Bound by Their Christmas Baby

by Clare Connelly

‘No,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘But I think we should talk about what kind of marriage we’re going to have.’

  He looked as if he was about to say something—to argue with her—but then he angled his head. Was it a nod? An agreement?

  ‘It makes sense,’ she said firmly. And, knowing what would motivate Gabe, she pulled out the big guns. ‘It’s best for Raf.’

  ‘Fine,’ he said, retrieving a bag from the trunk and then closing it. ‘Let’s talk.’ He spoke the word with obvious reluctance, as though it were the very last thing he wanted to do, yet at least he had conceded something.

  He began to walk away from her and she followed with a frown, ring in one hand, shopping bag in the other. ‘Gabe? Where are you going?’

  He stopped walking, his expression frustrated. ‘You wanted to talk?’

  When she was close enough, he reached for her hand and unfurled her fingers, then slid the ring into place. His nod of approval showed that he, at least, was happy with the way it looked, even though it felt curiously heavy to Abby.

  ‘There is a caffè around the corner.’

  ‘Oh.’ She nodded, for some reason having thought they would simply speak in the car on the return trip.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ he said, as if that explained his choice.

  He held the door to the caffè open for her, and it took Abby a moment to see past her distracted thoughts and appreciate the beauty of the place. It was charming, only ten or so seats at a few tables, with bay windows that looked out onto the ancient street. Festivity was in abundance here. A tree was set up at one end of the room and it had been decorated with burgundy ribbons and gold tinsel. A small train ran in circles around its base. Carols played overhead, Italian words set to familiar tunes, so that Abby’s mind hummed along even when her heart was cold.

  ‘Have a seat,’ he prompted, pointing to a table in the corner.

  Abby shot him a look that straddled amusement and irritation. ‘Would it kill you to not boss me around?’

  He lifted a single dark brow. ‘Probably.’

  She fought the temptation to poke her tongue out and made her way to the table, sitting down at it heavily. Even the beautiful decorations she held couldn’t cheer her up. She resisted an impulse to pull them from their packaging and look at them. That would be her special reward when she got back to the castle.

  She turned towards Gabe unwillingly, noting the deference with which he was treated by the couple behind the counter. They seemed completely inspired by him, nodding as he gestured to various foods, speaking in rapid-fire Italian.

  He was such a native of these parts, and yet she knew he’d spent a large part of his life in Australia. He spoke English like it wasn’t his first language, still shying away from easy contractions and idioms.

  He turned towards Abby unexpectedly. Their eyes locked and her pulse began to hammer hard inside her veins. She looked away, focusing her attention on a little scratch in the table top as though it were the most fascinating detail she’d ever observed.

  ‘You wanted to talk,’ he said, taking the seat opposite her. ‘So?’

  ‘Well…’ She bit down on her lip, forcing her thoughts into order. ‘Our marriage… I mean, you want people to think it’s a real marriage, but…’

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted, his expression droll.

  ‘It won’t be.’

  ‘No.’

  She should have felt relieved by his rapid agreement, but she didn’t. Something strange twisted inside her. ‘So you don’t…expect us to…’

  ‘Sleep together?’ he mocked, putting her out of her misery.

  ‘Right.’ She nodded jerkily. The woman from behind the counter appeared, placing two short black coffees down onto the table before swiftly disappearing.

  Abby cupped one of the small glasses, simply to have something to do with her hands. It was warm and strangely comforting.

  ‘As I said last night, sleeping together isn’t on the agenda.’ The words were so cold that Abby couldn’t doubt their truth. ‘My preference would have been never to see you again, after that night. As you know.’ He paused for a moment. ‘But I’m prepared to put that aside for our son. I truly believe this is the right decision.’

  Abby nodded, though she could no longer separate sense from stupidity. A thousand and one questions raced through her mind. If they weren’t sleeping together, would he sleep with someone else? Would her life include putting up with a series of Gabe’s mistresses? What if he fell in love with one of them? What if he wanted to marry one of them? And they sued her for custody of Raf and won?

  Suddenly her heart was thumping too hard, too fast, and she knew she had to fight her natural reserve to do what was best not just for Raf but also for herself.

  ‘But there’ll be no one else,’ she said, her chin tilted forward defiantly.

  His smile was smug and condescending. ‘Does the idea make you jealous?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘You’re the one who’s worried about exposing Raf to gossip. Don’t you think extramarital affairs might qualify?’

  He eyed her thoughtfully. ‘I have every intention of doing what is right for our son, at every step of the way.’

  It was strangely worded and yet his statement reassured Abby. It hadn’t been a promise, yet she trusted him. She believed him.

  Did that make her a fool?

  ‘And for how long?’

  He lifted a brow in silent enquiry.

  ‘How long do you see this “marriage” of ours lasting?’

  ‘As long as he needs us,’ Gabe said, and something in the words pierced Abby’s heart. ‘At some point in the future we will separate. When he is older, when he’s happy and settled. It’s impossible to say now when that time will come.’

  Abby nodded, wondering why his words didn’t offer more relief.

  ‘Rest assured, tempesta, I will not keep you at my side longer than is necessary.’

  He threw his coffee back, oblivious to the way Abby’s face went ashen at his throwaway sentence. She hid her reaction quickly, grateful when a waitress appeared with food. There were piadini and zeppole, biscotti and fruit. He hadn’t been kidding about being hungry—he’d ordered enough to feed a family of five.

  But her appetite had diminished; his final statement had left Abby with a sinking feeling deep in her gut. He hated her, he hated that they were marrying, yet he was prosaically willing to accept it—but only for so long as was absolutely necessary.

  ‘How long did you study dancing?’ he asked, changing the subject neatly.

  Her ballet career was a subject she generally took great care to avoid. But with Gabe Arantini? She was emotionally disorientated.

  ‘A while.’

  ‘A year? Two? Five?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  He leaned closer and surprised her by putting his hand on hers, his fingers grazing over the top of the engagement ring. ‘We are going to need to get better at pretending we don’t dislike one another,’ he said softly. ‘It is natural that I should know this about you. So?’

  He was right, and that annoyed her. ‘Eleven years,’ she said quietly. And then, surprising herself, she continued to speak, her eyes trained on the table top, her lips moving without her consent. ‘My mother was a prima ballerina, so beautiful and graceful. I wanted to be just like her.’

  He nodded. ‘How old were you when she died?’

  She’d mentioned this on their first night together, though she’d been careful to omit any details that might give away her identity.

  ‘I was eight,’ she murmured, the memories heavy on the periphery of her mind. ‘It was a month before Christmas. A traffic accident. Very unexpected.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ His civility surprised her.

  ‘And you began to learn ballet after she died?’

  She nodded. ‘My father k
new I wanted to be like Mom. But it was more than that. He wanted me to be like her. I look like her,’ she said quietly. ‘And I move like her.’ That was a lie. Abby had been told several times by careless, callous people that her mother’s talent had been nothing to Abby’s. As though that were praise and not a dagger through a grieving daughter’s heart.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked, shifting a little in his seat.

  ‘It was a child’s dream,’ she said, ignoring the lurch of pain in her chest.

  ‘You grew out of the dream?’

  That wasn’t precisely true. And, though she generally didn’t speak about her ballet career, she felt compelled to make Gabe understand, to explain the truth. ‘It’s a funny thing, being good at something.’ Her smile was just a ghost. ‘I was good at ballet, Gabe. Very good. Exceptionally good.’ She spoke without even a hint of bragging. She was simply admitting the truth. ‘I was given amazing opportunities. I danced with some of the world’s best.’

  ‘And then?’ he prompted when she took a pause to bite into a strawberry.

  ‘I broke my leg,’ she said, a smile curving her lips at the reminiscence.

  He waited for her to continue.

  ‘And I could no longer rehearse. I had to rest. For the first time in my life, I had time to explore new diversions, and I discovered, much to everyone’s displeasure, that there were things I loved more than dancing.’

  He nodded thoughtfully. ‘So you quit?’

  ‘Yes.’ She nodded slowly. ‘A friend brought me Jane Eyre one evening. It was supposed to be a joke. He teased me that I was a bit like Bertha in the attic, and I wouldn’t understand until I’d read the book.’

  She laughed.

  ‘It was silly—he was playing on the fact that I was “locked up” by Dad, but of course that wasn’t true. Anyway, by the time I finished it I was hooked, and I devoured anything I could get my hands on. I realised there was so much more to life than dancing. Books, for one thing. I wanted to read everything ever written.’

  Abby fingered one of the cinnamon doughnuts, her mind far away.

  ‘I just… I didn’t want my whole life to be consumed by ballet any more. My every waking thought given over to the act of dance. Oh, no. I wanted to be in the ocean, aboard the Pequod, or in ancient Troy by Agamemnon’s side as he fought Achilles, I wanted to be at Manderley and Thornfield Hall, I wanted to be twenty thousand leagues under the sea. I thought breaking my leg and missing rehearsals for so many months was an ending, but it was a beginning. The world opened up to me in a way I had never even hoped it would.’

  Gabe’s lips were tight. ‘Yet you still dance?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll always dance,’ she agreed. ‘I love it as a hobby, but I don’t want to spend my life pursuing it as a career.’

  ‘You said your father wanted you to be like your mother. How did he take your decision to abandon professional ballet?’

  Abby dropped her head forward, not wanting to answer. Her father had behaved appallingly; it was impossible to convey that to Gabe without allowing him to condemn her father, and it wasn’t that simple.

  ‘He got over it,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘I’ll bet he didn’t.’ Gabe eyes narrowed. ‘Yet you still adore him enough to do his bidding?’

  She swallowed. How could she explain that, in part, guilt at disappointing her father had motivated many of her decisions, including the one that had brought her to Gabe’s feet? A desperate, soul-deep need to impress a man who was, perhaps, impossible to impress?

  ‘He’s my father.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s hard to explain. I know he has his faults,’ she whispered. ‘But I love him.’

  ‘And you’d forgive him anything?’

  ‘I guess,’ she said, bright green eyes meeting his glittering black. ‘Wouldn’t you do the same?’

  Gabe’s laugh was a scoff. ‘No, tempesta. I destroyed my father at the first opportunity I had and I would do the same a hundred times over.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ABBY STARED AT RAF, a frown etched on her face. In the two weeks since the morning in Fiamatina, she’d barely spoken to Gabe, yet his statement had continued to play on her mind, making her wonder to the point of distraction.

  He’d destroyed his father?

  She thought of what she knew of the man who was to become her husband. He’d been raised by foster parents in Australia. That was how he’d met his business partner, she knew, because he’d mentioned it in passing only a week or so earlier, as though it hardly mattered. He’d gone into the foster system at eight—she’d remembered because it was the same age her own life had been turned on its head when her mother had died.

  But before that?

  She had no idea, and now she wanted to know.

  She could ask him, but Gabe hadn’t seemed at all forthcoming after he’d dropped the bombshell. He’d skated around the topic, talking instead about logistics for the wedding—the licences that would be necessary, given that she was American. It could take time, he’d warned.

  That was fine with Abby. It wasn’t that she regretted having agreed to marry him, but a little time to adjust to her new circumstances would be good.

  Necessary.

  Essential.

  Only she’d barely seen him for two weeks and she was beginning to suspect that he was avoiding her.

  Fighting an urge to reach down and cuddle Raf, she slipped out of his room, making her way to her own bedroom. She didn’t think of Gabe as she passed his door; it was too dangerous.

  From her room, she spied the forest that surrounded the castle and suddenly she remembered the idea that had occurred to her weeks earlier in Fiamatina. Perhaps the conversation with Gabe had pushed all else from her mind, because she’d barely thought of the delightful Christmas decorations either. They were still sitting in the shopping bag. She pulled them out now, setting them on her dressing table with reverence, smiling as she observed how beautiful and special they were. And they would look even better on a tree!

  Surely they deserved a tree?

  With renewed determination, she grabbed the coat Gabe had given her—several more had been added to her wardrobe since then, arriving in boxes from Milan, Venice, Paris and Prague. It was a thoughtful gesture but Abby resented feeling like a beneficiary of his patronage.

  She’d come to know many of the household staff well, including Hughie, a young Irishman who’d taken over much of the work in the grounds around the castle. It was Hughie who cleared the snow several times a day. She liked him best, perhaps because he spoke English and so they were able to converse easily. He also had a soft spot for Raf, which was instantly endearing.

  ‘Hughie?’ She found him bent over the fireplace, stocking it with fresh wood.

  He lifted his head and grinned, a smile that would bring most women to their knees. Unfortunately for Abby, only one smile in the world had the ability to set her pulse racing and she had to rely on her memories of it. She hadn’t seen a lot of Gabe’s smile since she’d come to Italy.

  ‘Do you think you could help me with something?’

  ‘Anything.’ He stood up and wiped his hands on the worn fronts of his jeans. ‘You look like you’ve got mischief on your mind,’ he said, wiggling his brows.

  ‘Definitely,’ Abby laughed. ‘I want to put up a tree.’

  ‘A Christmas tree?’

  ‘Yep. No shortage of trees to choose from, right? But I don’t have an axe. Or experience with felling trees, come to think of it. And I thought…’

  ‘Oh, yeah, sure.’ Hughie grinned. ‘I’ll bring one down for you right now, before the dark settles. Come on. You can even pick it.’

  It was the first real fun Abby had had in a long time. They walked through the dense woods for half an hour, talking about Hughie’s family back home—six sisters and parents who adored their brood—which made Abby incredib
ly jealous.

  He was moving onto describing his oldest sister, Daphne, when Abby froze.

  ‘It’s perfect,’ she squealed, jumping up and down on the spot.

  ‘Sheesh!’ Hughie grinned. ‘You couldn’t ’ave chosen a tree closer to the castle, huh?’

  ‘Sorry…’ She winced. ‘Can we have this one?’

  ‘Yeah, I reckon we can.’ He lifted the chainsaw. ‘Stand back, then.’

  She did, watching with admiration as he chainsawed through most of the thick trunk and then gave it a kick, felling the tree easily.

  Once it was down, Hughie rigged a rope around the tree’s base and then began to drag it through the soft snow.

  ‘Won’t that break the branches?’ she asked. ‘It’d be a shame to get it back to the house and find it’s only half-perfect.’

  ‘You’d just have to display it facing outwards,’ he teased. ‘Nah, it’s soft needles, see.’ He stopped walking so she could feel them. He was right; they were luxuriant beneath her touch. ‘They’ll be fine.’

  They walked towards the house and Abby was so relieved to simply be having a normal conversation with someone that all of her attention was focused on Hughie. She didn’t see Gabe glowering down at them from one of the upstairs windows. If she’d looked up, she would have seen his expression was one of utter fury.

  * * *

  He had forgotten how beautiful she was. No, that wasn’t true. He’d remembered her beauty, but he had trained himself to look beyond it, to remember that her heart was quick to manipulate and lie. Every time he saw her smile and wanted to smile back, he remembered the photographs on her phone. The pictures of the Calypso design files that she’d snapped to show to her father—to bring his company down. It was easy to harden himself to her charms in the face of such obvious duplicity.

  Every time she hummed under her breath and the song wound around his chest, tying him up in Abigail knots, he reminded himself that he’d had every reason to walk away from her and refuse to see her again.

  When he woke up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat at dreaming of her pregnant and alone, wishing he could reach out and touch her, comfort her, know her, he reminded himself that her lies, her deceit had made that impossible.