She sounded so matter of fact, Marco couldn't imagine how hard it must have been starting afresh in a new city where she knew no one, had nothing. He had already had some contacts when he'd made the move over, a fledgling business and money enough to make the move easy and comfortable. Being his own man was so important to him, but, he acknowledged ruefully, it was easier to start from a position of privilege with a network of contacts than it was completely alone and from scratch. He might have the more successful business, the expensive house, the influential network, but Sophie had a grit and determination he could only hope to emulate and learn from.
He'd thought she was beautiful the first time he'd met her, shivering in the snow, enjoyed her company over the first couple of glasses of wine. He'd been intrigued by her lack of interest in pursuing a relationship with him, a refreshing attitude to his jaded soul, and been taken aback by her horrified response to his family's wealth and influence. There was a grounded realness to Sophie he hadn't come across before. Her experiences could so easily have made her bitter, but instead, although she maintained a guard over her emotions, she was willing and ready to embrace life, to try new things whether it was a small challenge like driving his boat or a huge one like motherhood. He wanted to be with her every step of the way. He just had no idea how to make her believe he meant it.
* * *
Marco was quieter than usual. Partly because, like her, he was overwhelmed by the scan bringing the baby to life before their eyes and partly, she suspected, because he was trying his best to show her that he had taken her wishes on board. How long he would manage to consult her before taking any step, from hailing a taxi to opening the door for her, she wasn't sure, but she was touched to see the effort he was making with such sincerity.
The taxi had dropped them off just north of Paddington by a canal filled, to Sophie's delight, with colourful narrowboats. 'They call this area Little Venice,' Marco explained. 'It isn't a patch on the real thing, naturally, but it has a real beauty of its own.'
'I love narrowboats,' Sophie said, staring around her with fascination. 'I've always wanted to live on one and travel from place to place, you know, with pots of herbs and flowers on the roof and maybe a dog.'
'Lovely in summer,' he said doubtfully. 'Probably less romantic in late November when it's been raining for weeks and you can't dry your clothes.'
'It's always sunny in my imagination.' They began walking along the towpath, Sophie peeking in at each boat they passed, squeaking in excitement when she spotted something novel whether it was a cat curled up in the sun or a riotous selection of flowers and vegetables covering the entirety of the boat.
He didn't say that the palazzo overlooked a canal on one side, that the terrace and courtyard were big enough to grow all the herbs and flowers she desired, that the heating kept it toasty warm in the colder months and the shuttered windows and thick walls provided shade and coolness in the summer. He didn't need to; she knew it as well as he did.
She knew there were plenty of empty salons just waiting to be put to use, rooms she could line with rails filled with her designs, a drawing board set up by the window, her sewing machine in one corner, a cutting-out table in the other. All that could be hers, she only had to say the word.
But space and money weren't enough. All she wanted, all she'd ever wanted was unconditional love. And for that she'd have gladly lived on a narrowboat through the fiercest of storms.
'There are several cafés on boats, one of which is an Italian deli run by a Venetian man. I can vouch for the quality of both his pasta and his bread. How hungry are you?'
Sophie considered. She could always eat, but was she actually hungry? 'You know, I think if I get a snack to sustain me I would rather walk first, eat afterwards. Is that okay?'
'Of course, it's still early. Why don't we walk up to Regent's Park and decide what to do next from there?'
After a black coffee for Marco and a bottle of sparkling water and a toasted ciabatta filled with mozzarella and tomatoes for Sophie at what was, she conceded, the best Italian café she had been to in London, they headed north towards Maida Vale and Regent's Park. The sun was warm, a gorgeous contrast to the dampness that had characterised most of February and added to the almost holiday atmosphere along the canal side. A family passed them, a baby snug in a sling against its mother's chest, a curly-haired toddler swung high on his father's shoulders. Sophie and Marco paused on the towpath to let them walk by and then stood looking after them as the couple chattered and laughed as they pointed things out to their small son.
Sophie's heart ached. Would she and Marco ever walk along with their baby in such compatible ease or would it be the polite handovers and lonely nights of a civilised joint custody?
'They look happy,' he said softly as if reading her mind.
'Yes.'
He put a hand on her shoulder and she looked up, surprised, to see a serious expression darkening his eyes. 'Sophie, I just want you to know that I am here for you, whatever you decide to do, however you decide to do it. I know how important your independence is to you. I admire...' he paused, a smile twisting his mouth '...I really admire how hard you've fought for it, fought for everything you've achieved. You should be so proud. I am. I just want you to know that.'
Sophie's heart began to speed up, her throat constricting as she listened to him.
'It's yours, whatever you need, my house in London or the palazzo in Venice or somewhere new. For me they are just places, but I want to help you find a home, the right home for you and the baby. If you'll let me. I don't have much else to offer, I realise that now. Strip away my name, strip away my family and there's not much there. I told myself that I didn't need them, that I was enough by myself, yet at the same time I coasted along comfortably on all they brought me. I admit, I didn't think I needed to ask whether you wanted to marry me or not. I'd spent so long running from marriage it didn't occur to me that you might turn me down, want something different for your life. I was an arrogant fool.'
His eyes, still steady on hers, were heavy with sadness and she impulsively lifted a hand to his cheek. 'No, you had good reason to feel that way. I was with you, at that wedding. I saw how people looked at you. I heard what they said. And if I was someone else, if I hadn't been so broken, then maybe I would have said yes. Maybe respect and chemistry would have been enough.'
He shook his head. 'No, you were right. Love is the only basis for marriage. It should be. It's hard enough to succeed at something so huge without starting out short. I didn't think I was the kind of man who could love, but you've taught me differently.'
Her pulse began to hammer so loudly the rest of the world was drowned out. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?
'I thought of love as selfish, as needy, as constrictive. I thought love meant giving up who you are, what you are. But now I know it means wanting the best for someone else regardless of the cost to you. Tell me what you need from me and I'll do it. Anything. All I want is to be the best father I can be to our child, to make you as proud of me as I am of you.'
All the surety had been wiped away, replaced with a heartfelt expression and the kind of tenderness Sophie hadn't believed could exist in the world, not for her. Scarcely believing, she stared into his face and saw the truth blazing out. He loved her, not because of what she could do, nor because of how she made him feel, but because of who she was.
'Anything?' She couldn't believe her voice was so steady.
'Anything,' he confirmed.
'Then marry me.' She hadn't even known that was what she was going to say, but as soon as she said the words she knew they were right. That they were perfect. 'Marry me three weeks from now in a small ceremony here in London. Just like you wanted, only with the people we love and the people who love us celebrating with us because a wedding should be a celebration, always.'
'It should. I was a fool to think any differently. Sophie, are you sure? You don't have to do this.'
'Surer than I have ever been about anything. I love you, Marco. Saying no to you was the hardest thing I've ever done, but I couldn't be with someone who didn't love me again, not even for the baby.'
'You won't need to,' he vowed. 'Because I love you more than I ever thought possible.' He grinned. 'See how far I've come? My machismo is not even slightly dented by your proposal.'