She guessed that particular heroine didn’t have a sister who could read voices. Imma listened to her greeting and her concern was immediate.
‘I’m fine, I promise,’ Claudia assured her. Imma already knew that she and Ciro had gone their separate ways. For once, Claudia hadn’t confided everything, simply said they’d brought their day of parting forward. Too many bitter, hateful words had been exchanged for her to want to relive them.
‘You’ve never been alone before,’ Imma pointed out.
‘I was alone whenever Ciro travelled on business. This is the same. Just longer.’ Just permanent.
‘Come back to Sicily,’ Imma begged. ‘Please. I’ll look after you and the baby.’
‘I don’t need looking after,’ she told her honestly. ‘New York’s my home now. I’m getting to know my way around, and Ciro’s here if I need him.’
Imma snorted.
‘He’s my baby’s father and he loves her,’ Claudia said quietly. Ciro’s vehemence in stating he would fight her if she tried to keep their baby from him had been heartfelt. She supposed such a threat should frighten her, but it didn’t. She’d been terrified from the moment she’d taken the pregnancy test that he wouldn’t be able to love their baby and now that she knew he did, she could sleep easier. Not that she’d been able to sleep much since they’d parted. It didn’t matter how much she tried adjusting the air conditioning, her bones always felt too cold to sleep.
Maybe she just needed to get used to sleeping in the guest room. She hadn’t been able to bring herself to sleep in the bed they’d shared.
They chatted a little longer, Imma filling her in on everything going on back home in Sicily. At some point Claudia was going to have to return and visit her father. She spoke to him occasionally and though it broke her heart to avoid him, it was nothing less than he deserved. But he was still her father and she still loved him.
For what he’d done to Ciro’s family and all the other families he’d hurt, though, she would never forgive him.
Ciro threw half the bagel he’d bought for his breakfast in the bin. He didn’t know why but he found them bland now. He wondered if he’d damaged his taste buds because in recent weeks all food seemed bland to him.
As this was his first day off in a fortnight he set out to do what he’d promised himself he would do weeks ago and headed to the guest room that adjoined his new master suite. It would make an excellent nursery for the baby. That was if he stayed here long enough before the birth without selling up and buying somewhere else. As with his marriage, purchasing an apartment chosen and paid for in haste while on a trip to Japan meant he could repent at his leisure. When it came to this apartment, he had plenty of repenting to do. He hated the place.
When it came to his marriage...
He shoved the thought from his mind, just as he always did when the image of Claudia floated in his head.
They spoke. They communicated, sometimes directly, sometimes through Marcy. But never in person. She had an obstetrician appointment next week that she’d invited him to attend. It would be the first time they’d seen each other since their parting.
How much easier it would be to hold onto his fury if she weren’t so damn considerate. Typical Claudia, putting their baby first.
The only person she wouldn’t put first, he thought grimly, was him.
Trying again to shove thoughts of Claudia aside, Ciro rubbed his hand over his mouth and contemplated the room’s dimensions, pondering where best to place the nursery furniture, and then pondering what nursery furniture even entailed. There was a lot he had to learn before his daughter’s birth.
His brain moving on to colour schemes, he opened the dressing-room door to double check it would be large enough for all the baby clothing he intended to buy. A couple of large cardboard boxes were neatly stacked in it.
He groaned. He’d got his staff to pack all his personal possessions for him at the old apartment—now Claudia’s apartment—then unpack everything for him here at the new one.
Tempting though it was to leave the boxes and get his staff to sort them tomorrow, now he knew they were there, he figured he might as well just deal with them himself.
Crouching down before them, he picked at the packing tape of the top one then ripped it off.
Tissue paper covered the contents and he roughly pulled it out.
And then his heart stopped when he recognised the white Sicilian lace the tissue paper had been hiding.
Claudia’s wedding dress.
Seeing that dress was like looking at a ghost.
He stared at it with blood rushing through his ears. The room began to spin.
Groping as if in a dream, he pulled the dress from the box and, getting to his feet, removed the clear plastic protector. Memories flooded him before he could stop them, filling him until every cell in his body throbbed. How beautiful she’d looked in this dress. How sincere her vows had been. How the last time he’d seen this dress had been when she’d point-blank refused to have the guest room and insisted on sharing his room with him.
He’d bought himself a new apartment but it was as if she’d come with him in spirit. She was everywhere he went. He couldn’t go into the kitchen without seeing her there baking. He couldn’t go into his new library without seeing her stretched out on his old reading sofa. He couldn’t even use the bathroom without remembering the cute way she brushed her teeth.
And now this dress lay in his arms like a physical manifestation of her absence and the pain that tore through him...
The room spun harder and without any warning his legs gave way beneath him and he slumped to the floor.
Crumpling the dress to his chest, he held it tightly and tried to breathe. There was a stabbing burn behind his eyes that made the room become a blur. But he could still see her face. It was right there in his retinas. Her dazzling smile. Her sweetness. Her goodness. All radiating there in front of him, blazing with her fieriness. Her protectiveness. Her strength. Her bravery. This was a woman who’d grown up with only a pair of red shoes and an elusive scent to remember her mother by whereas he...
He’d had over thirty years with both his parents. His father was gone but he still had his mother. Claudia hadn’t lost her father in a literal sense but in a figurative sense he was gone. The man she’d believed him to be didn’t exist.
Ciro had grieved for his father and looked at the world through vengeful eyes, needing to strike back and do something to balm the pain in his heart. Claudia refused to be a victim. She did what she believed to be right in her heart and used her conscience to guide her. It would never occur to her to use their child as a weapon against him and she would be horrified if anyone suggested it.
And he’d walked away from her. And for what? Because she wasn’t stupid enough to trust a man who’d betrayed her so badly with promises of for ever? Because the woman who’d been hidden away and suffocated all her life wanted to strike out and learn to breathe on her own?
He’d spouted about wanting to slow down but had expected Claudia to speed up and when she’d refused to move to his timescale, he’d dropped her like a hot stone, the insinuation he was like her father the last straw. She hadn’t even said that—in his hurt and rage, he’d interpreted it like that because, as they said, the truth hurt. He had tried to browbeat her into falling in line with his plans. All he’d heard from her lips was rejection. His pride couldn’t take it. As always with him, it had been all or nothing. No patience.
He’d never had any patience. Never had the ability to sit still for anything longer than a movie. Even the books he liked to read were fast-paced, the food he ate ordered for speed as much as taste.
Without him even noticing, Claudia had taught him to slow down and enjoy the simple pleasures life had to offer.
She’d given up everything for their baby so Ciro could be a father to it. She’d fought tooth
and nail for them to forge a relationship. And, as always, he’d wanted more. He always wanted more. He’d never been satisfied with his lot, always pushing, always striving for better, for greater.
Nothing in his life was or ever had been better or greater than Claudia.
Two days later and Ciro left the boardroom and headed to his office. The working day was almost done. As he passed his administration team, he noticed a group of them huddled around a desk. When they saw him, they parted like the Red Sea and scattered back to their desks.
He grimaced, not that they’d been talking together but that they were clearly wary of his mood. He’d be the first to admit he hadn’t been the easiest person to work for in recent weeks.
And then he noticed what they’d all been huddled around. A box with the lid open revealed a two-tier cake decorated with an artistry and craftsmanship any patissier would be proud of. Instinct told him who this particular patissier was. Claudia’s name, printed with a flourish on the side of the box, confirmed it. Marcy, with Ciro’s permission, had ordered the cake boxes for her.
‘Is there a celebration I should know about?’ he asked Rachel, the woman whose desk the cake was on.
She managed a quick, wary smile. ‘It’s my cousin’s twenty-first birthday.’
He had no idea if his staff knew he’d left Claudia. Marcy was utterly discreet but his staff had eyes. He did not employ stupid people. He cleared his throat. ‘I hope your cousin likes it. You’re having a party?’
She nodded.
Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled his wallet out and removed two hundred dollars. He handed the cash to Rachel. ‘Wish her a happy birthday and get the first drinks in on me.’
Her surprised words of thanks were distant echoes as he left her and continued to his office.
He locked the door and slumped into his chair, cradling his head as the latest wave of pain he’d been fighting since seeing that cake finally unleashed inside him.
Everything inside him hurt.
He couldn’t describe even to himself how much pain he was in. But he welcomed it too. This was what he deserved: every ounce of pain as penance for what he’d done to the purest-hearted woman to walk the earth.
When the wave had subsided, he stared at the wall of his office that partitioned the lobby. On the other side of the lobby was the apartment. Claudia was in there. What was she doing? Baking another cake? Cooking something else? Listening to a book? Watching a movie?
He hadn’t set eyes on her in three weeks.
They had been the most painful three weeks of his life. He had no idea how he was going to react when he saw her in a few days at the obstetrician appointment.
He had no idea if he could wait that long to see her again. He missed her more than he’d known it was humanly possible to miss someone.
Claudia turned the dishwasher on and, with a sigh, filled the sink for the items she didn’t trust the dishwasher with. She picked up one of her new knives. The knife set was the first thing she’d bought with the money she’d been paid for a cake she’d made. It was the first money she’d ever earned and it had felt even more amazing than she’d dreamed.
But the joy of the moment had been tainted when she’d picked up her phone to share her joy with Ciro and had put it down without calling him. He wouldn’t want to hear it.
She’d called Imma instead but it hadn’t been the same. It was Ciro she’d wanted to share the moment with. It was Ciro she’d longed to show the cake boxes with her name emblazoned on them.
Because it was Ciro who’d never let her illiteracy define her or allowed her to let it define her.
Closing her eyes, she sent a prayer for the pain in her heart to ease some time soon. And, please, God, let me stop missing him. It hurts too much.
Only three more days and she would see him again. The pregnancy was accelerating. Soon she would be overwhelmed with appointments for baby checks. Through the messages they’d exchanged, she knew Ciro would want to attend all of them.
Putting the sharp knife into the hot, soapy water, she knew she had to get a handle on her emotions, and soon. She had to stay strong like Elizabeth Bennet. Even when Elizabeth realised Mr Darcy wasn’t the unpleasant, arrogant man she’d believed him to be and her feelings developed into a love she didn’t think could be realised, she remained strong...
Love?
There was a lurch in Claudia’s stomach so strong that she reflexively tightened her fingers around the sharp blade of the knife.
The water in the sink quickly turned red. She gazed at it in horror and lifted her shaking hand out, feeling as if she’d slipped into a nightmare. All four fingers of her left hand had a slice mark where they joined her hand. All four slices were dripping blood. Red splatters hit the floor.
She couldn’t get her brain to unfreeze enough to tend to the wounds. Horror thrashed through her veins and into her heart. Her breaths became shallow. She couldn’t take in air. The room began to move, not in a full-powered spin but in stomach-churning slow motion.
She loved Ciro.
Her stomach tightened. She blinked and put her good hand to it and felt it tighten again. That was her baby.
She could feel her baby!
Finally getting air into her lungs, she took a clean tea towel out of the drawer and absently wound it over her wounded fingers, all the while her brain racing at a hundred miles an hour. She needed to share this moment with Ciro. He would want to know.
He should be here sharing it with her...
The wail rose up her throat and escaped from her mouth before she even knew it had formed.
The slow-motion spinning accelerated and she grabbed hold of the worktop to stop herself falling. She could do nothing to stop the tears falling. She could do nothing to stop the sobs ripping out of her.
It took for ever before she had herself under any semblance of control but the feeling of being in a dream/nightmare didn’t lessen and it was with her feet working of their own accord that she headed for the front door, wiping fresh tears from her eyes every other step.
She needed to find Ciro. He needed to know she’d felt their baby move. He was still in the building. She knew it in her heart. All she had to do was find him.
She opened the front door and for a split second thought she really had fallen into a dream.
Standing on the other side of it, his finger poised to ring the intercom, stood Ciro.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ALL THE AIR was punched out of Ciro at the first sight of her. He could barely remember walking from his office to the apartment. Once minute he’d been at his desk, the next his legs had been moving, the only thing with any solidity the image of Claudia that had become stuck on his vision.
And there she stood, right before him, her face blotchy, half of her plaited hair undone, eyes red...
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, snapping from stupor to alert in an instant. And then he noticed the tea towel wrapped around her hand and the blood soaking through it. ‘My God, you’re hurt.’
She shook her head but the tears spilling down her face told him a very different story.
‘We need to get you to hospital.’
But her head shook again and her throat moved a number of times before she croaked, ‘It looks worse than it is.’
Working on automatic pilot, he put an arm around her waist and gently led her back inside. He had to fight through the loud pulse in his ears to think coherently. There was a first-aid kit in the kitchen. He would look at her injury there. If he judged it to be serious he would take her straight to hospital, whether she wanted him to or not.
She let him guide her, as meek as a newborn lamb.
The sight he found in the kitchen only increased his horror. It was as if a massacre had taken place. There was blood on the hardwood floor, on the kitchen counter, in the sink...
Sitting her on the window seat, he hurried to the cupboard with the kit in it and grabbed it, then was back at her side in a flash.
Not a word was exchanged as she let him carefully unpeel the tea towel.
He winced to see the damage and quickly pressed the tea towel back into place, ordering her to hold it tight. She complied.
‘This needs medical attention,’ he said as he ripped through the wrapping of a fresh, sterile bandage. ‘We need to get you to hospital. No arguing. I’ll call my driver. He’ll get the car ready for us.’
‘No! It isn’t that bad. Really.’
‘For my own peace of mind, will you please let me take you there?’
‘It’ll be a waste of time and money.’
‘Bedda, it looks like a slaughterhouse in here.’
She winced. ‘It only looks that bad because I had a mad few moments and didn’t do anything to stop the bleeding.’
‘Why wouldn’t you tend to something like this immediately?’ he asked, bewildered at this kind of irrationality from someone usually so level-headed.
‘I...’ She swallowed and clamped her lips back together.
‘Look, I’m going to call my doctor out, okay? I won’t be able to rest until you’ve had a professional look at the wounds.’ Not waiting for her to answer, he made the call.
When he ended the call, he found her looking at him, her dark brown eyes glistening.
‘I felt the baby move.’
‘Did you?’ His heart thumped. ‘What did it feel like?’
‘Magical.’ A tear fell down her cheek. ‘I’m sorry you weren’t there to share it. That’s where I was going. To find you. So I could tell you.’
‘You put off doing anything about your hand because you wanted to tell me the baby moved?’
‘It didn’t hurt much,’ she mumbled, looking away. But then her gaze shot back to him and something like focus came into her eyes. ‘What were you doing at the door? Were you coming to see me?’
A Baby To Bind His Innocent (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Sicilian Marriage Pact, Book 1) Page 16