Feeling like an intruder in the room that had been her husband’s domain, she cast her gaze over the walls thick with the books he’d read. A stack of files he’d brought home to work on, either from his law firm or the foundation he’d been so proud of, lay on his desk. Next to it sat the thick leather-bound tome on Stanley and Livingstone she’d bought him for his recent birthday. A bookmark poked out a third of the way through it.
Her throat closing tightly, she picked the book up and hugged it to her chest then with a wail that seemed to come from nowhere sank to the floor and sobbed for the man who had lied to her and everyone else for years, but who had done so much good in the world.
Pieta would never finish this book. He would never see the hospital his siblings would build in his memory. He would never take delivery of the new car he’d ordered only the day before he’d died.
He would never have the chance to tell his family the truth about who he’d really been.
‘Oh, Pieta,’ she whispered between the tears. ‘Wherever you are, I hope you’re finally at peace with yourself.’
The sound of the doorbell rang out.
She rolled into a ball and covered her ears.
The caller was insistent, pressing the doorbell intermittently until she could ignore it no longer. Wiping the tears away, she dragged herself up from the study floor and went down the stairs, clinging to the bannister for support, mentally preparing what she would say to get rid of her unexpected visitor.
Please don’t be my parents. Don’t be my parents. Don’t be my parents.
Bracing herself, she unlocked the door and opened it a crack to peer through.
Certain she must be hallucinating, she pulled the door wider.
Her heart seemed to stop then kick back to life with a roar.
Matteo stood there, shining like an apparition under the brilliance of the moon.
He’d removed his black tie, his white shirt open at the throat, bleakness in his eyes, his jaw clenched, breathing heavily.
Their eyes met.
Neither of them spoke.
Something erupted in her chest, gripping her so tightly her lungs closed.
Time came to a standstill.
There they stood for the longest time, speaking only with their eyes. She read a hundred things in his; variations of pain, misery, anger and something else, something she hadn’t seen since the beat before he’d taken her into his arms for the only kiss they had ever shared seven years ago.
This was the first time she’d seen him alone since that kiss.
She would never forget the look in his eyes from across the marquee when she had said yes to Pieta’s proposal only two hours later. That would be with her until the day she died. The regret at all that had been lost would live in her for ever.
Her foot moved of its own accord as she took the step to him and placed her palm on his warm cheek.
He didn’t react. Not the flicker of a muscle.
Matteo stared into eyes puffy from crying but that shone at him, almost pleading.
All the words he’d prepared melted away.
He couldn’t even remember getting out of his car.
Her trembling hand felt so gentle on his cheek, her warmth penetrating his skin, and all he could do was drink in the face he’d once dreamed of waking up to.
A force too powerful to fight took hold of him, like a fist grabbing his insides and squeezing tightly.
Suddenly he couldn’t remember why he hated her. All thoughts had evaporated. All he could see was her, Natasha, the woman he had taken one look at nearly eight years ago and known his life would never be the same again.
Copyright © 2017 by Michelle Smart
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CLAIMING HIS ONE-NIGHT BABY
by Michelle Smart,
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ISBN-13: 978-1-488-08098-2
PASSION FROM THE PAST
First published in 1982
This edition published in 2017
Copyright © 1982 by Carole Mortimer.
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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Passion from the Past Page 19