why you moved to London in the first place. You’re used to being in charge and I won’t risk losing myself. I won’t be the peacemaker, the compromiser again. I can’t.’

  She needed him to understand, desperately hoped that he did, but his mouth was grim.

  ‘I understand, Sophie, I really do. But this isn’t just about you, not any more. You might not like it, but my role now is to take care of you and our baby and I won’t let you push me
aside. You’ve come a long way, but you need to learn to let go, to trust me not to hurt you.’

  She opened her mouth to tell him she did, but she couldn’t say the words. He sighed. ‘There’s a difference between protecting you and controlling you. I have to do the first, but I can promise you I’ll never do the second. I’m here, Sophie, for you and for our baby and I’m not going anywhere. The sooner you accept that, the better. Thanks for the drink. I’ll see myself out.’

  She sat frozen as he got to his feet. Two seconds later the door clicked behind him and he was gone. Part of her was relieved he still wanted to be involved, that she wouldn’t have to bring the baby up alone, but his parting words rang in her ears. The sooner you accept that, the better. He was wrong; she wasn’t accepting anything and no man would ever tell her what she could or could not do ever again. ‘Damn you, Marco,’ she whispered as she got wearily to her feet, the cold bone deep inside her. ‘Why didn’t you ask me what I want rather than telling me what you think I need?’

  He said he respected her, now she needed him to show it. It was a poor substitute for love, but Sophie suspected it was all she was going to get. The question was, would it be enough?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  ‘ARE YOU SURE you don’t want me to come with you? Hold your hand?’

  Sophie smiled, touched at the concern in Ashleigh’s voice. ‘It’s a scan. I don’t think it hurts.’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ her friend said firmly. ‘It’s a huge moment, and on Valentine’s Day too. You’re going to need someone to hold the tissues.’

  ‘I’m not dragging you away from Lukas on your first Valentine’s Day. What kind of best friend do you think I am? Besides, it’s different for you loved-up types, but I’ve never made a fuss about the fourteenth of February. It’s just a day.’

  Ashleigh’s voice took on the dreamy tinge she always used when talking about Lukas. ‘I think Lukas is planning dinner in Paris from all the not so subtle hints, but we can get a later train. I don’t mind at all.’

  ‘No, go to Paris, be happy and in love. I’ll email you a picture of the scan, okay?’

  ‘Only if you’re sure.’

  ‘More than sure. Now go and get ready to look surprised. Au revoir.’

  ‘Email me straight away, love you.’

  ‘I love you too.’ Sophie clicked her phone off and suppressed a sigh. It would have been lovely to have her oldest and best friend with her when she met her baby for the first time, but there was no way she would butt in on Ashleigh’s first Valentine’s Day with Lukas.

  She turned her phone over and over in her hand. She didn’t have to go alone. After all, there was someone else who was probably just as keen to meet his baby. Their baby.

  She hadn’t met up with Marco at all over the last few weeks, partly because he was travelling and partly because he seemed to be respecting her request for space and time. It hadn’t stopped him sending details through for potential flats and houses he ‘wondered’ if she might find more suitable or arranging a delivery service to supply her with home-cooked meals she just needed to heat up. She told herself that she should be mad at his officiousness, but she was so busy and tired the meals were a godsend and she couldn’t help but concede he had a point about the flat. Hers was too small, too noisy and up too many flights of stairs.

  The only problem was that every property he sent her was way, way out of her price range. She was pretty sure he was expecting to pay for wherever she moved to and knew that unless she suddenly sold every outfit she had made she was going to have to accept in the short-term at least. Necessity didn’t make it easy though. ‘For goodness’ sake,’ she told herself. ‘At least he’s not expecting you to support him. That’s a huge improvement, right?’ But much as it made sense it still felt like the first step on a very slippery slope.

  She sighed. They did need to talk and a scan was a good, positive place to start. Before she could change her mind she called up his name and pressed Send. It was the right thing to do.

  * * *

  ‘Buongiorno.’

  Marco scanned Sophie with a critical eye, nodding with satisfaction as he noted the shadows had disappeared from under her eyes and her cheeks had colour once more. Her hair was freshly washed and full of its usual bounce and her eyes no longer had the sad, defeated look he’d taken away with him when he’d left her a few weeks ago. ‘You look beautiful.’

  ‘Hi.’ She smiled shyly at him and his heart squeezed. It had taken every single ounce of self-control he possessed not to call her or pop round over the last few weeks, but he had promised her, promised himself, that he would give her the control she needed, the time she needed. It had seemed like an eternity.

  He’d thought he’d missed her when she left Italy, but that was nothing to the way he’d felt over the last few weeks. He’d thrown himself into work, but it had been almost impossible to concentrate when all he could think about was how he had blown it, how he had destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to him. Through arrogance, through ignorance.

  Marco wasn’t sure when he had fallen in love with Sophie, but he did know that this pain in his chest, the ache in his heart, the constant knowledge that something fundamental was missing, was love. He suspected he had fallen for her at some point in Venice. He was sure he loved her when he’d walked away from her flat, when he knew he’d let her down and had no idea how to fix it. When he’d decided that he had to respect her decisions, her choices, no matter how much it hurt him to do so.

  He’d hoped that it would simplify things, but, looking at her nervous smile, he realised it complicated everything. If he told her how he felt, he suspected she would feel manipulated, think that he was saying what she wanted to hear, not what he felt, and after the last few weeks he wouldn’t blame her.

  He usually had all the answers, but today he had nothing. ‘Thank you, for asking me here today.’

  ‘I should have given you more notice. It’s lucky you were in London.’

  He hadn’t left London, although he’d given her the impression he was away. He couldn’t have left her if his business depended on it. What if she needed him and he was nowhere to be found? He’d let down one family member through pride. That was more than enough.

  ‘I’d have found a way to get here. What do we do now?’

  ‘We go in there, register, I have to drink lots of water and then we meet our baby. Ready?’

  Our baby. The words hit him with full force. He, Marco Santoro, was going to be a father. Excitement mingled with pride filled him and he vowed he would do anything and everything to keep his child safe and secure. To make him or her happy. For the first time he understood why his mother fretted and planned and pressured him. Why his father had insisted he knew best no matter what Marco said or felt. They too felt this way; misguided as they might have been, they had just wanted to protect him. He just needed to remember that his version of happiness might not be the same as his child’s. He took a deep breath. Yes, he was ready for fatherhood and all it entailed. ‘Sì, let’s do this.’

  * * *

  ‘I can’t believe this is our child.’ Marco took another look at the black-and-white picture in disbelief.

  ‘I know, it does look a little like an alien, doesn’t it? Do you think I got beamed up onto a spaceship and just didn’t realise it?’

  ‘Shh, the bambino will hear you. An alien indeed.’ He snorted. ‘With that nose? This is a Venetian baby for sure.’

  ‘The next scan we can get in colour, you can properly see features and everything. Did you mind that they didn’t tell us the sex? We could go for a private scan if you wanted to find out.’

  Hope flared at her casual use of ‘we’. ‘I don’t mind either way. Do you want to know?’

  ‘Yes and no,’ she admitted. ‘It would be handy for names, but I’m not reall
y a pink for a girl, blue for a boy type. I just want it to be healthy and happy.’

  ‘It will be.’ He knew he sounded serious, but he would lay his life down for that little alien without even blinking.

  They’d reached the hospital doors and Sophie paused. ‘I know you’re busy, but do you have to get back? I’m really grateful you’ve given me some time, but there’s a lot of things we need to talk about. It’s all feeling very real at the moment.’

  ‘I can clear my diary.’ He already had, but she didn’t need to know that. ‘Where do you want to go?’

  ‘Anywhere outside. It’s so nice to have a dry day after two weeks of rain, I want to take advantage of it.’

  Marco agreed. The torrential downpours of the last two weeks had added to his impatience as he’d waited for Sophie to get in touch.

  ‘I could eat though,’ she added. ‘Before I kept eating to stop me feeling sick. Now I just want to eat all the time because I am ravenous. The books tell me I need to be really healthy, but my body just wants carbs, the greasier and unhealthier, the better. You can tell the baby is half Italian the amount of pasta and pizza it demands.’

  ‘I think I know just the place.’ He hesitated. ‘Unless you have somewhere in mind?’

  ‘No, go ahead. And while we’re talking about food, thank you for arranging for those meals. There have been times when I was too tired to even make toast. They have been brilliant.’

  Marco exhaled. Bianca had announced her pregnancy shortly after he’d last seen Sophie and had mentioned how tired she was in the evening and what an effort making dinner was. The difference was she had Mamma taking around dishes of pasta and Antonio to cook for her; he’d hated to think of Sophie exhausted and hungry all alone. ‘So the meals come under protective and not controlling?’

  She nodded. ‘They do. They also come under thoughtful and sweet. I really appreciate it.’