Her New Year Baby Secret(4)

'Going to the Snowflake Ball!'

'We're taking you as our guest!'

'You didn't think we'd leave you out, did you?' Ashleigh finished,  taking a glass from Emma and pressing it into Sophie's unresisting hand.  'Cheers!'

'But...but...my hair. And what will I wear?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Emma said. 'If only one of us was an aspiring  fashion designer with a wardrobe crammed full of original designs. Hang  on a minute...' She strode into the minuscule bedroom-so tiny Sophie  could only fit in a single cabin bed-and pulled back the curtain that  divided the crammed clothes rails from the rest of the room. 'Ta-dah!'

'I couldn't wear one of my designs to an event like this! Everyone else  will be in dresses like, well, like yours. Expensive, designer...'

'And you will outshine us all in an original Sophie Bradshaw.' Grace  beamed at her. 'Oh, Sophie, it's going to be a magical night. I am so  very happy you are coming with is. Let's get you ready...'

* * *

Why on earth did I agree to attend this ball?

More to the point, why did he agree to attend the Snowflake Ball every  New Year's Eve? It was always the same, filled with the same people, the  same talk, the same tedium. Marco cast a scowling look at the crowded  ballroom. Oh, it was tastefully done out with abstract snowflakes  suspended from the ceiling and the glitter kept to a minimum, but it was  still not a patch on Venice on New Year's Eve. His was a city that knew  how to celebrate and New Year was a night when the stately old city  came alive.

He hadn't spent a New Year in Venice for over a decade, although there  were times when the pull of the city of his birth ran through his veins  like the water in the canals and he missed the alleyways and bridges,  the grand old palazzos and the markets with an almost physical ache that  no amount of excellent champagne and food could make up for. His hands  folded into fists. Tomorrow he would return home, not just for a  fleeting visit, some business and a duty dinner with his mother and  sister. Tomorrow he would return for a fortnight, to host the Santoros'  annual Epiphany Ball and then stay to walk his sister down the aisle.

Tomorrow he would step into his father's shoes, no matter that he wasn't ready. No matter that he didn't deserve to.                       
       
           



       

Marco took a deep sip of wine, barely tasting the richness. He wouldn't  think about it tonight, his last night of freedom. He needed a  distraction.

His eyes skimmed the room, widening with appreciation as four women  stopped at a table opposite. They were talking over each other, faces  lit with enthusiasm as they took their seats. His gaze lingered on a  laughing blonde. Her silver minidress was an interesting choice in what  was a mainly conservatively dressed ballroom, but Marco wasn't  complaining, not when the wearer possessed such excellent legs.  Excellent legs, a really nice, lithe figure and, as she turned to face  him as if she were aware of his scrutiny, a pair of familiar blue eyes.  Eyes staring straight back at him with such undisguised horror Marco  almost turned and checked, just to make sure there wasn't an axe  murderer creeping up behind him.

The girl from the snow. The one who had disappeared...

Marco muttered a curse, unsure whether to coolly acknowledge her or  ignore her presence; it had been a novel experience to wake up and find  himself alone without as much as a note. Novel and not exactly pleasant;  in Marco's experience women clung on long after the relationship was  over, they didn't disappear before it had even begun.

And they certainly didn't run away before dawn.

His eyes narrowed. She owed him an explanation at the least, apology at  best. There were rules for these kinds of encounters and Sophie Bradshaw  had broken every one. Besides, he was damned if he was going to spend  the evening marked as the big bad wolf with Little Silver Dress going  all wide-eyed at the very sight of him. He had a fortnight of difficult  encounters ahead of him; tonight was supposed to be about having fun.

Mind made up, Marco took a step in Sophie's direction, but she was  already on her feet and shouldering her way through the ballroom. Away  from him. So she liked to play, did she? He set off at an unhurried  pace, following the silver dress as it darted across the crowded room  and through a discreet door set in the wooden panelling. The door began  to close behind her, but his long stride shortened the distance enough  for him to catch it before it could close fully and he slipped inside...

To find himself inside a closet. A large closet, but a closet  nonetheless, one filled with towering stacks of spare chairs, folded  tables and several cleaning trolleys. Sophie was pressed against one of  the tables, her hands gripping the sides, her heart-shaped face pale.

He allowed the door to close behind him, leaning against it, his arms folded, staring her down. 'Buongiorno, Sophie.'

'Marco? Wh-what are you doing here?'

'Catching up with old friends. That's what I like about these occasions,  you never know who you might bump into. Nice corner you've found here. A  little crowded, lacking in decoration, but I like it.'

'I...' Her eyes were wide. Scared.

Incredulity thundered through him. He'd assumed she had hidden because  she was embarrassed to see him, that maybe she hadn't told her  friends-or boyfriend-about him. Or because she was playing some game and  trying to lure him in. It hadn't occurred to him that she would be  actually terrified at the very thought of seeing him.

Although she had fled from his bed, run away from her friends the moment  she had recognised him. How many clues did he need? His mouth  compressed into a thin line. 'Apologies, Sophie,' he said stiffly. 'I  didn't mean to scare you. Please rest assured that I will leave you  alone for the rest of the evening.' He bowed formally and turned, hand  on the door handle, only to be arrested by the sound of her low voice.

'No, Marco. I should apologise. I didn't expect to see you here, I  didn't expect to see you ever again actually and I overreacted. I'm  not...I don't really do... You know. What we did. I have no idea how  these things work.'

What we did. Marco had spent the last three weeks trying to put what  they'd done out of his mind. Tried not to dwell on the satin of her  skin, the taste of her, the way she laughed. The way she moaned.

Ironically he usually did know how these things worked. Temporary and  discreet were the hallmarks of the perfect relationship as far as Marco  was concerned. Not falling into bed with strangers he'd met on street  corners. He was far too cautious. He needed to be certain that any and  every prospective partner knew the rules: mutually satisfying and  absolutely no strings.

But somehow that evening all his self-imposed rules had gone flying out  of the window. It had been like stepping into another world; the snow  deep outside, the city oddly muted, the world contracting until it was  only the two of them. It seemed as if there had been no other route open  to him, booking the hotel room an unsaid inevitability as they'd moved  on to their second drink, walking hand in hand through the falling snow  but not really touching, not yet, waiting until the room door had swung  closed behind them.                       
       
           



       

And then...

Marco inhaled, the heat of that night burning through his body. He  didn't know what he'd have done if she'd been there when he woke up,  pulled her to him or distanced himself in the cold light of day. But he  hadn't had to make that decision; like the melted snow outside, she was  gone. He'd told himself it was for the best. But now that she was here,  it was hard to remember why.

He turned. Sophie was still staring at him, her blue eyes huge in her  pale face. 'How these things work?' he repeated, unable to stop the  smile curving his mouth. 'Does there have to be a set path?'

Colour flared high on her cheekbones. 'No, I'm not looking for Mr Right,  but neither am I the kind of girl who spends the night with a stranger.  Usually. So I don't know what the etiquette is here.'

'Nor do I, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't require us to spend half the evening in a cleaning closet.'

'No,' she said doubtfully as if the cleaning closet were actually the  perfect place to spend New Year's Eve. 'But what happens when we get out  there? Do we acknowledge that we know each other or pretend that none  of it ever happened?'

The latter was certainly the most sensible idea-but hadn't he decided he  needed a distraction? Sophie Bradshaw in a silver minidress was the  epitome of distraction. Marco stepped away from the door, leaving it a  little ajar, and smiled as ruefully as he could. 'Are those my choices?  They seem a little limited. How about I throw a third option in there-I  ask you to dance?'

'Ask me to dance?' Her eyes were even wider than before if that was  possible and she pressed even further into the table. 'But I walked out  on you. Without a note! And I ran away as soon as I saw you.'