To forgive him? Forgive the unforgivable?
He’d almost killed his bambino even before the birth. He’d imagined he’d do the damage after the baby was born, not before. But no, his power for destruction appeared to have no bounds.
Lise stilled. Slept on.
Striding to the window, he pushed back the curtains. The sun was setting now, the bright rays catching the last line of trees, turning the green into gold. Two cars went by, a nurse bustled from the parking lot, a child hopped beside his mother as they walked out of the hospital.
Another child whispered into his mind. His child.
A son.
Closing his eyes, he pinched the top of his nose, stopping the tears. A son. His son. Still alive, by the grace of God.
The brilliant ecstasy had flooded through him like a swift river of blessing. He’d nearly burst into tears at the news that not only the child lived, but he was to have a son. He was Italian enough to relish the news and modern enough to feel slightly ashamed.
Yet he could not help the elation.
A son.
Still, there were months to go before he would hold his son in his hands. Months to get his fragile wife and his unborn child through.
Rest. The doctor had said. Complete rest.
Relaxation. He’d added. Total relaxation.
Relief from any stress. He’d stressed. Relief from…
The father’s presence.
The doctor hadn’t said the words. But Vico had thought them.
Dropping his hand to the window, he traced the child’s progress across the lot. Touched the glass where the little boy’s body was silhouetted. Watched as the child was lifted into the car seat by his mother and buckled in.
It was no use. He couldn’t relieve Lise of his presence.
However, he would do what he could.
He’d had eighteen hours to think and plan. Eighteen hours to make promises to himself and to her silent, sleeping soul. He’d laid his hand on her stomach as she slept and made promises to his son also.
He’d been able to do it in Paris. He’d find a way to do it in Italy.
No work. No temper. No sex.
For these last four months, nothing would stand in the way of his determination to take care of his wife and make sure his child arrived safely into this world. He’d worry about his inevitable screw-ups later. For now, this was enough of a goal.
A rustle of sheets jerked his attention back to the bed.
His wife was finally awakening.
A joyful leap of something jumped from his gut into his heart and then his throat. He strode to the bed on shaky legs and leaned down.
To encounter hazy, dreamy eyes of shot-glass blue.
This was exactly the same look she gave him the two times they’d had sex. For a few amazing moments, she would look at him with acceptance, with wanting. This look always elicited a sweet slip of something in him. Now he knew what to name it—joy. The sweet joy pumped and dropped down to his groin. Guilt twisted the inevitable lust into submission.
“Lise,” he croaked.
“Vico?” Her hand lifted and touched his cheek with soft acceptance.
Could a man’s soul twist and tighten into nothingness? Could a man’s heart break into a million pieces and still keep pumping? Could a man’s love for his wife blast through him, leaving behind only tatters of soul and heart?
Love.
He lurched away from the bed, dizzy with the slam of certainty.
He’d fallen in love with her bright brain and her elegant body. And her courage, her spine, her commitment to their baby. He’d fallen headlong into love with a woman he was not worthy of and not willing to let go of.
Love.
He loved her.
With a deep abiding love that would never die, even when she rejected him, as she surely would. Even when she walked away from him after he screwed things up, which he surely would. Even when he knew he wasn’t worthy of her, which he surely was not.
Her gasp of horror yanked his attention back to her face.
Her eyes widened, showing the white around the blue. “The baby!”
“Is fine.” He reached for her hand, wishing his wasn’t damp with distress. “The bambino is fine, mia dolce.”
Her gaze met his, searching. What she saw must have given her some comfort, because her body slowly relaxed on the bed. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.” He sat on the bed beside her and managed a smile of assurance. But his heart beat like a drum in his chest and his brain flew in a flurry of endless circles around the realization he’d just made about his love for this woman. “The baby is fine and we will make sure he stays that way.”
His wife stared at him. “He?”
Cursing himself inside, he put his head in his hands. “Mi dispiace un. I didn’t mean to tell you. I knew you wanted to find out at the birth.”
A short, sharp silence fell.