Matteo’s thumb stilled. ‘What is this from?’ he asked quietly. ‘This scar? I’ve been wondering about it...’
Someone throwing a bucket of iced water into her face could have had a similar effect on dousing that desire. For a moment, Georgia froze.
She’d already sensed that this was an opportunity to tell Matteo the truth. Or to at least tell him when her due date was so that he could work it out for himself and force a stop to this horrible procrastination. More than that, she realised that a better opportunity would never present itself. She was actually being given a chance to offer the foundation of any excuses for her deception before she dropped the bombshell of Matteo’s impending fatherhood.
But, yet again, she couldn’t do it.
Memory was such a bizarre thing. A smell could evoke a feeling of being straight back in your childhood, for instance. A thumb touching a jagged scar could suddenly burn, as though she could feel the pain of her arm being jammed in that car door all over again. She could definitely feel the shudder of remembered fear that had rippled down her spine.
She had to snatch her arm away.
‘Don’t...’ she whispered. ‘Please... I don’t want to talk about it. I...can’t...’
* * *
He couldn’t let this go.
Okay, he’d said he wasn’t going to force himself on her and he’d had no intention of pushing her at a pace she wasn’t comfortable with.
But this was important.
No...it was more than that. Matteo’s instincts were finely honed for signs and symptoms in patients that could mean that their condition was becoming critical.
This felt critical.
He followed Georgia into the sitting room. Already, she had picked up a sheaf of papers from work and seemed to be focused on reading them.
Shutting him out.
He sat beside her on the couch. Silently, for a long moment, as he tried to think of what to say that wasn’t going to make that barrier even more solid.
‘If you want to watch television, that’s fine.’ Georgia’s voice was tight. ‘I can go and work in my room.’
‘I don’t want to watch television,’ Matteo said quietly. ‘I want to talk to you.’
She was silent.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ he added. ‘But I’d really like you to. I care about you, cara—you know that. I get the feeling that that scar on your arm is more than just physical and... I want to know you better. To understand...’
It was that last word that seemed to find a chink in her armour. The papers drifted onto her lap as she closed her eyes.
‘My arm got broken when I was five years old. A compound fracture. I’ve always told people that it happened when I fell off a pony but...it didn’t. It came from having it slammed in a car door.’
‘Dio mio...’ Matteo’s stomach churned at the thought of that pain. ‘How did that happen?’
‘My father did it.’
Now he felt sick. He’d been right, hadn’t he, when he’d wondered if someone had abused Georgia to make her fearful of men in some way.
And that meant that the violence had been deliberate, not accidental.
‘Right before he pushed my mother out of the way. So hard that she fell and hit her head on the pavement. She was still trying to get up as we drove away. I saw her out of the back window...’
Georgia Bennett never cried on the outside, but Matteo could hear the sobs of a terrified child behind her words.
He had to gather Georgia into his arms. To hold her. The papers slid from her lap onto the floor but she didn’t seem to notice. She rested her head in the hollow beneath his shoulder and, slowly, started speaking again.
‘He took me to a hospital, of course. The police came and I got taken home to my mother eventually but it was the start of fear for both of us. My father had become very religious and he made it his life’s mission to make amends for the shame of the one-night stand that had brought me into the world, even though he’d wanted nothing to do with me when I was born. We had to keep moving. Trying to hide...’
It was an effort to keep the anger from his voice. ‘Where is he now—this monster who was no father to you?’
‘He’s dead. He was killed in a fight. Stabbed by someone who disagreed with his lay preaching on a street corner.’ He could feel the movement of Georgia’s chest as she let her breath out in a sigh. ‘My mum said it was karma.’
‘It was certainly a good thing. You were safe...’
‘I was still afraid. My mother developed epilepsy. The doctors thought it could have had something to do with a head injury that was never investigated properly that day I broke my arm. It was a petit mal seizure that probably caused her to step out onto a road...in front of a bus. I had just started work on the road after graduating from university.’
‘Oh, no...you didn’t find out by arriving on scene, did you?’ Matteo’s heart was breaking. He couldn’t bear the thought of this story getting even worse.
‘No...’ Georgia tilted her head to look up at him. A hint of a smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. ‘You’re right... I hadn’t actually ever thought of that. It could have been worse...’
No, it couldn’t. Matteo tightened his hold on Georgia as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. He’d guessed that there was something important about that scar. That it represented much more than simply a physical injury.
But this...
This was so huge he couldn’t even begin to imagine how deeply it could have shaped a young life.
He needed to process this.
Thank goodness his instincts told him to back off. To take things slowly. To let Georgia choose when—or if—to invite him further into her life.
Telling him this had opened a door onto a space that was totally new.
A space that instinct told him nobody else had ever been allowed access to.
‘There’s something else I should tell you.’
He could feel the tension in her body now. Could feel her struggle.
‘You don’t have to,’ he whispered. ‘Not right now.’ He stroked her hair. ‘We have all the time in the world, cara. I’m not going anywhere. Not yet. I love you.’
She still felt incredibly tense. Trembling, almost, as if she was still afraid.
So he kept holding her, until he could feel that tension ebbing.
And then, when she looked up to catch her gaze, he kissed her again.
‘You need to go to bed, tesoro. You need to sleep.’
‘I don’t want you to stop holding me right now,’ she whispered. ‘I love you, too.’
‘I don’t have to stop holding you.’ Matteo murmured, but his words were coming out without him giving them much thought at all.
Georgia had spoken so quietly he wondered whether he’d actually heard that last bit. Had she really just told him that she loved him? He wanted to ask if it was really true. If those barriers were truly vanquished. But that would make this moment more about him than Georgia, wouldn’t it? If it was true, she would tell him again and he could be patient. Like his patience in getting closer to this woman he loved, it would be worth the wait.
‘I could still hold you while you sleep, if you’d like that.’
And that would be all he would do. Just be there for her. Holding her. Willing her to believe that not all men were untrustworthy.
She was very, very still in his arms now.
And then she pushed herself up from the couch and stood there in front of him.
Her outstretched hand an invitation.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
GEORGIA BENNETT HAD believed that the lovemaking she had shared with Matteo Martini on that moonlit night in the Czech Republic had been the best she’d ever experienced.
She had been wrong.
The, oh, so gentle, heart
breakingly tender physical connection they’d inevitably shared when she’d led him to her bed that night had been something so extraordinary she was still stunned a week later.
Maybe it was due to the cathartic effect of talking about her childhood trauma for the first time. Of reliving such painful memories and then to find herself being cradled in arms that made her feel so safe.
She had definitely been about to tell Matteo the truth about her pregnancy right then because she had felt too drained to think about the consequences. She had still had to summon her courage, however, and he must have sensed how difficult it had been because he’d tried to make her feel even safer. He’d told her that she didn’t need to say anything else and she’d let herself believe him. Let herself fall into that safety net of his arms a little further.
Just for that one night, she’d promised herself.
She’d tell him tomorrow.
But tomorrow was always another day. Until today.
Georgia had known it was different from the moment she’d woken up at the sound of the front door of the cottage closing.
Something suddenly seemed urgent.
She was out of bed as fast as it was possible to be these days. Down the stairs faster than she should have, although she kept a firm hand on the bannister to keep her balance. She actually threw the door open, thinking she might have a chance to catch Matteo before he drove away, but she was too late.
‘I’m too late,’ she whispered aloud. ‘What am I going to do?’
She paced the floor of the sitting room. It wasn’t too late. She could tell him tonight. She would make dinner and tell Matteo how much she loved him.
And then she would tell him the truth about her pregnancy.
He was leaving to spend a few days with his family very soon and that might be a good thing because it could give him time to get used to the news.
With the decision definitively made, Georgia felt calmer. Not calm enough to crunch data and start writing up the first conclusions to do with her research project, however. She felt restless. Every time she sat down to try and work, she would think of something else that needed doing. Like putting the rubbish out and wiping down the kitchen bench and then—oddly—taking every single thing out of the fridge so she could simply clean the shelves and put it all back again.
She was nervous, she decided, when she was dusting the top of the bookshelf in the sitting room—a task that hadn’t been done for so long it would have been easy to write her name in the film covering the wood. No. She was impatient. She was finally ready to do the thing she should have done a long time ago and the hours were passing too slowly.
She spent most of the afternoon out in the garage, which was used for storage rather than as shelter for cars. It had a few old pieces of furniture in there. And the chest freezer that there was no room for in the house. Over the last month or more, it had also been used as a place to hide the fact that she was collecting so much baby gear. Two bassinets. Two car seats. A small mountain of baby clothes and nappies.
It needed sorting. To see what else she was missing.
By evening, that big task was completed and the house had never been so clean and tidy. Maybe the smell in the kitchen wasn’t on a par with Matteo’s lasagne but it would be good enough by the time the steaks were sizzling and could add their aroma to the baked potatoes already in the oven.
Georgia’s feet hurt after all the pacing about she had been doing all day.
Her back hurt, too, which was hardly surprising.
Not that it mattered. She forgot about any pain the moment she heard the tyres of Matteo’s car crunching to a halt on the gravel driveway.
Until the moment that the handle of the door turned and he was stepping into the kitchen.
She couldn’t think of anything but the pain then.
Because it had suddenly blossomed into a cramp that made her gasp aloud with its intensity. Made it imperative that she get hold of the back of that chair beside the little table so that she had some support and didn’t crumple to the floor.
‘Georgie?’ She could hear the thump of Matteo’s satchel hitting the floor. ‘Oh...no...’
He must be able to see what she was feeling—the rush of fluid down her legs that warned her that her waters had just broken.
The pain was still blinding her and Matteo was making it worse by making her move. Half-carrying her into the sitting room and then easing her onto the floor.
‘Don’t move,’ he told her.
Georgia covered her eyes with her hand. She couldn’t move even if she wanted to. How could this be happening so fast, with so little warning?
The first contraction had barely begun to fade when another one started.
She heard Matteo’s voice. Sharp, clipped instructions to the control room at the rescue base as he demanded an ambulance.
She had had warning, she realised, groaning aloud.
That restlessness hadn’t been impatience to get her confession to Matteo over with. And that back pain hadn’t been simply due to too much time on her feet.
Her doctor had even warned her last week, when she’d gone in for her antenatal check, that this could happen.
‘It’s twins,’ he’d reminded her. ‘They’re very likely to come a bit early. Things are getting pretty crowded in there.’
Matteo was crouching beside her now, a stack of the towels Georgia had refolded earlier today in his arms.
‘The ambulance is on its way,’ he told her. ‘We’ll probably hear the siren in no time at all.’
‘I don’t think it’s going to get here on time.’ Georgia was frightened now. ‘I can feel something happening. Oh, my God... I have to push...’
‘It’s okay...we’ve got this...’ She could feel Matteo’s hands as she pulled her legs up. Ripping her clothing clear. Pushing back...?
Of course...he was trying to slow a precipitous birth to keep the baby safe.
Georgia tried to pant and slow things down herself but her body wasn’t listening. Another contraction and another overwhelming urge to push so hard that she had red spots dancing on the back of her eyelids and a roaring sound in her ears.
It didn’t drown out the sound of Matteo’s calm voice, though.
‘Almost there... You’re doing great... That’s it...’
And then another sound cut through the noise in her head.
The warbling cry of a newly born infant.
Georgia struggled to push herself up on her elbows.
‘It’s a little girl,’ Matteo told her. ‘And she’s gorgeous. Look...’
He was holding her baby in his bare hands. A tiny, wrinkled red face was screwed up, ready to emit another cry.
‘You’ve done it, Georgie...she’s okay. Everything’s okay...’
‘No...’ Georgia’s head dropped back to the floor. ‘It’s not over... Oh...’ It was her turn to cry aloud as a new contraction built. ‘It’s twins, Matteo...’
‘What? How could you not have told me that?’
What she hadn’t told Matteo was the least of her worries at this moment. This pain was unbelievably intense. Matteo’s voice blurred into the sound of her firstborn crying. Her own cries. The faint background wail of an approaching siren...
* * *
Matteo had never been this afraid in his career.
He’d attended many births but this was so different, he felt like he had no idea of what he was doing.
He could see his hands doing all the things they needed to be doing but it was like watching hands that belonged to someone else.
His brain was detached.
Reeling...
Twins? How could Georgia have kept such important information a secret?
They’d become so close since she’d shared the terrible story behind that scar on her arm.
She’d wante
d to tell him something else that night, hadn’t she?
But he’d stopped her.
Why?
Because he’d known that whatever it was she had been about to say was difficult? That maybe she hadn’t really wanted to tell him at all?
Again...why...?
Any baby was a miracle. Twins were something very special. He knew that. His sister had been doubly blessed with little Mita and Lia. It was something to celebrate, not hide...
Unless she had believed that, for some reason, it put her in jeopardy?
Somehow he kept his hands moving. The baby girl was small but looked fine. She was breathing well and nicely pink. He wrapped her in soft, clean towels to keep her warm and then turned his attention back to the arrival of her brother or sister. A breech delivery, this one, which kicked his focus sharply back into place. This one had to happen slowly. Gently.
He heard the sounds of the ambulance crew arriving, the bang of the door and the rattle of stretcher wheels behind him.
‘Don’t push,’ he warned Georgia. ‘It’s very important.’ He turned his head and spoke to the first paramedic to enter the room. ‘Grab some cushions off the couch, please. I need to get her hips higher than her shoulders.’
‘It’s a breech?’
‘Yep.’
‘You’re doing a great job, Georgie,’ the second paramedic said, depositing an oxygen cylinder and pack of gear onto the floor. ‘Couldn’t wait for us, huh? Looks like we’re only going to be a taxi to get you into hospital.’
Georgia wasn’t listening. ‘I have to push,’ she groaned.
‘Okay...we’ve got this...’ Matteo cradled the tiny buttocks that were on the move. A boy this time...and...thank goodness, he was going to be all right. His tiny limbs were twitching as soon as his head was delivered, his chest heaving as he made the immense effort of sucking in his very first breath.
‘I can’t believe it’s twins.’ The paramedic who seemed to know Georgia very well had picked up the baby wrapped in towels. ‘Good grief, champ, you’re good at keeping secrets, aren’t you?’
Matteo was lifting her son in his arms, ready to place him skin to skin with his mother as the other paramedic clamped and cut the cord. His gaze snagged Georgia’s.
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