Her New Year Baby Secret(16)

'So,' Sophie asked gently, 'why the secrecy?'

'Antonio is stressed about the wedding, it's so big, I just don't want  to give him anything else to worry about. I will tell him,' she said  defensively as Sophie raised her eyebrows. 'I was planning to  tonight-telling you was the first time I've said it out loud. It wasn't  as hard as I expected.'

'And your mother will be over the moon.'

Bianca's mouth twisted. 'Oh, sì, Mamma will be delighted. But I won't be  telling her until after the honeymoon. She can be a little  overpowering.' She giggled. 'Okay, a lot overpowering. She already tried  to take over the planning of the wedding, make it into her dream  wedding, not mine. I'm not ready for her to take over the baby as well,  not until I know how I feel about it all.'

'That makes sense.' But Sophie's mind had wandered back to something  Bianca had said earlier. Something about not noticing that she was  pregnant because she was irregular. Sophie was the complete opposite. In  fact she was like clockwork, every twenty-eight days. Usually...

Frantically she counted back. Almost five weeks had passed since she had  spent the night with Marco. Over five weeks without her period. Her  regular-as-clockwork period...

'That's all great, Bianca, I mean congratulations again and I can't wait  to get started. I just remembered, I didn't pack for a week-long stay  and there's a few things I need, so I'm just going to go out and grab  them...' She collected her bag and backed out of the door still babbling  inanely. 'When I get back we'll talk lace, okay? I won't be long.' The  last thing she saw as the door swung shut behind her was Bianca, upright  and staring at her in complete surprise.

Smoothly done, Sophie.

But she couldn't wait, not another second, not while this big what if  was thundering through her body, beating its question with every thud of  her heart.

Although she found her way out of the palazzo easily enough, having  earmarked enough landmarks to find her way to the main hallway and back  up to her room, as soon as she set foot outside it was a different  matter. Sophie plunged into the alleyways and back streets searching for  the green cross that meant pharmacy in a dozen different languages. But  each road seemed to lead her nowhere, a dead end with water rippling  gently at the end, round in a gently curving circle back to the same  square over and over.                       
       
           



       

And what would happen when she reached a pharmacy? She could barely  order a pizza in Italian let alone a pregnancy test and she doubted her  mime skills were up to scratch.

You're being ridiculous, she told herself. You used protection, you were careful, he was careful.

But the rest of Bianca's words came back, almost visible, floating  around her in the still, cold air. Emotional? Check, look at the pity  party she'd held for herself on New Year's Eve, the tears just now.  Light-headed and tired? For a couple of weeks now. Nauseous? Yes, a low  level, almost constant feeling of sickness. All kinds of things set it  off. She hadn't been able to stomach even the smell of wine for ages; it  had been an oddly teetotal Christmas and New Year's Eve.

Sophie stopped dead in the middle of the street. Of course she was  pregnant. How could she not have known-and what on earth was she going  to do now?

* * *

'Sophie, Bianca mentioned you wanted to visit Burano. Would this afternoon be convenient?'

Sophie skidded to a stop outside the salon and fought an urge to hide  her handbag behind her back as if Marco might see through the leather,  to the paper bag within. It had been a mortifying experience, but thanks  to the Internet, her phone, some overly helpful shoppers and a very  patient pharmacist she had finally got what she needed.

Well, two of what she needed. She hadn't paid that much attention in  Science, but she was pretty sure all experiments could go wrong.

'Marco! Hi! Yes, Burano, this afternoon, sounds wonderful, great.'

One eyebrow rose. 'Are you okay?' He sauntered over to the salon door and she had to fight the urge to step away.

'Fine, I've been out. I got a little lost, that's all.'

'The best way to learn Venice is to get lost in her,' he said, but there  was a quizzical gleam in his dark eyes as he looked at her.

'In that case we'll soon be the best of friends.' Sophie knew she was  acting oddly, but she needed to get out of this hallway and up into the  safety of her room and find out for once and for all. 'What time do you  want to leave?'

'If we leave here just after noon, we could stop for lunch along the way.'

'That sounds wonderful. I just need to talk to Bianca then, take another  look at the dress and get a swatch of material. Shall I meet you back  here in an hour? Great. See you then.'

She barely registered his response as she walked as fast as she could up  the stairs, slowing a little as she tackled the second and then the  third staircase until finally she was twisting open the door to her  room, throwing her bag onto the bed, grabbing the paper bag and rushing  into the bathroom, tearing open the plastic on the box as she did so...

* * *

She was pregnant. Two tests' worth of pregnant.

Sophie sank onto the bed with a strangled sob, throwing her hand across  her mouth to try to keep the noise in. Idiot. Fool. Stupid, stupid girl.  It was different for Bianca. She was engaged to a man she loved, she  had a great career, a life ready and waiting for a baby. What did Sophie  have? A fling with a commitment-shy man she barely knew, a shoebox of a  flat, an unfulfilled dream and a job scrubbing toilets and serving  drinks. How was she going to fit a baby into her flat, let alone her  life?

She slumped down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, every fat  cherub leg, every beaming cherub grin on the fresco an unneeded  reminder. The thing was she did want children. Had planned to have them  with Harry-although she had never got him to admit the time was right.  Thank goodness. She shuddered; if she had had his baby, would she ever  have got out? Ever freed herself or would she still be there now?  Holding down a job, taking care of the house, looking after the kids  while Harry lied and cheated and manipulated...

But Marco wasn't like Harry. He was, well, he was... 'Face it,' Sophie  said aloud. 'You know nothing about him except he doesn't want to get  married. He's rich. He's handsome. He's good in bed. He seems kind, when  it suits him to be...' Added together it didn't seem an awful lot to  know about the father of her baby.

Father. Baby. She swallowed a hysterical sob.

She had to tell him; it was the right, the fair, thing to do.

And then what? He might walk away although, she conceded, he didn't seem  the type. Sophie wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hug some  warmth into her suddenly chilled body. He might accuse her of  entrapment. Think this was done on purpose...

He didn't want to get married, she knew that, and that was okay. After  all, they didn't really know each other. But what about when his mother  found out? She wanted grandchildren, heirs, and here Sophie was carrying  a Santoro heir as a good little wife should.                       
       
           



       

She shivered again, nausea rolling in her stomach. She'd been free for  one year and six months, independent for such a short while. No  placating, no begging, no reassuring, no abasing, no making herself less  so someone else could be more. No eggshells. She was pretty sure Marco  wasn't another Harry, she knew his mother had all the best intentions,  but if they knew she was pregnant, she would have every choice stripped  away, be suffocated with kindness and concern and responsibility until  every bit of that hard-won independence shrivelled away and she belonged  to them. Just as she had belonged to Harry. Besides, Bianca was getting  married in a week. This was her time. It wouldn't be fair to spoil her  wedding with the inevitable drama Sophie's news would cause.

I won't tell him yet, she decided. I need to know him first, know who  the real Marco is. Know if I can trust him. I'll get to know him over  this week and then I'll tell him. After the wedding.

* * *

Marco manoeuvred his boat out of the Grand Canal with practised ease. It  came more naturally than driving, even after a decade in London.  Sometimes he thought he felt truly alive only when he was here on the  water, the sun dancing on the waves around him, Venice at his back, the  open lagoon his for the taking.

'Warm enough?' He'd elected not to take the traditional, bigger family  boat with its polished wood and spacious covered seating area. Instead  they were in his own small but speedy white runabout, which didn't have  any shelter beyond the splash screen at the front. He'd reminded Sophie  to wrap up warmly for the journey over, but she was so pale and silent  maybe she'd underestimated the bite of the January wind out in the  lagoon.