Her New Year Baby Secret(31)

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.'