The Valtieri Baby

by Caroline Anderson

  Was that a man who didn’t want children? Who didn’t want love?

  So why was he so resistant to it?

  Or maybe he wasn’t resistant. Maybe he was just commitment-phobic. She’d seen this before, with some of her brides. Their fiancés would get increasingly short-tempered and unsympathetic right up to the wedding, and then they’d call it all off, or make themselves so objectionable that the women called it off. Either way, Anita ended up with tearful brides on her hands, although not usually on the day.

  And most of the time it was just plain nerves. Sometimes she could talk them out of it, but sometimes the stress of a wedding highlighted the flaws in their relationship.

  Well, there were no flaws in her relationship with Gio, because she didn’t have one. She knew that much, and this time round she wasn’t going to be foolish enough to assume that this was the real thing.

  Gio didn’t do the real thing. Just sex. Amazing, incredible sex. And now it was different from before—more intense, more focused. More loving? As if, despite himself, he was giving her more than he had ever given anyone, and perhaps was getting more in return.

  And sometimes, when she glanced up, there’d be a look in his eyes that she’d never seen before. He’d mask it quickly, but not soon enough to hide it from her.

  She couldn’t work out what it was. Confusion? Regret? Longing for something just out of reach?

  Whatever it was, he certainly wasn’t talking about it, so she did the only thing she could do for now and took what he gave her at face value. He’d made himself more than clear on the subject of happy ever after, and she wasn’t going to push it. Not now. Not yet.

  But she wasn’t happy about it. For years, she’d taken anything she could, however little, because if this was all she could have of him, if it was all he was prepared or able to offer, she’d taken it, poor deluded fool that she’d been, because as the old saying went, half a loaf was better than no bread.

  And where Gio was concerned, she’d settled for crumbs.

  Well, not any more. Now, she wanted more. They could be happy. This interlude had proved it. And she wanted it. She wanted him, and a family with him, and the whole bang shooting match.

  All or nothing, and if she had to fight for it, and she lost, then at least she’d know she’d tried, but she wasn’t letting him walk away again without any explanation.

  She just had to bide her time and find an opportunity to bring it up. And that, with Gio, would be no easy task.

  CHAPTER SIX

  NOTHING lasts forever.

  He knew that, but the end of their fortnight together was coming up faster than an express train. And when the end came, their idyll would be over.

  They both knew it was coming, but they both chose to ignore it.

  They went to see her parents one day, and had lunch with them, careful to keep their distance from each other so they didn’t give away how it was between them, but by this time they were so used to the little touches, the exchanged glances, the wordless gestures, that it was almost impossible to keep up the front, so they didn’t go again. Instead they went out for drives, dined out occasionally, but mostly they were at her house doing not a lot.

  She cooked for him every night, experimenting with recipes Lydia had given her, and while she cooked, humming away quietly to herself over the stove, he sat on the leather sofa and worked on his brief.

  Not for long, usually, because if there was a lull she’d come and sit by him and tuck her cold toes—always cold—under his thigh, with her arms wrapped round her knees and her chin propped on top, and they’d talk.

  They made each other laugh. They always had, and he’d forgotten how much fun it was to be with her. And they squabbled about silly things; they fought over the remote control and argued endlessly about books and music, and in the evening after they’d eaten they’d play chess. Usually he won, but sometimes she did, usually because she’d cheated by doing something distracting.

  Not deliberately. She wasn’t that devious, but sometimes she’d pick up a square of chocolate and slowly suck it to death while she was contemplating her next move, or sit cross legged opposite him and lean over to study the board with a little frown, her arms propped on her knees and her cleavage just there, and he’d lose his concentration entirely and blow it.

  And then she’d tease him, and he’d slowly and deliberately put the chess board away and chase her, very slowly, back to the bedroom. He still couldn’t move fast, but he didn’t need to. She didn’t exactly run and she always, always let him catch her.

  He couldn’t remember ever being this happy before. He knew it was temporary, but for now, at least, it was a win-win situation, and he couldn’t think of anything that he’d lost.

  Yet.

  That was to come, but in the meantime, they played and they loved and they were happy, and he tried not to think about the end.

  Because it would come, all too soon, and he knew that this time it would hurt far more than it had ever hurt before.

  And then the phone rang one morning, and it was Luca.

  ‘Lydia looks as if she’s going into labour early, so we’re coming home,’ he told him, and Gio felt a crushing sense of loss.

  ‘Is she all right to travel?’

  ‘I think so. We’ve just loaded the cars—could you let Carlotta and Roberto know so they can air the house and get things ready for them? They come home today.’

  ‘Sure. Anything else you need? Food?’

  ‘If you could grab some milk and bread and stuff, just so we’ve all got something for the kids, that’d be great.’

  ‘Sure. Will do. We’ll leave it in the kitchen at the palazzo. You drive carefully, and give our love to Lydia. Ciao, Luca.’

  He put the phone down and met Anita’s eyes. She was watching him thoughtfully, and he tried to smile, but it was harder than he’d imagined.

  ‘They’re coming home,’ he said expressionlessly. ‘He says Lydia’s going into labour.’

  She looked away. ‘And they’re driving for five hours? I don’t envy them, the kids will be vile by the time they get here.’

  He gave a humourless laugh. ‘They’ll be vile long before that, but they won’t be stopping. They need to get home before she has the baby.’

  ‘Is it safe to travel when you’re in labour?’

  ‘I have no idea. It’s outside my experience,’ he said, feeling a sharp stab of guilt and regret twist inside him. ‘But Luca’s an obstetrician, and he seems to have sanctioned it, so I would imagine so. I doubt they’ll hang about, though.’

  ‘I doubt it. So, do they need us to go shopping?’

  He shrugged. ‘Just basics.’

  She nodded. ‘OK. I’ll get dressed.’

  ‘Anita—’

  He broke off. He didn’t really have anything to say, but maybe he didn’t need to say anything after all, because she just smiled wryly and turned away, and he let out a long, slow sigh and picked up the phone and called Carlotta.

  And then he went into his room and packed.

  * * *

  It was over.

  She’d known it was coming, known this day would be here, but she’d counted on another three days, and she felt so cheated! She’d planned things for each one of them—a lovely drive out into the country for a picnic in the chestnut woods, then home for his favourite meal, roast chicken stuffed with lemons and rosemary, with garlic roasted potatoes and a homemade tiramisu for dessert.

  A romantic, sexy DVD, with erotic little nibbles, all aphrodisiacs designed to torment the senses and wind them both to fever pitch. She was going to make the chocolate mousse again and feed it to him, spoon by spoon.

  Then breakfast in bed, on their last day, with the wickedest pastries she could find and lashings of hot coffee, followed by some equally hot lovemaking.

  And then talk. Before the others got back, she wanted to talk to him, to discuss their relationship, because they did have one, however much in denial he might be.


  She wanted to know what it was that had kept them apart, had stopped him from loving anyone, not just her. Something had, surely, because he was so great with all his little nieces and nephews, and she knew he never forgot a birthday or a wedding anniversary, always giving thoughtful and personal gifts.

  The greatest gift he gave was his time. He was never too busy to talk to them, never too busy to visit if it was an important occasion, and he was deeply involved in the family business, as well.

  So it wasn’t that he didn’t do family. He did. Just not one of his own, and she wanted to know why.

  Why he’d cut off their relationship before so abruptly was still a mystery to her. She wanted answers to that, and to why, now, he’d just taken it for granted that it would be over.

  But he didn’t look happy about it, so why end it?

  A million questions, and as usual, no answers.

  And all her plans for their last few days were wiped out in an instant. If they’d talked, if they’d hashed it all through and got to the bottom of it, and if even then he’d still wanted it to end, then they would at least have had that time, the slow winding down, a beautiful, tender farewell to their affair.

  And now it would never happen.

  Abruptly, without warning and before she’d had time to steel herself, it was over, the second time this had happened, and she wanted to crawl into a corner and cry.

  ‘Are you ready?’

  No crying. She was tougher than that, and this time she was going to stand and fight. She blinked, swiped away a tear that had escaped and opened her bedroom door with a smile. ‘Sure. Shall we go?’

  He scanned her face but said nothing, just limped out to the car with his things and put them in the boot, and he was tight-lipped and silent all the way to the supermarket. He perked up a bit for Carlotta, teasing her as she checked him over and looked at his foot and exclaimed over the bruises.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he told her, but she flapped her apron and wiped her eyes and hugged him, and then she sat him down and fed him cake. Fed both of them, because she’d looked at Anita and seen the lost look in her eyes.

  ‘Eat! Come on, you need good food to heal.’

  He looked at the slab of cake in front of him and for once he wasn’t hungry. ‘I’ve had good food. Anita’s been cooking for me and she’s taken very good care of me. Tell me about your grandchildren. How were they?’

  ‘Oh, wonderful! Giovanni, you have no idea how wonderful it is to be a great-grandparent. So much easier than being a parent. You can hand them back to Mamma, and when they’re clean and fed, you get them back. It’s perfect!’

  He laughed obediently, but Anita carried on poking the cake around her plate, unable even to smile. She was so frustrated that she’d lost a chance to talk to him, but with the family home, he’d stay here now for a while.

  Maybe then she’d find a way to pin him down and find out what was stopping him, because if she couldn’t change his mind about being a parent, then Gio might never know what it was to be a grandparent, because you couldn’t do the one without the other.

  And if he was never a parent, then she would never be, either, because after this last ten days she knew, without any doubt in her mind at all, that there would never be another man for her. She loved him so much, so deeply, that just the thought of another man touching her as he had filled her with revulsion.

  ‘Anita, you’re not eating.’

  She tried to smile, but it was a poor effort. ‘I’m sorry, Carlotta. I had a big breakfast, and I’m really not very hungry.’

  She didn’t believe her. Anita could see it in her eyes, see the sympathy, the understanding. It was no secret in the family that she loved Gio. She always had, always would, and she’d never been a good poker player. And this last week had just made it ten times worse.

  * * *

  Lydia had her baby three hours after they arrived back, at home, with Massimo at her side and Luca and Isabelle providing the medical backup.

  They’d got back while Anita and Gio were still there, and with the baby so close it would have seemed wrong to leave at that point—rather like leaving a wedding before the bride arrived. And anyway, how was he supposed to leave? He’d need Anita’s help, and she was up to her neck in children at the moment.

  They were in the kitchen with his parents and the five children, Massimo’s three and Luca and Isabelle’s two, while Carlotta cooked up a storm to take her mind off it and the rest of them entertained the children. Francesca, Lavinia and Antonino were fizzing with excitement, but Annamaria was cranky and Maximus, Luca’s youngest, was beyond tired, and so Gio battened down his feelings and picked the little boy up and rocked him off to sleep while they waited for the news.

  And then shortly before five Luca came into the kitchen, a huge smile on his face, and hugged Francesca as she threw herself at him.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘It’s a boy,’ he said, beaming. ‘They’re both absolutely fine, and she’s doing really well. Here. I took a photo. You can all go and see him in a minute.’

  He showed them the picture on his phone, Francesca and Lavinia there first, then Antonino clamouring to see his little brother, and then Annamaria, Luca’s daughter climbed into the fray to peer down at the picture of the smeary, streaky little baby.

  ‘Oh, he’s beautiful!’ Carlotta said, looking over their shoulders and bursting into tears. ‘Bellissimo!’

  He was, Gio thought, his heart clenching as he passed his nephew back to Luca. ‘Here, your son,’ he said, handing over the sleeping child, and Luca eyed Gio thoughtfully but said nothing. Anita was hanging over the photo now with his mother and father, and she looked up at Gio and their eyes locked. And as he watched, the tears welled over and slid down her cheeks.

  This would never be his, he realised. This happiness, this cluster of people around a hasty photograph of his brand-new baby, because there would never be a baby. The stakes were too high, the risks too great.

  Pain and guilt lanced through him, and he turned away, needing to get out, done with playing happy families, and instantly Anita was at his side.

  ‘Gio? Are you OK?’

  ‘I need to get out of here. Can you take me back to Firenze?’

  ‘What?’ She frowned, her face puzzled. ‘Aren’t you going to stay here, now they’re back?’

  ‘They don’t need me here.’

  ‘They do! And you need them. You shouldn’t be alone.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said, although he’d seldom felt less fine. He felt raw, flayed inside by all the emotion, and he just wanted to get back to his apartment and hole up for a while.

  A long while.

  ‘Well, whatever, you can’t go yet. You have to see the baby, pat your brother on the back, drink a glass of something—you can’t just run away!’

  ‘Gio? What nonsense is this? You’re not leaving!’ his mother said, cutting him off at the pass. ‘Get the Prosecco out. We need to drink to the baby.’

  Luca’s baby was handed to his grandmother, and Annamaria snuggled down on her grandfather’s lap, and before he could protest any more he was handed a bottle of Prosecco by Luca and told to open it.

  And then just as the cork popped, Massimo walked into the kitchen with the new baby in his arms, and Gio felt his heart turn over.

  ‘They’re doing girl stuff,’ Massimo said with a grin. ‘We’ve been sent out. So, bambini, what do you think of your little brother?’

  He sat down so he was at their level, and the children clustered round him and bent over the baby, their shrill voices hushed by Francesca, ever the one to keep order between the younger ones, and Gio felt a huge lump in his throat at the sight of his brother’s close-knit family.

  This new baby was a huge step forward for his brother, finding happiness with Lydia after the tragic loss of his wife. It had been the year before his affair with Anita, and Gio had used the excuse that he was busy to stay away as much as he could, but in reality he’d found his pain unbearable to
watch. He still felt guilty for the lack of support he’d given his brother, and now he forced himself to go over to him and do what he had to do.

  ‘Congratulations,’ he said gruffly, staring down at the tiny, precious child cradled so gently in his brother’s arms. ‘He’s beautiful.’

  The baby’s eyes opened wide and he stared straight at Gio. Pain slammed through him, and he backed away. ‘He’s great. Gorgeous. Tell Lydia well done.’

  ‘Tell her yourself.’

  ‘I can’t. I have to go—Anita’s giving me a lift back to Firenze.’

  Massimo frowned, scanning his face thoughtfully. ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘Of course. I’m fine now. The stitches are all ready to come out, I’ve just got a twisted ankle. Don’t fuss. Anyway, I’ve got work to do.’

  He nodded slowly, as if he didn’t quite believe it, but the children were clamouring for attention and wanted to hold the baby, and Gio made a bid for freedom in the chaos.

  ‘Can we go now?’ he asked Anita with a touch of desperation, and she opened her mouth to protest but Luca shook his head.

  ‘Just take him home, Anita,’ he said softly, and Gio shot him a grateful look. He didn’t know the facts—nobody knew, but he sensed that something was wrong, something that could never be put right, and he was cutting his brother some slack.

  So Anita put his things back in the car again, and drove him back to the apartment and carried everything up for him. And then, because she knew if she didn’t do it now she’d never get another chance, she tackled him.

  ‘Gio, we need to talk.’

  ‘No,’ he said flatly. ‘There’s nothing to talk about, Anita. It was just a few days.’

  ‘It was a love affair,’ she said, her voice firm. ‘I love you, Gio, and I know you love me.’

  ‘You know nothing.’

  ‘I don’t know why you’re ending it. I don’t know why you ended it before. You never did explain.’

  ‘There was nothing to explain,’ he said, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. He stood staring out of the window at the distant hills, and resolutely refused to look at her.