Bound by Their Christmas Baby

by Clare Connelly

  CHAPTER FIVE

  GABE STARED AT the snow-covered fields on either side of the car and, beyond them, the twinkling night sky. His lips were set in a grim line of determination and his mind was focused on avoidance.

  Avoiding the consequences of what he’d just manoeuvred.

  Avoiding the realities of marriage to a woman like Abigail—a woman he’d sworn he never wanted to see again.

  Avoiding the fact she was still fast asleep in the seat opposite, her pale blonde hair like gold across one shoulder, her body languid even in repose, so that he wanted to stare, but to stare only as a prelude to touching her.

  ‘Abigail.’ He spoke with a coldness that was completely at odds with the thoughts that had been simmering through his body, tightening him, hardening him, making him remember the softness of her breasts between his palms.

  She stirred a little, but remained asleep.

  ‘Abigail.’ More loudly, more emphatic, as they passed the turn-off for Fiamatina, the small village at the foot of his land. She blinked her eyes open slowly at first, relaxed, unguarded, and for a few moments she frowned with apparent confusion. Then she looked at him and straightened instantly, her expression wary, her body on alert.

  ‘Where’s Raf?’

  Her jumper had risen up a little, exposing an inch or so of flesh at her waist. He looked at it without even realising what he was doing until she reached down and straightened the fabric, clearing her throat. ‘Gabe?’

  He couldn’t mistake the desire that was running rampant through his system. That he still wanted her physically was a complication he needed like a hole in the head. ‘In the car behind.’

  ‘The car behind?’

  ‘You were asleep,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I didn’t want him to wake you.’

  Abby’s eyes flicked to the window, then back to Gabe. ‘You shouldn’t have done that. I don’t… How long have I been asleep?’

  ‘A few hours. You drifted off about an hour before we landed.’

  She stared at him, surprise obvious. ‘I don’t even remember landing.’ Her cheeks flushed. ‘Or getting into the car.’

  ‘I carried you.’

  Her body had been soft and warm against his, pliant to his touch, and she’d made a small sigh as she’d curled in closer, her lips so close to his throat that he could feel her breath.

  ‘Why?’ She pressed back further in her seat and crossed her arms. Her body language told him she wanted to be anywhere but in his car, anywhere but with him.

  ‘You were obviously exhausted,’ he said softly.

  She didn’t answer, nor did she see the way his eyes stayed focused on her face for several long seconds.

  ‘We’re almost home.’

  Her eyes swept shut at that pronouncement and a twist of guilt tightened in his gut. He’d made this happen, and it had been the right thing to do. He was nothing like his own father; he was the complete opposite. He’d proved that by manoeuvring Abigail into his life, into this marriage.

  He’d meant what he’d said in New York: he would take care of her; he would take away her worries.

  He would be everything his father wasn’t—Raf would know how much Gabe loved him; that fact would never be in doubt.

  This was the right decision, he reassured himself, ignoring the insistent pounding of doubt.

  * * *

  Abby couldn’t help the small gasp that escaped her when the car pulled off the road and began to ascend a narrow, curving drive. It was night-time, but against the black velvet sky she could make out enormous pine trees capped in white, their big, fluffy branches cloud-like with snow. In the distance, there looked to be a small village, perhaps a town, the buildings glowing warm and golden. The car moved higher and, as they rounded a bend, a scene that could have been straight from one of Abby’s girlhood fantasies lifted almost as if magically from the earth.

  ‘It’s a castle,’ she whispered, moving closer to the window so that she could see better. The building looked to be quite ancient. In the light that was cast by the moon she could see it was built of stone, perhaps a yellow-coloured stone? It was four storeys high, with a central turret and lots of little balconies. She could make out the detail more clearly as they drove nearer—the castle was well-illuminated. In fact, it looked as though every light was on, the place appearing almost to glow.

  ‘You live here?’ She turned to face him, her surprise obvious.

  His nod was a short confirmation.

  ‘But it’s so beautiful…’

  ‘You have not realised I like beautiful things?’

  She had no reason to suspect he was talking about her and yet her cheeks warmed and her heart tripped in her chest. ‘I just hadn’t expected this.’

  ‘What did you expect?’

  She shrugged. ‘Some super-modern apartment in Rome?’

  ‘I have a place in Rome,’ he conceded with a dip of his head. ‘I stay there for work sometimes.’

  ‘But you prefer it here,’ she said softly, turning to face him.

  He studied her for a long moment before shrugging. ‘It’s quiet.’

  ‘It’s…lovely.’ The word felt insufficient, hugely so. But it was also very, very apt. Beauty was everywhere. She was in a snow-covered wonderland, like the snow globe her mother had brought back one year after a concert season in Vienna.

  A moment after the car had drawn to a stop the door was pulled open but, before Abby could step from the car, Gabe put a hand out, arresting her with his touch. It was just a light contact, his fingers pressed to her knee. Abby froze instantly, turning to face him with eyes that were huge in her face.

  ‘It’s cold out,’ he said thickly, reaching beside him and handing her a black woollen overcoat.

  ‘Thank you.’ Just a murmur when, inside, her heart was racing at the thoughtfulness of the gesture. She was less grateful when she pulled the coat on and realised it was his. It swam on her; she could easily have fitted herself into the thing twice. Worse than that, it was filled with his intoxicatingly masculine fragrance so that her hormones tripped in her body, responding instantly to the memories of their night together, reminding her of the way they’d made love.

  She ignored the recollections, focusing her attention instead on the castle. She was no expert in Italian history but she would have guessed the castle to be fifteenth or sixteenth century. It looked too rustic to have been influenced by the Renaissance movement, though that didn’t mean it wasn’t beautiful. In fact, it was the most beautiful thing Abby had ever seen. The windows were cathedral in shape and the door, at the very middle of the castle, was at least twice Abby’s height and made of thick, ancient wood. She’d put money on the wood having been sourced from one of these enormous pines—the forest that surrounded the castle must be hundreds of years old too. She breathed in deeply and tasted Christmas.

  It was an odd thought for a woman who hadn’t celebrated the holiday in more than the most perfunctory of ways for many years. But if she could write Christmas as a fairy tale it would be set somewhere like this. A bird flew overhead, a night bird with wide wings and a soft song. Abby’s eyes were drawn upwards, following its progress and then remaining on the jewel-encrusted sky.

  No matter how beautiful the setting, Abby needed to remember that it wasn’t, in fact, a fairy tale. Being here with Gabe might have been the answer to many of her problems but she was pretty sure it would bring with it a whole raft of new worries. She just couldn’t bring herself to deal with them yet.

  The crunching of tyres called her attention back to earth and the present moment. She spun, the jacket warm around her, to see a mini-van arrive. Monique stepped out first, Raf nestled in her arms.

  He was awake, but looking perfectly calm in the face of all these changes. He was still so tiny, just a very wrapped-up little bundle with a tiny face poking out the top.

&n
bsp; Monique smiled at Abby, crossing to her. ‘He did very well on the flight, Abigail. Barely a peep, except when we landed, and a pacifier soothed him right back.’

  Abby nodded, though she couldn’t help feeling like the worst mother ever for not even hearing her child’s distress. Raf hadn’t been interested in pacifiers before, though she’d tried to introduce them, to buy peace and quiet when he was at his most inconsolable. A niggling doubt that maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough, or simply hadn’t known enough, spread like wildfire.

  She reached out a finger, touching her little one’s forehead, and, though it was absurd and made no sense, she didn’t try to take him from the nanny. For some strange reason, she almost felt as if she didn’t have any right.

  Perhaps sensing her ambivalence, Monique smiled kindly. ‘I will take him inside and bathe him. Would you like me to give him his bottle or…?’

  ‘No.’ Abby shook her head, grateful that the other woman seemed to understand that she was generally a very hands-on mother. ‘I’ll do that.’

  Monique nodded and moved back to the others; they went as a group towards the castle but Abby held back a little, watching as they disappeared through the enormous timber doors.

  She felt balanced on a precipice, one foot in her old life and this new existence beckoning her. It was a reality that shimmered like a reflection in a pond; she could see it and fathom it, but its edges were rippled and the exact nature of it was too hard to properly understand.

  If she took a step, and then another, would she disappear for ever beneath the surface? Would she be a part of this world only?

  She swallowed, thinking of Manhattan. The father who’d disowned her years ago. Oh, he’d made it official only recently, but his heart had turned cold to Abby much earlier than that.

  She thought of her apartment, the tiny space and life she had tried to carve out for herself. She thought of the fridge that was full of bills and emptied of food, and the heating that was too costly to use, and the difficulties of juggling the need to work with trying to make everything good for Raf, and she swept her eyes shut, as if she could dissolve the image of America so easily.

  ‘Come.’ His voice was gravel. ‘I’ll show you around.’

  Snow was thick on the ground everywhere except for the driveway that led to the front entrance; someone must have cleared it very recently because it was already beginning to fall again. Abby paused at the door, turning around to survey the setting once more. The village twinkled in the distance, the pine trees loomed large, fragrant with their alpine scent, and the air was so clear and bright that Abby would swear she could make out the shape of the stars. It was a place that seemed almost to have been carved from heaven.

  ‘Well?’ His impatient word cut through the serenity of the moment. ‘I know you’ve been living in an ice box but perhaps we could move inside before freezing to death.’

  ‘I’m sorry I’m not moving fast enough for you.’ The words were laced with tart acidity. ‘I just wanted to get my bearings.’

  He ground his teeth.

  ‘That is Fiamatina, a small village that formed around this castle. The closest city is Turin, about two hours that way. The alps, obviously—’ and he nodded to his right. When she turned, she gasped again. They were obvious and yet she hadn’t yet noticed them, so awestruck had she been by the castle. If she’d thought the sky glistening, she had been ill prepared for the sight of the Italian alps, snow-covered, on a bright moonlit night. They looked to have been cast from silver and diamond dust, yet, for all their beauty, there was something simultaneously frightening about their dramatic, looming presence. They were hard and defined, sharp against the night sky. Abby ran her gaze across them, as far as the eye could see in one direction; her shiver was involuntary.

  ‘Do you have your bearings now, Abigail?’

  ‘Yes,’ she responded sharply, though she would have liked to stand out there for longer.

  Gabe was right to chivvy her along; Raf would be hungry and she was desperate to hold her little boy, to cuddle him and reassure them both that, for all the changes, life was still normal; they were still together.

  A family.

  Just like Gabe had said.

  He walked into the castle as though it were completely normal, and yet Abby needed another moment to take stock, this time of the interior. The entranceway was high, with vaulted ceilings, and all of it mosaic—the floors a cream and white swirling pattern and the walls with an emphasis on black and grey. There were armchairs to one side, creating a sort of lounge foyer that wouldn’t have been out of place in an exclusive hotel. At some point the building had obviously been heavily modernised. The lighting was like an art gallery, all concealed and elegant, and the heating was excellent. She shrugged out of her coat, surrendering to the cosy warmth of a building that was so utterly enormous. The staircase in the middle of the entrance hall, though made of old terracotta tiles, looked to have been remodelled at some point in recent years.

  ‘There is a kitchen here, though you will not need to cook, of course. I have a team of domestics who take care of castle operations.’

  Her father had never believed in servants. They’d only had a nanny when she’d been younger, and a cleaner as she’d got older. He’d said he didn’t like the way it felt to have people hovering around his home, touching his things, watching him breathe. She wondered if she’d ever get used to the omnipresence of an invisible brigade of helpers.

  ‘I will show you the back of the house tomorrow; there is a garden you might like to explore. Somewhere Raf can play. It is fenced, so you need not worry he will escape.’

  ‘Okay.’ She nodded, but her head was swimming. The house—no, it wasn’t a house—the castle was sumptuous.

  He led her up the staircase, moving quickly, so she almost had to jog to keep up with him. At the landing, he split in one direction and she followed him. It was on the tip of her tongue to implore him to slow down when he did just that, so she had to halt abruptly or risk bumping into him.

  ‘This is Raf’s room.’ He stepped back to allow her to precede him, and his eyes glowed with an emotion she couldn’t immediately understand.

  It was defiance, she realised, when she stepped over the threshold and saw the way Gabe had furnished it. He was telling her that he was right—that he had been right to insist she accompany him.

  Abby had no idea what the room had been in the past, but it was now a child’s paradise. There was a bassinet and a cot, a small chair—something he wouldn’t need for many months yet. There was a baby jumper, a walker, shelves and shelves lined with age-appropriate toys, a rocking chair, a narrow bed that an adult could use. Abby walked around the room, her breath held as she fingered many of the objects, her mind sagging when she tried to calculate what this must have cost him. A year’s rent for her, certainly.

  There was a doorway on one side; she went through it and discovered a large bathroom to one side and a bedroom to the other.

  ‘The nannies will take it in turns to be on duty overnight. Whoever is watching Raf will sleep here.’

  ‘And the bed in his room?’ she asked softly, her eyes swept shut.

  He shrugged. ‘If he’s sick. Has nightmares.’

  It was the kind of thoughtful inclusion she wouldn’t have expected of him.

  ‘How did you arrange all this so quickly? It must have been hard to source so many items…’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  Of course it wasn’t. For someone like Gabe, this would have been easy. Just a click of his fingers, a flex of his wallet, and all was arranged.

  ‘Where’s my room?’

  He regarded her for several seconds before turning away and stalking through Raf’s comfortable suite. Abby followed. Gabe walked past several doors that must have led to other bedrooms, and eventually he paused at the end of the hallway.

  Until h
e opened the door, Abby hadn’t realised she’d been holding her breath, fully expecting—hoping—that Gabe would insist they share a bedroom…and a bed! Deep, deep down, she’d been preparing for the likelihood and, in the back of her mind, trying to fathom how she would respond to that.

  But the room he gestured towards was definitely not his. It was furnished in neutral décor, for one thing, with a couple of flower arrangements on the bedside table and a dressing table. It was devoid of personal details.

  ‘My room,’ she said with a confident nod, as if telling herself, reassuring herself.

  ‘My own is next door,’ he said, the words giving no indication that this affected him in any way.

  But for Abby? Knowing he would be so close made her heart throb inside her and her pulse pounded in her veins, rushing hard and fast, demanding attention. Colour bloomed in her cheeks and when she lifted her eyes to Gabe he was watching her intently.

  ‘Unless you’d prefer to share my room,’ he prompted silkily, and Abby’s knees began to tremble.

  One night.

  Her only night with a man.

  The feelings he’d invoked had tormented her, the memories strong and vivid in her mind, demanding more, craving more. But there’d been no more. No Gabe, only memories.

  And now?

  She blinked at him, her expression unknowingly panic-stricken. But it wasn’t fear of being with him; it was fear of showing him just how much she wanted and needed that! It was fear of the fact she did want him, even now. That, no matter what she’d promised to herself, she knew she wanted Gabe in a way she couldn’t—wouldn’t—ignore. Did that make her foolish or brave? And what point did a definition serve?

  She was hungry for him, desperate for his touch, despite knowing she might very well regret succumbing to that hunger. She felt instinct take over, changing the course of her determination with ease.

  ‘Relax, tempesta. It was a joke. I think we both know one night together was one night too many.’

  * * *

  Gabe was just a boy again and his mother, Marina, was dying. Not of any illness, but because of the drugs she slid into her veins until she was no longer coherent. She was dying and he couldn’t save her.