‘No. You need to be here. Anita needs you.’
‘Apparently not,’ he said bitterly. ‘I asked her to marry me, and she said no. She said—’
He couldn’t even repeat what she’d said, the words hurt him so much.
‘What did she say?’ Luca prompted softly.
‘She said she wouldn’t marry a man who didn’t love her.’ The words seemed to flay the skin off his heart, but somehow he carried on. ‘And she said she’d bring the baby up to be proud of me, even if I couldn’t find it in my heart to love him—’
His throat closed, and he picked up the glass, swirling the liquid around for a moment until he felt he had a chance of swallowing it.
‘It’s not true, though, is it? You do love her. You’ve always loved her, ever since you were fifteen.’
‘Well, of course, but it’s not that kind of love. It’s—complicated.’
‘When isn’t it? That’s no reason to quit, though.’
‘I’m not quitting.’
‘It sounds like it. It sounds like you’re running away.’
He looked down into the glass, then drained it and slammed it down on the table and got up.
‘This is nothing to do with Anita. And anyway, you know nothing about our relationship,’ he said roughly. ‘She’s just a friend—that’s all. That’s all she’s ever been.’
‘Don’t lie to yourself. I don’t care if you lie to me, but don’t lie to yourself, Gio. She’s always been more than a friend. You wouldn’t be having this conversation with me if she was just a friend.’
It was true. He couldn’t argue with it, so he walked out, got into the borrowed farm truck and drove away. He had no idea where he was going, but the truck seemed to know, and five minutes later he pulled up outside Anita’s house.
Her car was outside. Good. He’d go in, talk some sense into her and get this wedding under way, because this was one woman he wasn’t going to let down, one baby he wasn’t going to fail, and she would marry him.
* * *
She wouldn’t change her mind.
She flatly refused to talk to him about marriage, and she wouldn’t let him in, so he sat in the truck outside her house and waited.
For hours.
She had to come out eventually, he thought, but then a cold finger of fear slid down his spine. What if she’d decided she couldn’t cope? What if it suddenly all felt too much, and she did something stupid? Something dreadful—
He was out of the truck and pounding on the front door again before he had time to think, but she didn’t open it this time.
What if she can’t?
Fear clawing at him, he ran round to the back of the house and pounded on the French doors to the kitchen, tugging at the handle.
The lever moved, and the door swung quietly open, surprising him. He stepped inside and stopped.
She was curled up in the corner of the sofa, hugging a cushion. Her face was streaked with tears, but she met his eyes defiantly.
‘This is my house. I didn’t invite you in. Please leave.’
He closed the door and sat down on the chair, suddenly aware of pain in his ankle. ‘No. I can’t. I’m sorry, we have to talk about this.’
She threw the cushion down and got up. ‘There’s nothing to talk about, Gio. I can’t marry you, I won’t marry you, and I’m having the baby. That’s all there is to say.’
‘No. No, it’s not. I’m not letting you do this on your own. Fine, don’t marry me if you don’t want to, but I’m going to be here for you every step of the way. I’m not giving up, Anita. I have every intention of being part of this.’
She scanned his face, saw the implacable expression in his eyes and the set of his mouth, and knew he meant it. Gio was nothing if not stubborn, and once he’d made his mind up, that was it.
Well, she was stubborn, too, and this was her house.
‘Do you want me to call the police?’
‘And tell them what? The father of your baby is insisting on looking after you?’
He had a point.
‘I could call my father.’
‘Have you told them yet?’
She shook her head. There was no way she was going to call her father. All hell would break loose, and she needed to feel calm and centred before she opened that can of worms.
‘Please, Gio. Just go.’
‘I can’t. I can’t leave you like this.’
‘Like what? Pregnant? Are you going to sit there until I give birth, is that it? Well, newsflash, Valtieri, it takes nine months! That’s another seven point something to go, and if you imagine for a moment you’re going to sit there and haunt my kitchen until then, you’ve got another think coming. You know where the door is. Use it.’
‘I can’t.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I have a duty to you and to my child.’
She rolled her eyes and sat down again.
‘Giovanni Valtieri, I’ve listened to you talking about your feelings on this subject until I’m sick of hearing it, and now suddenly you expect me to believe you’ve had a change of heart? Give it a rest. You’re just trying to do the decent thing, and believe me, it’s not necessary. I’m fine.’
‘Are you? Are you really? Because I’m not. I feel as if my whole world has been turned upside down on its axis, and I don’t know what to think or feel any more. And if you feel the same, then I’m not leaving you to deal with it on your own.’
She stared at him, slightly shocked at the sudden insight into his emotions, the closest he’d come to revealing his true feelings on anything serious for—well, forever, really. And he was right. She did feel as if her world had been turned upside down, because having his child had been something she’d wished for for years, but not like this. Not in this way, with him offering to do the decent thing and not a word of love between them.
And it made her want to cry again.
‘I’m not going to marry you, Gio.’
‘OK. I got that bit. But you are having my baby, and I can’t let you do it alone. It took two of us to put it there, and there’s no way I’m going to let you go through your pregnancy unsupported.’
‘You can buy maternity underwear,’ she said lightly, but he just looked at her, his eyes raw with a pain she didn’t understand.
‘Anita, please,’ he said quietly, that pain echoing in his voice. ‘We have to make this work. I can’t tell you how important it is.’
‘You could try.’
He shook his head. ‘Just trust me.’
That made her laugh, but the sound echoed round the kitchen, the saddest sound she’d ever heard. ‘How can you ask me to trust you when you don’t even trust me enough to tell me what’s troubling you? Something’s gone wrong for you, Gio, I know that. Tell me what it is.’
‘I can’t. I can’t tell you. I can’t talk about it, but it was nothing to do with you, nothing you’d done. It was something I did, or didn’t do. Something I should have done differently—something I can’t undo.’
There was a grim finality to those words that chilled her to the bone, and in his eyes was a hollow desperation that made her bleed for him.
‘Tell me,’ she coaxed softly, but he shook his head.
‘No. Not now. Maybe one day. But—this time, I have to get it right. I have to be there for our child, and that means being with you.’
This time? ‘Not necessarily. I have no intention of denying you access.’
‘But you would. If we aren’t living together, then, by definition, you’re denying me access to a huge part of my child’s day, every day. I want to be with you during your pregnancy, to feel it move, to come with you for scans, to be there at the birth and every day afterwards. It’s incredibly, unbelievably important to me. I need to be with you for this.’
She could hear the conviction in his voice, but he’d hurt her so much, and she wasn’t willing to give in just because this time it was him who was hurting.
‘You didn’t want to be with m
e before,’ she said rawly. ‘You just walked out one morning, and when you came back, it was over. No explanation, no reasons, just—finish. Do you have any idea how much that hurt me, Gio? How much it tore me apart?’
He felt gutted by her words, reamed out inside. He’d wanted to save her from pain, and in doing so, he’d caused it, far more than he’d realised. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said gruffly. ‘I never wanted to hurt you.’
‘I thought I was going to die, Gio. I had everything I’d ever wanted there with you, and you snatched it away without any warning. And now, just because there’s a child involved, you want me to let you back into my life, even though you still can’t say that you love me? Why?’
The pain in her voice shredded him anew. ‘Because this is different,’ he said roughly. ‘This isn’t about want. This is about rights. A child’s right to have both parents. A child’s right to be safe and protected.’
‘It would be safe and protected.’
‘It will be. I’ll make sure of it.’
He had been so emphatic about not having a child, ever, and yet now there was going to be one, he was so desperately protective of it. This time, I have to get it right.
What did he mean, this time? When had it not been right? Five years ago, when he’d done something he couldn’t undo?
She felt a chill run down her spine. He’d ended their relationship so abruptly. Could that have been the reason? Something to do with a child?
I can’t talk about it.
Because it hurt too much?
Oh, Gio, tell me. Tell me what’s hurting you. Tell me what’s keeping us apart.
She closed her eyes, counted to ten and gave in.
‘So what do you have in mind?’ she asked, and his shoulders dropped as if a weight had been taken off them.
‘I move in here, and look after you. Make sure you’re all right, give you whatever you need—whatever’s necessary.’
‘So—just as if we were married?’
‘No, not if you don’t want that. I’ll sleep in the other room.’
‘That seems a little superfluous at this stage. We seem to have moved past that.’
They had—and yet had they? Emotionally, they were still separate entities. He’d never said he loved her, never given her the slightest suggestion of a future with him—well, not until he’d told her they’d get married, which to her at least wasn’t viable without the underpinnings of emotional honesty.
And he wasn’t being emotionally honest yet, not completely, or he would have told her whatever it was that had put that haunted look in his eyes. But he was trying, and moving towards it, inch by inch.
But the other room? If she agreed to that, would she ever stand a chance of getting him to open up to her? Didn’t she stand more chance of that by keeping him close?
He couldn’t hurt her any more than she’d been hurt already. She was beginning to think she was immune to the damage he inflicted on her every time she let herself hope, but clearly she wasn’t the only one who’d been hurt.
Stick to facts.
‘Your sheets are in the washing machine,’ she said, conveniently ignoring the fact that they could easily be dried, ‘so if you’re staying tonight, it’ll have to be with me.’
‘I’m sure I’ll cope. I’ll go back to Luca’s and pick up my things, and I’ll be back later. And don’t tell your parents without me. We’ll do it together.’
‘My father will want to chase you down the aisle with a gun,’ she warned, and he just smiled grimly.
‘Sensible man. It’ll be good to have him on my side. I’ll see you later. I won’t be long.’
* * *
He went cross country, his first stop the palazzo, his family home.
He walked into the big family kitchen and found all of them, Luca and Isabelle included, gathered round the table. They looked up, and all of them fell silent.
‘Giovanni?’ his mother said softly, her face troubled. ‘What is it? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
He swallowed hard. How true. How very, very true.
‘I’m fine. I, er—I just thought I’d come and tell you something.’
Luca got to his feet hastily. ‘Hey, kids, come with me, I’ve got something to show you.’
‘But we want to see Gio!’ Lavinia cried.
‘Later. Come on.’
He ushered all of the children out, and the others all turned to him expectantly. ‘Well?’ his father said. ‘What is it? Spit it out.’
He took a deep breath, then said clearly, ‘Anita and I are expecting a baby—and before you ask, we aren’t getting married.’
His mother stopped in her tracks, half out of her chair, arms outstretched towards him, and her smile faltered. She sat back down again abruptly, her mouth open. ‘But—I don’t understand. You love her!’
He gave a soft laugh. ‘No, Mamma. I don’t love her—not like that. We just—we got a little carried away.’
‘And you didn’t have the sense to take precautions?’ his father growled.
‘I did. Every time. And don’t you lecture me. I know how “early” Massimo was.’
His father coloured, but his mother chipped in. ‘We were engaged. You, on the other hand, are not, even though you do love her, whatever you might say to the contrary, and I’m deeply disappointed in you that you haven’t got the decency to ask her to marry you.’
‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong, you see,’ he said lightly, sitting down in Luca’s place and picking up his wine glass. ‘Because I have asked her, and she said no.’
He filled the glass, swirled the wine around and sniffed it, held it to the light, nodded and drained it like water. Then he reached for the bottle again, and Massimo’s hand came out and removed it.
‘No. You’re not sitting there and getting drunk. What are you going to do next?’
‘Pack and move in with her. She won’t marry me, but she’s allowing me to look after her.’
Isabelle frowned. ‘That doesn’t sound like Anita.’
‘It isn’t. I didn’t give her a choice.’
Massimo snorted. ‘I’ll bet. I don’t suppose you thought to tell her that you love her?’
‘Will you all give up with this? I don’t love her!’ He got to his feet and walked to the door. ‘You know where I’ll be if anyone needs me for anything. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
* * *
The door was unlocked when he got back there with his things, and he walked in, calling out her name.
She didn’t answer. She was wandering round the kitchen with a piece of toast in her hand, looking grim.
‘I feel sick,’ she said. ‘I thought it was morning sickness. I’ve been feeling sick all day.’
‘Ring Isabelle. She’ll have some tips. Or Lydia.’
‘I thought you were going to look after me?’
‘I am, but I’ve never been pregnant, Anita, so I can’t tell you what will make it better. However...’
He sat down, got out his smart phone and started searching.
‘Carbs,’ he said. ‘Lots of carbs. Never let yourself get hungry or dehydrated. Keep your blood sugar up. Fruit and plain toast or crackers.’
‘Done that. It doesn’t work.’
‘Stress is bad for it.’
She gave a short, bitter laugh. ‘Oh, well, that’s all right then, I’ll just chill out, shall I?’
He put the phone down and stood up again, walking over to her and pulling her reluctant body into his arms. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I really didn’t want this to happen—’
‘You think I don’t know that?’ she asked slightly hysterically, pushing away from him and heading for the biscuit tin. ‘Ginger biscuits. I bought some the other day—’
‘Want me to go shopping?’
‘No, I want you to go, but I’m not going to get my wish.’
She found some plain biscuits, the sort that were best dunked in hot coffee because otherwise they were pretty flavourless. Perfect. She
curled up on the sofa and nibbled the edge of one, and gradually the nausea subsided again.
‘Better?’
‘Slightly. If I could work out what I need, it would be better. I feel really hungry.’
‘What have you eaten today?’
‘Biscuits. Toast. Not much.’
He nodded, and walked into the kitchen and started opening cupboards.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Cooking for you.’ He pulled his phone out of his pocket and rang Luca. ‘What do I feed her?’
‘Pasta or boiled rice with butter and salt. Oh, and green vegetables. Clean flavours. No meat, Isabelle says. Lydia says anything she doesn’t see again in five minutes is good. Stir fry with fresh ginger in it and soy sauce. And they send their love.’
He gave a wry laugh and opened the fridge. ‘OK. I can do something like that. Ciao.’ He put the phone down and turned to her.
‘They send their love. You ought to talk to them.’
She sighed. ‘I ought to talk to my mother, but I feel so grim.’
‘Let me feed you, then we’ll talk to them.’
He pulled out vegetables—leafy greens, sprouting broccoli, peppers. He shredded them, dry-fried them in a touch of oil, put them on a bed of buttered boiled rice and added a slosh of soy sauce.
‘Here—try that.’
She recoiled, but tasted it, chewed, swallowed and went back for more, and he blew out a silent breath and cleared up the kitchen. He’d made enough for two, but by the time he’d finished it he was wondering if he’d survive. He was starving, and the whole dish had lacked any kind of richness—entirely the point, of course, but it wasn’t going to get him through the next few weeks.
There was some leftover pasta and sauce in the fridge, and he sniffed it. It smelt amazing.
‘It’s fine. I made it yesterday and couldn’t eat it. I thought I might feel better today. Just—please don’t heat it.’
Because it would bring out the smell. He nodded, stuck a fork in it and ate it cold, then he put the plate in the dishwasher and went over to her, perching on the edge of the sofa next to her.
‘OK?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. Thank you. I was just hungry, I think. I feel much better.’
‘Better enough to tell your parents?’
The Valtieri Baby Page 11
