The almost transparent skin. The tiny little blue veins underneath. She could remember how she’d had to gently ease up a tiny eyelid in order to see her baby’s eyes. Eyes that would never see the world.
Lungs that would never fill with air.
She could remember all her hopes and dreams for the future evaporate with the silence in the air. The heavy, ominous silence of nothing.
Her horror had been so complete she’d only been able to shed a few tears. Tears of shock. It had been as if every emotion in her body had switched off. Gone into complete self-protection mode.
Now Logan was trying to open her all up to this again.
‘Maybe I decided that wasn’t what I wanted.’ The words came out tight, almost angry, and Logan eyebrows arched slowly.
‘You were made to be a mother, Lucia.’ He held her gaze as she tried to swallow. ‘You would be the finest mother in the world.’
She was frozen. Couldn’t breathe. Her mouth had never felt so dry, but the aroma of coffee was acrid to her now. The croissant mocked her.
Some modern career women would find his words insulting. But she didn’t. Logan knew her better than anyone. He knew how much she’d relished being pregnant. He knew how much she’d planned for their daughter—they both had.
Although she was passionate about her career, she’d longed to raise their daughter.
She lifted her coffee cup with trembling hands. ‘Things change.’
He shook his head and reached across the table towards her.
But she didn’t want him to touch her. She couldn’t take the feel of his skin on hers right now.
He leaned his elbows on the table and just kept talking. ‘I’ve dreamt of being a father too. But it’s never happened. It wasn’t meant to happen—not with anyone but you.’
He said the words so easily. As if he’d contemplated them for a long time and had come to accept that this was his lot in life.
‘I’ve met some wonderful women, but none that I wanted to marry, none that I wanted to raise children with. I only ever wanted to do that with you.’
She could feel the anger build in her chest. ‘But we never planned Ariella Rose. You make it sound as if we had our future all written out.’ She spat the words at him.
She couldn’t understand how he could talk about any of this so calmly. It felt as if he’d reached a fist into her chest and was squeezing all the blood from her pumping heart.
‘My future was written the second I saw you, Lucia.’ He hadn’t raised his voice once. His words were calm and steady. He was so resolute.
She leaned across the table towards him. ‘I can’t talk about this,’ she hissed.
It was the first time she saw a little spark in him. He gritted his teeth. ‘Well, you have to. It’s about time. You owe it to our daughter.’
She pulled back as if he’d wounded her. But Logan wasn’t finished. ‘You owe it to our daughter to talk about her and give her the love and respect she deserves.’
Her head was swimming. ‘How dare you! You know I loved Ariella.’
‘But you don’t honour her memory.’
‘What does that mean?’
Logan rubbed the palms of his hand on his trousers. It was obvious this was upsetting him just as much as it was upsetting her.
He took a deep breath. ‘It means you walked away, Lucia. You walked away from the memory of our daughter and the memory of what we used to have. I think about her every single day. It doesn’t matter that you’re in Venice and she’s in Tuscany. I visit her grave every month. You could too. But as far as I know you haven’t been there since the day we buried her.’
Fury erupted inside her. Tears were brimming in her eyes but they just couldn’t come any further—she hadn’t been able to cry since the day they’d buried their daughter. From that point on everything had been locked inside.
‘I can’t go there. I can’t visit.’
‘Why?’ He wouldn’t stop. He wasn’t going to let this go. It would have been better if they’d never seen each other again. The last thing she needed was stirring up the memories of Ariella Rose and any association with Logan did just that.
She wasn’t able to separate the parts of him from their daughter. She couldn’t just remember his kiss, his touch without remembering where it had led them. Couldn’t block out all the pain it had caused.
‘I just can’t.’
‘Then maybe that’s what we should do.’
She felt herself bristle. ‘Don’t tell me what to do, Logan. We haven’t known each other in a long time—you have no right.’
He stood up sharply, his chair screeching backwards, and she held her breath, wondering what would come next. The waiter stuck his head out of the door of the restaurant, watching carefully.
But Logan just shook his head, stretched out his back, then took a few steps towards her and knelt beside her chair.
She was still holding her breath as he slid his hand up and took hers. She hadn’t realised it but her hands were cold and the warmth from him completely enveloped her.
His voice was quiet again, this time almost pleading. ‘I have every right. We lost our daughter together. Who do you think I get to talk about Ariella Rose with? Who do I get to share the memories of our daughter with? I want to remember what we lost, Lucia. I loved her with every part of my heart—just as you did.’ He sighed and looked up, meeting her gaze.
‘This isn’t just about you any more, Lucia. It was twelve years ago. I would have done anything to help you grieve, to comfort you after the loss of our daughter. But I’ve realised this is about me too. It wasn’t enough just to make the arrangements. It wasn’t enough to say a prayer. It wasn’t about giving you the space you needed. I watched you fall apart right under my nose, I watched you shut yourself off from the world and bury yourself away. I thought I had no right to force you to talk. I thought I had to let you do this your own way. But twelve years on? I was wrong, Lucia. I was very wrong. For you, and for me.’
She squeezed her eyes closed again. She couldn’t take his intense and sincere glance. This was exactly what she’d always tried to avoid.
It had been too much. Too much to think about. She couldn’t bear it.
And now here was Logan—her strong, able Logan—telling her how much he’d been hurt too. He’d never worn his heart so much on his sleeve as he was doing now and it was tearing her apart.
She’d never even contemplated his hurt. His grief. She’d been too selfishly trying to cope with her own. Logan had appeared so composed, so strong. Now his face looked as if it had worn a river of grief across it. She could see her own pain reflected in his eyes, the tight grip of her hand telling her more than she wanted to know.
‘You have to face this, Lucia. You’re never going to get past this, I’m never going to get past this, if we can’t talk together.’
Logan. Her handsome, strong Logan. She’d always hoped he would have married and had kids. He deserved to be a father. He deserved to spend his summer evenings playing in a garden, with his arms wrapped around the woman that he loved.
Twelve years ago she’d hoped that might be her.
* * *
He still wanted to save her. Even after all these years he wanted to patch her up and put her together again. But he couldn’t do it then. And he couldn’t do it now.
But things were different now. He’d realised how much he still hurt.
It didn’t matter if Lucia wrapped her arms around his neck right now and told him she wanted to try and make things work again. It didn’t matter that she might want a future with them together.
Now he’d realised exactly what he needed. For him. And for her.
He lifted his hand then ran his fingers through her hair at the side of her head. ‘I loved Ariella Rose. I loved it that
her eyes were so dark blue, though they probably would have turned brown—just like yours. I loved the fine downy hair we could see on her head. I loved that her fingers and toes were perfect. I dream about the person she could have become. And I wonder about the type of personality she would have had.’
He moved his fingers down her cheek. ‘I wonder if she would have been like me, or if she would have been like you.’
He brought his hand down next to his other, clasping both of her hands in his. ‘I love it that we made a little person. But I watch the calendar every year. Every year when it’s her birthday I think about another year that we’ve lost. I think about the little girl who would have grown up and laughed and played and gone to school. I think she would be at an age right now where she would hate her overprotective dad. She would hate the fact I didn’t want her to speak to boys or to wear clothes that made her look like a teenager. I would want to keep her all buttoned up in pink dresses and sandals.’
Lucia was shaking. And not just her hands. Every part of her body was shaking. It was as if his words were starting to penetrate her fortress-like exterior.
He could see the waiter casting anxious glances in their direction. But he didn’t want to do anything that might distract her.
‘Tell me how much you miss her, Lucia. Tell me what your hopes and dreams were for our daughter.’
He couldn’t do anything to stop the shaking. He knew it was just her body’s natural response. He just kept her ice-cold hands in his, hoping and praying she would finally start to open up.
Her voice was tight. Her fingers started to grip his hand more tightly. Almost as if she were clinging on for her life.
‘I miss her every day.’ The words came out in a rush. Then there was silence. Silence he was determined not to fill. It was the first time she’d ever said anything about their daughter.
Lucia finally started to talk again. ‘I get so angry because I don’t know whether she would have had dark hair, or blond hair like your sisters. I don’t know whether she would have had curls or straight hair. I don’t know whether she would have been a tomboy or a ballet dancer. Whether she would have wanted red shoes or pink or white.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s so many things about my daughter that I don’t know. Will never know. And I feel cheated, completely and utterly cheated.’
His chest was tight. But tiny little parts of the tightness were giving away to relief. She was finally, finally starting to talk. Starting to talk about the life they had lost.
‘Then I think about things that would never, ever have mattered. Not in the scale of things.’ She looked upwards to the sky.
‘What do you mean?’ he prompted gently.
‘I mean, would she have liked cats or dogs? Would she have been artistic? Would she have liked staying in Florence? How would she have got on at school? All the things that—if our daughter was actually here—we probably would have argued about and fussed over. But in the end, it doesn’t mean anything.’ Her eyes lowered and fixed on the canal next to the café. A few boats were puttering past. People going about their daily business.
No one else could know or imagine what was at stake at this table.
Logan took a deep breath. He had so much more to say. Even though he’d been much more able to talk about his grief than Lucia, there was something about it just being the two of them here that made it different.
No one else could really understand how they both felt—not unless they’d lost a child too.
He straightened up and sat back down in the chair opposite her again. But this time he pulled it closer, away from the table and round to the side so their legs were touching.
‘I miss things,’ he said softly. ‘I miss us. I miss what we used to have together. I didn’t just lose a daughter, Lucia. I lost the love of my life too.’
He could see her swallow painfully. It wasn’t just him that felt this way. But somehow Lucia didn’t want to go there. It was as if, now she’d finally managed to say something about Ariella, she didn’t know how to stop.
‘Sometimes I think we were lucky. Sometimes I think that I’m selfish.’
His head shot up in surprise. ‘What?’
She scrunched up her face. Her voice was sad. ‘I look at other people who’ve lost children. You see them on the news all the time. They had a little person, a real little person with life and spark and personality, and it’s just...’ she shook her head ‘...ripped from their grasp. One day they have a little boy or girl in their room at home, talking, laughing, playing, then the next day because of disease or accidents or war their precious little person is stolen from them. Gone, in the blink of an eye.’
Her eyes fixed on the uneven ground beneath their feet. ‘That’s when I think that most of the time I don’t know what I missed. I can pretend. I can build up all these thoughts of what Ariella Rose could have been like in my head.’ She met his gaze. ‘But the truth is, you and I will never know. Is it easier to lose a baby that you loved and hoped for than it is to lose an actual child you’ve spent years bringing up?’ She shook her head again.
‘I try to rationalise why I feel so empty. I try to make excuses about why I don’t want to be around pregnant colleagues or friends.’ She gave him a sad kind of smile. ‘I have twelve years’ worth of excuses, Logan, with reasons for not visiting new babies or friends playing happy families. It would surprise you how often I’m away with work.’
He could feel the tiny hairs standing up at the back of his neck. It just didn’t feel quite right. He could feel her stepping back, detaching herself from the thoughts and feelings she’d been having a few moments ago. It was the slight change in the tone of her voice. The cool way she could look at him now.
For a few seconds her heart had been virtually on display. Her fears and hidden emotions had been coming to the surface. But even though she hadn’t moved, was still sitting on the chair next to him, still letting their legs touch, she was pulling back again.
The only reason he could pick up on the tiny clues was because he knew her so well.
She straightened her spine in the chair. He could sense her sorting out her thoughts, finding a way to steal herself back from what she’d almost revealed.
He reached out to take her hand again. ‘How would you feel about taking a visit to Florence again? How would you feel about us going together to Ariella Rose’s grave?’
She pulled her hand back sharply from his, almost as if she’d been stung. It was too much. It was a step too far.
She wasn’t ready to take it. She might never be ready to take it.
And with that realisation he felt the woman he’d always loved slip away from him once again.
Her face had turned into a mask. ‘I don’t want to do that, Logan. I don’t think it’s necessary.’
Her phone beeped in her bag and she bent forward, obviously glad of the distraction.
Their coffees and breakfast were virtually untouched, discarded.
A bit like how he felt right now.
She gave a false smile. ‘It’s work. With the computer program verifying Burano as the artist of the fresco, we can start to plan for the restoration now.’
She stood up quickly. It was almost as if their conversation had been forgotten.
For a few seconds he didn’t move. He’d almost got there. They’d almost got there.
For him it was all or nothing. He knew that Lucia was the woman that he wanted, but he wasn’t just prepared to accept a small part of her. And just when she’d started, just when she’d finally managed to talk about their daughter, it was almost as if he’d been able to see the shutters come down over her eyes, closing off the part of her that was most exposed, most vulnerable and cocooning it back in herself.
He had so many hidden hopes and plans for them. Last night had been wrong. Last night had made him think that
there might just be hope for them. That this relationship could actually bloom and grow after all these years.
She didn’t get it. She didn’t get it that in his head they would grow old together. When they’d both lost their beauty, their youth and their health, they would still have each other. And that would be enough. That would always be enough.
Only it wasn’t now. Not when he knew that the woman he loved with all his heart would never love him the same way. She couldn’t. Part of her heart was permanently locked away. Had been for the last twelve years and it looked like it would stay that way for ever.
He stood up and put some notes on the table to cover breakfast. Lucia’s whole face had changed. It was as if it had been replaced by a mask.
His stomach turned over. He could have played things so differently this morning. He could have ignored the past and just continued with the present, no matter how little of her he actually got.
But it would never have been enough. And even though his heart felt as though she’d ripped it in two, he knew this was right. For him at least.
He kept his voice as detached as he could. He would never make a scene. Never do anything to deliberately cause her embarrassment or upset.
‘Shall we make travel plans back to Tuscany?’
Her shoulders dropped a little as he spoke. Was that relief that he saw? Relief that he’d finally let things go?
Her words came out rapidly and her footsteps matched his on the cobbles next to the narrow canal. ‘I can arrange the return flights. We should be able to go back first thing tomorrow morning. The samples that I took earlier will be sent for automatic colour and pigment matching. I can only restore the fresco using products as close to the originals as possible. Thank goodness for modern technology.’ She gave a wave of her hand and kept chattering as they crossed the bridge.
Logan felt numb. This was it. This was it for him and her.
He’d have to spend the next few months in Tuscany, working next to Lucia but keeping her at arm’s length. Every glimpse whipped up a whole host of memories of the night before. He couldn’t possibly be in her company and not think about what the two of them had lost and never recovered from.
His Lost-and-Found Bride Page 13
