Pregnant by Morning(62)

Fran’s eyes lit up, just like Matt’s did when he was happy. “I’d like that, too. I’d like it better if my grandchild’s parents were married. But I promise that’s all I’ll say to interfere with what my son has clearly informed me is not my business.”

So maybe he had told her everything. Having that kind of bond with a mother—she couldn’t fathom it. This woman had shaped Matt, instilling in him many wonderful qualities. And most of them were outside of the kitchen. His depth, his sense of commitment, his patience and kindness. All products of his relationship with his family.

Having roots allowed for magnificent things to grow. She wanted that for her baby, but recognized that she had to make it happen by sticking around and creating the connections. Maybe she’d open herself to being hurt. And maybe this family would welcome her.

“Marriage was one of the many areas where we disagreed,” Evangeline admitted readily. “But I’m here because I realized I was wrong about a few of them. For example, I’m willing to reevaluate my stance on living in Europe.”

“Well, that’s a relief. It’s a shame Matthew’s not here so you can tell him personally. I think he’d be very interested in where else you might compromise. Ironically, you just missed him.”

She should talk to Matt. No matter how hard it might be. They were going to be parents, whether she wished they could be more or not.

“Do you mind if I wait?”

Fran smiled. “You might be waiting a long time. He flew to Monte Carlo this morning.”

* * *

Apparently Matthew was going to chase Evangeline around the globe.

He’d done everything short of walking up and down Rue Grimaldi yelling Evangeline’s name in order to find her. Vincenzo hadn’t realized she’d left Monte Carlo, and his cousin shook her head and said, “Sorry, cara. She said ciao and nothing else.”

Frustrated and quite sick of airports, Matthew slumped against the seat of the final vehicle in a long series of shuttles from place to place to place—a water taxi. He needed to regroup, and what better place to figure out what the hell he was doing than Venice?

Palazzo D’Inverno provided the only bit of sanity he’d experienced in forever.

Matthew tipped the driver and clambered up the dock to the water entrance of his house. The palazzo was the only permanent thing in his life, the only thing he actually owned. Coming here had been a gamble. Evangeline had infiltrated this house, and the memories were likely to be vicious.

When he swung open the door, the quiet hush of peace washed over him. Everything was exactly as he’d left it. The piano stood silently in the corner, draped for protection against lack of use. The U of couches faced the balcony overlooking the Grand Canal. Frescos kept watch from the ceiling, the scenes frozen in time for eternity.

The sense of freedom, as if he could do or be anything he wanted was exactly the same, too.

But that probably had to do with the woman standing by the glass, framed by the grandeur of Venice.

“I was starting to think you’d never get here,” Evangeline said, and smiled, punching him straight in the gut. Like always.

Evangeline was in Venice. Inside Palazzo D’Inverno, filling his house with her light. What did that smile mean? Was she buttering him up before she handed over the papers detailing the custody arrangement she hoped to talk him into?

“What are you doing here?”

It was far less than he’d like to say. But far more than his suddenly tight throat should have been able to voice.

“Vincenzo caught me at Heathrow. I changed my connecting flight and voila. Here I am.”

Which told him not one blessed thing about her intentions. He hated not knowing exactly where she’d been, where she wanted to go, what she was planning, what she was feeling. Once, he would have known instinctively, would have gleaned a hundred nuances from the vibe between them without a word exchanged.

He missed it. He wanted it back.

“How did you know this was where I would end up?”

His voice broke. She was beautiful—radiant like the Madonna with child. Like Evangeline with his child. There was nothing in Dallas, nothing anywhere in the world worth more. Exactly how stupid was he for not realizing that before screwing up everything?

Was she still in love with him? Or had he ruined that, too?

His stomach pitched. Well, he’d just have to convince her to forgive him for being such a shortsighted moron. Negotiation was his best skill.

She shrugged and crossed the room, stopping short of invading his space, likely because he’d given no indication of whether he’d welcome her. “Lucky guess.”

Or maybe something else had whispered his destination to her, something unexplainable and incomprehensible. But still real.