Her New Year Baby Secret(26)

He looked at Sophie as she stared out onto the Grand Canal, her profile  sad and thoughtful, and for a moment he wondered what would happen if  she told him he did matter, he mattered to her. Would he be able to  believe her-or would he brush her off, turn away?

Time stood still, the air shimmering over the water while he waited an  eternity for her to speak. She swallowed, a convulsive shudder, and her  hand pressed on his, icy now in the winter chill.

'I don't believe you're not enough, Marco, at least I hope you are, more  than enough. Not for me, I know that's not what you want, but for your  child. I'm pregnant, Marco. I'm having a baby, your baby.'





CHAPTER THIRTEEN

SHE COULDN'T LOOK him straight in the eye. Instead Sophie stared at her  hand, still covering his, gleaming pale white in the moonlight, and  waited. Marco had stilled under her touch, turning to marble the second  the words left her mouth.

'Pregnant?'

'Yes.' She waited for him to ask the obvious questions. Are you sure?  How do I know it's mine? But they didn't come. Relief flooded over her  as he nodded slowly.

Only to recede as he looked straight over at her, eyes hooded. 'Then we had better get married.'

It wasn't a question.

It was an assumption. Sophie's heart sped up.

'Married?'

'London would be best. Three weeks from now. We'll tell everyone we  wanted to keep it quiet. We don't want this kind of fuss.' He shrugged  in a way that encompassed all of Bianca's wedding.

No, Sophie didn't need three hundred guests, had no desire to book out  an exclusive old palazzo, say her vows in a world-famous church. But  when-if-she got married she would want her friends, her family there.  She would want it to be a celebration of love, just as Bianca was so  clearly celebrating her love for Antonio today. Not a clandestine affair  hidden from the world as if she were ashamed.

And if-when-she got married she wanted to be asked. She didn't need an  extravagant proposal, but she would hope that any future husband  wouldn't just assume...

'Marco, I...'

'Then we'll return here. You can live at the palazzo. You'll need family  around you and you don't want to go back to Manchester. Besides, I need  to be either here or London, so it has to be Venice. I can sell the  London house, get a flat for when I'm there. I will have to travel a  great deal, another reason why you'll need my family close by.'

That was how he saw her future, was it? Here in Venice, safely tucked  away with his family, the family he'd spent over ten years avoiding as  much as possible, while he stayed in London.

She opened her mouth, but he ploughed on. 'I don't think we should tell  anyone anything yet. You can go back to London as planned tomorrow. I'll  be back in a week. I'll arrange for somebody to move your things into  my house this week.'

It was obviously all decided. All taken care of in less than a minute's  decision-making. It didn't matter what she thought, what she wanted. She  was a problem to be taken care of. A problem he had solved in record  time.

It wasn't that she didn't love Venice, that she couldn't imagine living  here, although she wasn't sure she would ever feel at home in the huge,  ancient palazzo. It wasn't that she didn't adore Marco's family,  overbearing as they were, because she did. But it had taken Sophie far  too long to get to the point where she made the decisions about her  life. She wasn't about to hand over control to someone else. Just go  along meekly with his plans like an obedient little wife.                       
       
           



       

'Marco, stop. We don't need to decide all this now.' She couldn't help  the slight emphasis on the 'we'. 'Let's take a few days to think about  it and talk about it then, when you've had time to digest everything.'

He got to his feet, body half turned away, the message clear; this  conversation was over. 'There's nothing to decide. Look, Sophie, you  might not like it. You don't have to like it. This doesn't fit my plans  either.' Hurt lanced through her at his cold tones, at each distinct  word. 'But what's done is done and we need to act like adults, put our  own preferences aside.' He smiled then, a wintry half-smile that left  her colder than his earlier bleakness. 'We get on well enough. We have  chemistry. There are worse foundations for marriage.'

'Yes, but there are better foundations too.' She looked up at him,  putting every ounce of conviction she had into her voice. 'Marco, it's  the twenty-first century. We can both be involved, be good parents  without needing to be married. We don't need to live together, or even  be together. We just need to respect each other and work together. I  need you to listen to me, to consult me, not to make pronouncements that  affect my entire life and expect me to jump to.' Sophie could hear the  quiver in her voice and swallowed, holding back the threatened tears. 'I  know you don't want to get married and so thank you for suggesting it.  But I don't think a reluctant marriage is the best thing for me or for  the baby.'

She stood up, the blanket slipping off her shoulders as she did so. 'I  am heading back to the palazzo. Please make my apologies to Bianca. I'm  going to get my plane tomorrow and I'm asking you to give me some space.  Please don't come to my room tonight or offer to drop me off in the  morning-I think we both need some time to think. Think about what's best  for all of us.'

Head held high, she touched him lightly on the cheek before turning and  walking away. She'd been expecting anger or denial. Not this cold  acceptance. But secretly, buried so deep down she'd hardly been aware of  it, she'd been hoping for more. Maybe not love, she wasn't that much of  a fool, but liking. An indication he wanted to be with her. Not cold,  hard duty.

But it looked as if cold, hard duty was all he had to offer-and it  wasn't enough. She deserved more-even if her heart was breaking as she  turned and walked away. But better a cracked heart now than a lifetime  with someone who didn't want or respect her. Better a cracked heart than  allowing someone to dictate her life. Because she'd allowed that to  happen twice, and she'd had to fight to be free twice. Last time she'd  vowed never again and she'd meant it. She meant it now. No matter how  much it hurt.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN

'I CAN'T BELIEVE there are so many photos of you. It's like Marco and  his family are famous!' Ashleigh was once again searching through  Italian gossip sites on Sophie's laptop.

'Not famous exactly, it's just they're a really old family. A really old  rich family. A bit like minor royalty.' Sophie turned her head, not  wanting to catch a glimpse of Marco, even on screen. He hadn't texted,  hadn't called. A week of radio silence. She'd asked for time, asked for  space, but this was beginning to feel a lot like punishment. 'Marco and  Bianca are gossip-column staples. Her wedding was a big deal. Not that I  knew that when I offered to fix her dress. I'd have been far too  terrified.'

'So that makes you the mother-to-be of minor royalty,' Grace said.

'I can't believe you're pregnant.' Emma was staring at Sophie's stomach. 'You haven't put on an ounce.'

'I have, many ounces, but half of it is Italian food,' Sophie pointed  out, but Emma's words brought her situation home. It was too easy, back  in the safety of her flat, of her routine, to hide from her future. But  that future was growing rapidly and she couldn't hide it for much  longer. 'And I can't believe it either. There are moments when I'm  thrilled-and then I start panicking again. I don't know how to be a  mother. It's not like I have the best relationship with mine.'

'Sure you know how,' Ashleigh said with a soft smile. 'You know how to be an awesome friend. You're over halfway there.'

'Besides...' Emma jumped to her feet and stepped over to give her a hug.  Sophie leaned gratefully on her shoulder, glad of the support. 'You  have us. We're going to be the best team of  aunties-stroke-fairy-godmothers any child ever had. You're not alone,  Soph. Don't ever think it.'                       
       
           



       

'And I wouldn't worry about your future. I predict amazing things,'  Grace said, wrestling the laptop away from Ashleigh. 'Not only is the  whole of Italy wild about the alterations you made to Bianca's dress,  but they love the going-away outfit you made her too. I've seen dozens  of blogs and articles raving about it. Now your website is finally going  live...' she shot a mock stern look at Sophie '...and people can  actually order your clothes, success can't be far away.'

'Long-deserved success,' Ashleigh chimed in, holding up her cup of tea in a toast.

Sophie blinked back tears. Not only had her friends collected her from  the airport, smothered her with affection, tea and cake, waited  patiently until she had been able to find the words to tell them about  the baby-and about Marco and her feelings for him-but they had also  gently encouraged her to capitalise on her new-found design fame,  helping her put the finishing touches to her website and testing it for  her so when it went live-any second now-she could be confident it  worked. Ashleigh had also helped her organise her space in the tiny flat  so that finished designs could be photographed in a clutter-free space  and her material was neatly stacked, giving her more room to work.  Potential customers could either choose from her small collection of  existing stock or order by design, choosing the material they liked best  from her assortment of vintage prints or sending their own for her to  make up.