Her New Year Baby Secret(25)

Opening her eyes, Sophie jumped. Three terrifyingly elegant women had  sat opposite her and were all staring at her in undisguised curiosity.  She managed to raise a smile and said, 'Weddings are tiring, aren't  they?'

They nodded as if one. All three were wearing their glossy, expensively  cut hair down in the kind of swishy style Sophie always envied and were  all dressed exquisitely in labels Sophie wasn't sure she'd ever seen  outside glossy magazines.

The woman in the middle leaned forward, her eyes bright. 'May I ask you  something?' she asked in heavily accented but perfect English.

'I suppose so,' Sophie said warily.

'How did you do it?'

'Do what? Bianca's dress? It was...'

'No,' the woman on the left interrupted her. 'Although that is very impressive. No, how did you tie Marco down?'

'How did I...? I haven't...I mean, we're not engaged.'

'Yet.' With a heavy emphasis. 'I dated him for three years. Mamma was  planning my dress, Papà was ready to buy us our own house, and then  poof...' the woman on the right clicked her fingers '...he was gone. He  told me I had trapped him, that he didn't want to be tied down.'

Sophie's stomach lurched. Would he feel the same way when she told him she was pregnant? Trapped?

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

'I was humiliated, heartbroken, and he never told me why. Just left,  went to England. Left me to pick up the pieces alone. I should hate  him...' Her voice softened. 'I tell myself I hate him...'

'But you...' one of her friends chimed in.

'Everyone is talking about it...'

'Living at the palazzo, friends with his sister...'

'What's your secret?'

'I don't know whether to pity or admire you.'

'Or envy you.'

Sophie swallowed. Marco had been completely up front from the very  beginning. He'd told her this was temporary, fun, a one-time thing, but  at some point she'd allowed herself to hope for more. There was no point  deceiving herself any longer. It wouldn't change anything. She was  having his baby; he had to know. Those were the inescapable facts.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'But I really have to go. If you'll excuse me?'

With a deep breath she got to her feet. It was time to find Marco-whatever happened next was entirely up to him.





CHAPTER TWELVE

MARCO SCANNED THE ROOM. One minute Sophie had been with his sister, the  next she had completely disappeared. He was pretty sure she could take  care of herself, but in a room that seemed to be comprised solely of his  extended family and women he used to date, even the most hardened  party-goer would need backup.

Hell, he needed backup. That was why she was here, wasn't it?

'Marco.' He jumped as she came up behind him, laying one pale hand on his sleeve.

'There you are. I was thinking you must have been cornered by my great-aunt Annunciata.'

'No, not yet. Look, could I have a word? In private?'

Her hand wasn't the only part of her that was pale. Her cheeks were  almost white, her lips bloodless. Anger rose, hot and hungry. Had  someone said something to hurt her? 'Is everything okay?'

'Yes, I just need to talk to you about something.'

Marco looked around. The door to the terrace was ajar and it looked as  if nobody else was braving the sharp winter air. He took her hand, her  fingers sliding into his as if they belonged there, and led her outside.  Trees in pots lined the walls and vines twisted around the railings. He  selected a table at the far end of the terrace and pulled out a chair  for Sophie, tucking one of the blankets left out for the purpose around  her shoulders as she sat.                       
       
           



       

'I was talking to some of the other guests just now. They all knew you.'

'Did they?' He raised his eyebrows. She sounded solemn. Solemn at weddings wasn't usually good.

'One of them was an ex-girlfriend of yours. She's a little bitter. Apparently you practically left her at the altar.'

Understanding dawned. 'You were talking to Celia, which I expect means  she was flanked by Beatrice and Elena. They usually work as a team.'

'I didn't get their names.'

Something was off here and he couldn't work out what. 'It's a bit of an  exaggeration to say I left her at the altar. We were never formally  engaged.'

'So what happened? I deserve to know,' she added. 'If looks could kill,  I'd currently be laid out on the floor of the women's bathroom and  wedding guests would have to step over my corpse to get to the sinks.'

Marco rubbed his eyes wearily. Celia was so intrinsically mixed up with  the events that had led to him leaving Venice, to the row with his  father, that he'd done his best to not think of her at all over the last  decade. He should have known he couldn't return home without the whole  sorry business being dredged up again. 'It sounds like a bigger deal  than it was,' he said, staring out at the Grand Canal, following a small  open boat with his eyes as it cruised slowly opposite. 'Celia and I  started seeing each other after I finished university. We were together  for about three years.'

'She said you just disappeared.'

'It wasn't quite like that. She was pretty, a little crazy, fun, all the  things a man in his early twenties finds attractive. I guess I thought I  was in love, thought she loved me, not that I had any idea what love  was.' Bianca's words floated back to him. She was right; it had been  infatuation, not love. He sighed. 'She was a welcome distraction from  home. I was just starting out, collecting and reselling, developing a  client list, building up a reputation, but my father thought I was  wasting my time-and told me every chance he got.'

'That must have been difficult.'

'It was challenging,' he admitted. 'But I was young and driven and  wanted my own path. I thought Celia agreed with me, but gradually I  realised she wanted very different things. She didn't love the Marco  Santoro who was passionate about his business and happy to start from  scratch if he had to. She loved the Santoro heir with all the privileges  that entailed and she kept pushing me to listen to my father. To give  in.'

'But you didn't.'

'I didn't. So we'd argue, she'd cry, I'd feel guilty, we'd make up. It  was an exhausting cycle mirrored by the constant battles with my father.  Soon I realised she spent more time at the palazzo than I did, that she  was shopping with Mamma and going out with Bianca, that she was already  considered part of the family. Hints were dropped, more than hints,  that a proposal would be nice. Her father took me aside and made noises  about buying us a house as a wedding gift. Nonna presented me with her  engagement ring and told me how proud I made her.'

Sophie put a cold hand on his. 'That must have been difficult.'

He'd been trapped. Each way he'd turned, an impossible choice. Give in  and live a life he didn't want or stand firm and disappoint everyone who  loved him. 'My life was just beginning. It should have been full of  possibilities. Instead everyone I knew, everyone I loved, everyone I  respected was trying to narrow it down, to cage me in. The girl I  thought I was falling for had been replaced with a woman I didn't  recognise, a woman who didn't want me as I was but wanted to change me,  mould me.'

'But she didn't succeed. You walked away.'

Celia had succeeded in one way: she had changed him. All that youthful  optimism and hope had been replaced with wariness; his home had become a  prison.

'I decided I had to leave Venice. I couldn't carry on being scrutinised  and criticised at every turn. I told Celia, gave her the option to come  with me. She laughed at first, thought I was joking. When she realised I  was serious...' He shook his head. 'The contempt in her eyes. I  realised then that it was the package she wanted, not the man.'

'She was a fool.'

'She was ambitious. Oh, don't think I spent the next ten years weeping  over my lost love. I was relieved more than heartbroken. Besides, it  just confirmed what I already knew. That what I was mattered more than  who I was and I was tired of it, tired of Venice, tired of all their  expectations. So I went to see my father and told him I was done.'                       
       
           



       

'How did he take it?'

'Not well. He got so angry he collapsed with a suspected heart attack.'

'Oh, Marco.'

'And I went anyway. He was in the hospital and I packed my bags and  left. I knew if I stayed the guilt would suck me in and I would never be  free, so as soon as the doctors said he should make a full recovery I  was out of Venice and starting again. I barely saw him after that, a  couple of times a year of guarded pleasantries and then it was too late.  For both of us.'

'I'm sure he knew you loved him. I'm sure he was proud of you.'

'Maybe.' Suddenly he was tired of it all. Of the guilt, of the  uncertainty. 'All I knew was that I wasn't good enough. Not as a son, as  an heir, as a partner. It's been easier-safer-not to get involved. Not  to allow anyone to let me down. Allow anyone to look at me and tell me  I'm not enough as I am.' Safer but ultimately unsatisfying. Short-term  relationships, friendships based on business not deep-rooted  companionship, family kept at arm's length. No wonder he'd worked  eighteen hours a day, seven days a week. He'd had very little else.