Her eyelids fluttered open so that all he could see was the shimmer of wet violets—like dewy-fresh flowers which had been rained on.
‘The love you never had for me,’ she said brokenly.
Bizarrely, he thought of the Christmas wreath she’d made—the one which he had left on his door long after she’d gone back from Cornwall. He remembered the way she made him smile—the eagerness of her love-making and her sweet generosity. Not just generosity to him, but to his young niece—the child of the woman whose tongue had attempted to wound her. She had so many qualities, which he had simply taken for granted and had squandered—as if they weren’t important.
He thought of the expensive clothes she had left behind and the coat in Paris she had proudly refused—and he couldn’t think of another woman who would have done that. She had refused his initial offer of marriage, too. And at this, his mouth twisted. His offer of marriage—had he now reached new levels of self-delusion? There had been no offer of marriage—just a snarled demand that she fall in with his wishes, the way he expected everyone to fall in with his wishes, but especially women.
Yet there had been a chance even then for him to redeem himself and their relationship—but he had blown it. Even their honeymoon had been tarred by his cynicism—for he had subjected her to the inevitable hostility of a jealous woman. Why had he done that? Was it a deliberate sabotage? Some innate desire to try and hurt other people, as he had once been hurt himself? Yet the hurt he’d once felt as a twenty-one-year-old student was nothing compared to the terrible pain he was experiencing now.
Looking down at her lovely face, which still managed to be essentially innocent, he found himself swamped by the realisation of another, even greater truth. ‘The love for you which I didn’t acknowledge, not even to myself—at least, not until that night in Rome,’ he said slowly. ‘Because I convinced myself I couldn’t feel any love for you—or for anyone. And that I didn’t want to feel it. Because it brought with it pain—and bitterness.’
She shook her head—because this was hard enough to deal with without him heaping on extra layers of hurt and regret. She had tried hard enough to gloss over the truth—but now she needed to face up to it. Because she was losing her baby and she needed to be strong—not to indulge herself in the stuff of fantasies. ‘I don’t need you to sweet-talk me, Giancarlo—especially now. I’d rather have the truth—not some saccharine version of it. I don’t want you telling me you love me just to try to make me feel better.’
‘But it is the truth,’ he vowed hoarsely. ‘You asked me what I was saying to you in Italian that night I made love to you on our honeymoon. I was telling you that I loved you. I felt daunted by the thought of saying the words out loud and so I tried them in my native tongue to see how it felt.’
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘You love Gabriella.’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t love Gabriella. Maybe I did—though it’s so long ago that I can scarcely believe it happened,’ he said savagely. ‘But in many ways, she hurt my pride more than she hurt my heart.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘I’ve been a fool. A stupid, idiotic fool—and now it’s too late. Because even your sweet and generous heart could never forgive me for what I have done and for what I have failed to do.’
She had never seen Giancarlo looking like this—with his face all ravaged with pain and his black eyes bleak with regret. And in spite of everything that had happened, she wanted to reach out and comfort him and cradle him in her arms and to take those dark feelings away from him. So which of them was the real fool?
‘Giancarlo—’
‘Mrs Vellutini?’ A brisk voice interrupted her painful thoughts and a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a white uniform walked into the room. ‘Hello, I’m the radiographer—and I’m going to give you a scan. Let’s try to see what’s going on.’
At this, Cassie began to cry again—silent tears sliding down her cheeks as Giancarlo gripped her hand.
‘Shh,’ he soothed. ‘Don’t cry.’
‘How can I not cry when I’m losing our baby?’
Never had he felt so powerless as the radiographer began to apply globs of clear jelly to the paddles on the machine and he stared helplessly into the white face of his wife.
And his own utter self-condemnation was followed by a rush of determination that she should know the truth. That somehow it was important that she heard it now—before their world was devastated by what they were about to discover. That there should be no misunderstanding whatsoever. No hiding behind a different language in case what he was about to say was flung back in his face.
‘Cassie, I love you. I know you may not believe me and that it’s all too late, but I do. I love you.’
Her eyes fluttered open and she stared at him, her pain even greater now—something which she hadn’t thought possible. ‘No, you don’t love me. Please stop saying that.’
‘I’m not going to stop saying it until you believe me. I’ve been everything a man shouldn’t be. Thoughtless. Stubborn. Arrogant. Proud. Unable to acknowledge what was staring me in the face. That you make my world light up, Cassie,’ he said simply. ‘You’ve become the shining centre of it—and all the time I’ve been closing my eyes to it, and my heart.’
Cassie shook her head, unable to believe what was happening. Giancarlo saying such personal and loving things to her—and in front of the radiographer, too. Because he didn’t do demonstrative. She remembered the way he’d railed at her in the shop in Paris for daring to jeopardise his reputation—but he didn’t seem to care about his reputation at the moment.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she whispered, biting her lip with dread as she felt the cold dab of two paddles being applied to her abdomen—and quickly she turned her head away from the black and white blur of the TV monitor. ‘I’m so scared.’
‘Then say nothing—let me say it. Let me try and distract you from your fear, my love. Please, my darling—my brave darling. I love you, Cassie—and what I want is for you to carry on being my wife and for us to make more babies together. Only I know that I’ve probably blown it. That you have every right to tell me it’s over—and to walk away. And if you do that, then I am going to miss you and ache for you—but I will accept it. I will let you go because I love you and I want what is best for you. I will give you your freedom, cara mia—if that’s what you want.’
It was the selflessness in his statement which made her waver. The idea that Giancarlo wanted, not what he desired—but what was best for her. Through the shimmer of her tears she looked at him and drew a deep, shuddering breath. ‘But I don’t want my freedom.’
There was a pause. ‘You don’t?’
‘Of course I don’t! Why would I want to be free of the man I love?’
In the midst of their terrible grief, their eyes met as they sought to make some sense of their fractured world—as if wanting to bolster themselves with shared comfort—before they faced the pain which awaited them.
‘I could have been a better husband,’ he whispered.
‘And I could have been a better wife.’
‘And you will both be better parents if you stop all this soul-searching and have a look at this little heartbeat instead,’ came the crisp interjection of the radiographer.
Giancarlo stilled. ‘Scusi?’
‘Wh-what did you say?’ stumbled Cassie.
The radiographer smiled—as if she had suddenly discovered why getting out of bed at two o’clock on a cold winter night could be so worthwhile. ‘Look,’ she said gently. ‘You see that throbbing little bit there? That’s your baby’s heart.’
Fingers of fire clutched Giancarlo’s own heart. ‘You mean—?’
‘Your baby’s alive, Mr Vellutini. Very much alive. Look, here are the little arms—can you see the tiny fingers? And the legs? Sturdy-looking legs they look too, from where I’m standing.’
‘B-but…I bled,’ protested Cassie shakily—and the eyes which had been unable to face looking at the scan now began to devour ev
ery bit of the screen for some kind of information about the life which—miraculously—was still growing inside her.
‘It’s not uncommon,’ said the radiographer. ‘It’s nature’s way of telling Mum to relax. Do you think you’ll be able to do that in future, Mrs Vellutini—to relax?’
Scarcely able to believe how her world could turn from desolate dark to gleaming bright in the space of a heartbeat, Cassie looked up into Giancarlo’s face. And a wide smile threatened to split her face in two. ‘Oh, I think so,’ she said, laughing.
‘I will make sure of it,’ he vowed softly. ‘I will do everything in my power to look after my wife.’ And he lifted Cassie’s fingertips to his lips.
‘Then I’ll leave you both alone for a moment,’ said the radiographer diplomatically. ‘Come out when you’re ready.’
But they scarcely noticed the kindly woman leave, they were too overwhelmed by the gift they had been given—of the new life which still grew inside her and a tentative new love which would also flourish, if they let it.
‘And we will let it,’ vowed Giancarlo fiercely. ‘Tell me how I can ever make it up to you, mia cara Cassie?’
She looked into his face and saw the tears which were glinting in the depths of his black eyes—surprised to see such a depth of emotion on the face of someone so essentially masculine as Giancarlo. But, in a way, being honest enough to show his feelings like that only made him seem more of a man, if that were possible.
‘We won’t ever dwell on the bad things which have happened in the past,’ she whispered. ‘Only all the good things—and those we will cherish and learn from.’
Learn from. Giancarlo nodded. Yes, he would learn. They would learn from each other.
Taking off his jacket, he looped it tenderly around his wife’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. ‘Home?’ he questioned simply.
The sudden lump in her throat was so big that it would have been impossible for her to speak a whole sentence. Good thing, then, that there was only one word she needed to say.
‘Home,’ she agreed shakily.
Epilogue
‘AND here. We put the last sprig of holly just…so. See? And just one more little tug of the scarlet ribbon—and our Christmas wreath is all ready to surprise Papa.’
‘Surprise Papa! Surprise Papa!’ squealed Chiara and clapped her little hands together. ‘Papa loves Christmas!’
‘So he does,’ agreed Cassie, smiling down into her daughter’s wide ebony eyes, which so reminded her of Giancarlo’s. ‘He adores Christmas.’
‘But it wasn’t always that way,’ came a deep voice from the doorway, and in walked Giancarlo—flakes of snow melting on his raven hair as he scooped up his beloved four-year-old daughter and held her close. ‘Papa used to hate Christmas.’
‘Papa cold,’ Chiara complained, but she snuggled into him all the same. ‘Why did you hate Christmas?’
Over the ebony tumble of his daughter’s curls, Giancarlo looked at Cassie across the room, his heart melting just like the snow as he studied her. Her hair was shorter these days, but she still wore it in a single plait if she was busy, and her figure was just as trim, in her low-cut jeans and emerald sweater. His eyes lingered on the sweater for a fraction of a beat longer than usual and then he slanted her a soft smile.
‘Because I hadn’t met your mother then,’ he said softly. ‘And I worked too hard to enjoy things like Christmas. And I needed her to show me all the things in life that were really important. Like the wreath she makes with you every year—and the mince-pies she bakes. And the way she builds sandcastles when we go to the seaside.’ But more than that, he thought—and much more than Christmas—it was the warm and loving home which she had created for the three of them.
‘How are you, cara?’ questioned Cassie softly. ‘Looking forward to the nativity play later?’
‘I can’t wait,’ he murmured. ‘To see my daughter dressed as an angel. I call that perfect type-casting. And do you know that the snow is coming down really heavily now?’
‘Snow!’ gurgled Chiara.
‘I love snow,’ said Cassie happily.
‘Surprise, surprise,’ he whispered as, still holding his daughter, he walked over to plant a kiss on his wife’s lips.
Cassie breathed in the warm, earthy scent of him, thinking that life was so good it couldn’t possibly get any better. But it did. It just kept getting better every day.
Following the scare of her bleed when she was pregnant with Chiara, she had spent the rest of her pregnancy resting so much that she had complained of feeling like a whale. And after the baby was born—and after much discussion—they had moved to a smaller house, which was more manageable. They still lived in Kensington—but Cassie had been adamant that she only wanted drop-in staff from then on. That the close-knit family unit she envisaged didn’t involve live-in staff. But she worked out a way to ensure that everyone was happy—even Gina. Actually, especially Gina.
After Chiara was born, Cassandra and Giancarlo purchased a small farm in Umbria and installed Gina there to look after it—because she had confessed that she’d been longing to go back to her native Italy. The housekeeper quickly settled into the simple way of rural life—and it just so happened that she became very friendly with a widower who lived in the nearby village. Not only did they marry—but Gina also defied the odds by producing a healthy baby boy at the ripe old age of forty-four!
Cassie’s mother had also moved into a new phase of life. She’d given up the ties and the isolation of running a B&B and had taken over her daughter’s job in Patsy’s shop. She’d added choir practice to her salsa classes and made new friends and, for the first time since her beloved husband had died, she really felt like part of the community again.
Raul and Gabriella had divorced—Raul had won custody and shed about eight years while his ex-wife quickly remarried. Her new husband was a cat-litter billionaire who lived in some style in Santa Barbara and, although Cassie sometimes worried that Allegra didn’t get to see enough of her mother, she had her niece to stay as often as possible. And Chiara loved her big cousin. In fact, Allegra hoped to go to art school in London and she and her father were both coming to spend Christmas this year.
Cassie had learnt that of course Giancarlo’s friends liked her. She just had to give them a chance to get to know her—and she needed to stop judging them. In fact, Serafina was Chiara’s godmother and she and Cassie had become good friends.
Even Gavin had grudgingly admitted that Giancarlo was ‘totally right’ for Cassie after all. He had left London after he’d inherited some money and gone back down to Cornwall, where he’d bought a surf-school. Last time they’d heard from him he’d been madly in love with a Californian blonde who he said made him think of milk and honey.
Cassie smiled. Life was pretty much perfect. In fact, she could think of only one thing which could possibly top her happiness…
She waited until after the nativity play, when the three of them had walked through the snowy, silent streets still humming ‘Silent Night’ beneath their breath. And Giancarlo went to put his daughter to bed and to read her a story while Cassie produced a pasta meal which she had learnt at her Italian cookery class. She was also learning the language—and she sighed. If only it were as easy to conjugate Italian verbs as it was to make a fresh pesto sauce!
She heard the sound of footsteps behind her and felt a pair of lips begin to nuzzle at her neck as she bent over the stove, and her heart speeded up as she turned round to wind her arms around her husband’s neck.
Their marriage had—thus far—been pretty much perfect, too. Once Giancarlo had dared to let himself love, there had been no holding him back. These days honest communication flowed between them as well as mutual respect. And the passion which had always been there showed no sign of diminishing.
The only slight setback was their desire to add to their family. When Chiara reached the age of two, they decided to try for another baby, but it just hadn’t happened. A visit to the
doctor had assured Cassie that there was no reason why it shouldn’t and they should just carry on hoping. But as time had gone on and no new baby had made an appearance they had decided to count their blessings and be grateful for what they had. After all, they had one beautiful little girl and knew how lucky they were.
But Giancarlo’s expression was thoughtful as he lifted his lips from hers and moved her away from the stove.
‘Something you want to tell me, cara?’
Cassie eyed him suspiciously. ‘Like what?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. Why your eyes are shining so much more than usual. Why you keep biting your lip as if you want to tell me something but don’t quite dare.’ His eyes glinted. ‘And why your breasts look so deliciously curvy these days.’
‘Giancarlo!’
‘Are you?’ he questioned softly. ‘Are you pregnant?’
‘Yes. Yes! I wanted to wait until it was all confirmed—I’ve seen the doctor and she’s as happy as a bee. Says that everything is just as it should be. But that’s not all.’ She drew a deep breath. ‘There’s something else. Something I can hardly believe. Darling, it’s…it’s…’
‘It’s what, Cassandra?’ he demanded urgently.
‘It runs in families—and it’s happening to us. It’s twins, Giancarlo—twins!’
‘Twins?’ His voice was dazed.
‘Uh-huh!’ She squealed as excitedly as her daughter but Giancarlo was silent for a moment.
He’d made a lot of mistakes in his own relationship with his brother, but at least now they had been properly reconciled. And he could teach his own children the importance of love and understanding. He could teach them well because he’d learnt from the finest teacher in the business. His beloved wife.
‘Oh, cara,’ he said softly as he stared down into her soft violet eyes. ‘Te amo.’
These days Cassie recognised the Italian words he’d whispered to her that night in Rome, when she’d felt so broken and confused—all warped by jealousy and insecurity. How liberating it was to be free of all those negative emotions—to be free to love Giancarlo as she had always longed to love him. ‘I love you, too,’ she whispered back. ‘So much.’
Shameful Secret, Shotgun Wedding Page 15