She could hardly breathe. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him. But then, she didn’t need to, she realised wretchedly. She could feel him, sense him, scent his clean male warmth and imbibe his very essence without using her eyes.
If she didn’t keep his betrayal, his lie of omission at the forefront of her mind, she might just go mad from wanting him.
‘Emily, please…won’t you even speak to me?’
She wouldn’t survive if he hurt her again. ‘This is a difficult case—’
‘I can see that. I’m sorry to intrude on your work, but your phone is always switched through to your answering service.’
‘I don’t have much time—’
‘As I said, I apologise for approaching you like this, but I could think of no other way.’
The whole situation was a catastrophic mess, Emily realised tensely. Leaving aside her own feelings, Miranda’s first solo concert was coming up in the New Year—a concert where she would be playing the violin Alessandro had loaned to her.
‘Emily—’ Alessandro’s voice had roughened, and was considerably louder. It brought her back to full attention. ‘I have to talk to you,’ he insisted. ‘But not here; not like this, please.’
Emily’s face flushed red as she stared up at him. She had never thought to hear so needy, so desperate a note in his voice.
‘I know I’ve let you down—’
He had found out she knew about the baby clause; she could hear it in his voice…in what he didn’t say. She had to hear his explanation. ‘I feel as if I hardly know you any more,’ she murmured, speaking her thoughts out loud.
‘Well, I only know that I’ve hurt you, Emily. And that I can’t let it end like this. I can’t go on any more without your forgiveness.’
My forgiveness…my forgiveness, Emily thought wretchedly as her hand moved instinctively to cover her stomach. ‘If you could give me the rest of the afternoon…’
‘You have to eat,’ he said instantly. ‘Why don’t we meet at my hotel for dinner? Eight o’clock? You won’t want a late night.’
‘Yes…Yes, please.’
‘Shall I send a car for you?’
Her mind was in freefall. She needed time to think, to prepare, to plan how she was going to tell him about their baby. ‘No, that’s fine. I’d rather you didn’t.’
Emily stood motionless, watching Alessandro take the steps down to the foyer. He moved with long, purposeful strides, his head held high, and the gaze of every woman, and not a few of the men, zoned in on his rapid departure.
Only when he had gone through the doors that led to the street did she begin very slowly to follow after him. He was still her husband…and in spite of everything she knew without doubt she still loved him.
She fought hard in court…wasn’t her marriage worth fighting for, too?
The invisible men, as Emily had learned to call them, had obviously telephoned ahead, as the door to Alessandro’s suite swung open before she could even knock.
As he stood back to let her pass the temptation to touch him, to look into his eyes, was almost irresistible. But she could feel remoteness coming off him in waves, pushing her away.
Shrugging off her winter coat and scarf, she put them on a chair first, and then, having first drawn a deep, steadying breath, she turned around. ‘How are you, Alessandro?’
He looked amazing. Black trousers, black round-necked cashmere sweater framing his tan…
‘How am I?’ he said, dipping his head to give her a keen look. ‘That’s an interesting question, coming from you, Emily.’
Picking up her coat and scarf, he walked across the room and deposited them inside what must be a cloakroom.
‘Apparently I’m some sort of monster,’ he said with his back to her, ‘since my wife walked out on me without a word of explanation.’
CHAPTER TEN
THE expression in her husband’s eyes frightened Emily. It was as if all the angry frustration, all the bafflement possible had been captured and condensed in his gaze. And as for herself…She took a steadying breath and struggled to find the words she had so carefully rehearsed in the taxi from her apartment. But she was in too much pain to speak—pain so bad it felt as if her heart had been ripped out of her chest and stamped on.
It seemed like several lifetimes before she managed to say, ‘I spoke to your father—’
‘And?’
She had never heard him sounding so curt, so cold. And she wasn’t doing much better. Her own voice was strangulated, false. She had to wait and take a few deep breaths before she could relax enough to start again. ‘He told me—’
‘Told you what?’ Alessandro cut in harshly. Why was it that angry words hung in the air longer than any others? he wondered furiously. The very last thing he had intended to do was shout at Emily the moment she arrived, but his emotions were in turmoil. No one knew better than he that the rest of their lives depended on what happened between them in the next few hours. ‘Go on,’ he said, making a conscious effort to soften his tone.
Emily knew she had to set him straight about his father’s role, if nothing else. ‘It was something he thought I already knew…something he believed you would have told me,’ she went on, trying to stay calm. ‘He said he couldn’t abdicate until you…until I had your child.’
Alessandro’s face went blank and unreadable—like a stranger’s, Emily realised with an inward shudder. She saw the change come into his eyes first: a slow infusion of pain, then guilt, and finally something approaching fear.
‘I thought I’d lose you,’ he said, so softly she could hardly make out the words. ‘I believed it was too much for you to accept all at once. You would never have agreed—’
‘You’re right about that,’ Emily flared, her own voice shaking with emotion. ‘I would never have agreed to barter the life of a child—even for the sake of my own sister’s happiness.’ She stopped. There was an iron band around her chest; she could hardly breathe. She wheeled away from him in bewilderment. ‘I thought you loved me,’ she cried accusingly.
In a couple of strides Alessandro had crossed the room and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look up at him.
‘Don’t you understand anything, Emily? I do love you. More than you will ever know. No! Look at me!’ he insisted when she tried to turn her head away. ‘I love you,’ he repeated fiercely. ‘I have loved you from the first moment I set eyes on you. I don’t suppose you believe in love at first sight; neither did I, before I met you—’ He shook his head and looked away, as if the emotion was too much for him to bear. ‘I was frightened I might lose you if I told you the truth. I can see now that I was wrong. But if you won’t accept my apology then I don’t know what I can do…what I will do without you…’
‘When would you have told me?’ Emily demanded tensely when he’d let her go.
‘If you had become pregnant there would have been no need to tell you,’ he admitted with a short, humourless laugh.
‘That’s very blunt.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed bitterly.
‘And if I hadn’t become pregnant?’ She needed to choose her words with more care, Emily realised distractedly, still agonising over her own startling news and wondering how she was going to break it to him. ‘When…when would you have told me?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Alessandro admitted bluntly. ‘I needed time…time to be sure you trusted me before I could identify the right time.’
‘I see.’
‘No, you don’t,’ he said, taking hold of her again. ‘I was wrong. I can see that now. I should have told you right away. I need you to forgive me, Emily. I need you to accept my apology so that we can rebuild everything I have damaged, however long it takes…Emily?’
When she told him about their baby—what would he think of her then? Emily wondered numbly. He had been so honest, so frank and giving in his own apology, while she harboured the greatest secret of them all, jealously guarding it inside her like some precious gift she had not yet chosen to
bestow. Instead of making it easier for her, Emily realised, Alessandro’s openness had only made it all the more difficult.
‘This isn’t easy for you,’ he said. ‘I realise that. You need time to think. I’m going to take you home. No, I insist,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘I’ll keep in touch, and when you’re ready—’
‘No,’ Emily said urgently—this wasn’t supposed to happen. ‘I don’t want you to take me home.’ This was the moment. She needed to tell him…whatever the consequences might be for herself.
She could see how pale he was beneath his tan, hear the enormous pressure he was forced to endure because of her reflected in his voice. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t bear to see him suffering and know that she was the cause.
‘Don’t apologise to me. We’re both at fault,’ she said, the words all coming out in a rush. ‘We had no chance to get to know each other—’
‘Listen to yourself,’ he said. ‘You’re half-frantic with worry, and all because of me. There’s no excuse for my behaviour,’ he said harshly, cutting off any chance she might have had to say more. ‘I’m going to get your coat—’
‘No, Alessandro, wait—’
But he was already back, and helping her into it. ‘I’m taking you home, Emily. I’ve upset you enough for one night. I won’t hear any arguments.’
But her home was in Ferara, Emily thought as he ushered her out of the door. With Alessandro…
‘I don’t want to pressure you,’ he said, releasing his hold on her arm at the door to her apartment. ‘I’ve put you through enough. If you come back to me, Emily, it will be for ever, so I want you to be sure.’
‘We never expected it to come to this.’ Emily shivered suddenly as he kissed her on both cheeks, as if in that moment the shadow between them had made itself visible.
‘We never expected to fall in love,’ Alessandro countered softly, shooting her a wry half-smile as he turned to go.
Emily had thought she’d had sleepless nights before, but she’d been wrong. This…this was a sleepless night.
Finally she gave up on sleep altogether, and, clambering out of bed, crossed the wood-strip floor to the enclosed balcony that had been one of her main reasons for buying the riverside flat.
She could never have anticipated that her meeting with Alessandro would go so badly wrong…that she would be so lacking in force, in ability to put her point across. She was ashamed of the way she had caved in, Emily realised tensely. But the atmosphere had been so fraught, their reunion so fragile…If Miranda had been at home they would have talked things over. But Miranda had already embarked on a tour of the provinces that preceded her debut in the capital…And, though she had lost track of time, Emily knew it was the middle of the night—Miranda would be asleep.
Wrapping herself in a mohair throw, she curled up on one of the sofas and stared bleakly out at the river, stretching darkly into the distance like an oily rag. The main road was freshly salted with icy sleet and made her long all the more for the mellow colours and warmth and sunshine of Ferara.
Whatever time it was, her mind was still buzzing. She hadn’t managed to sleep since Alessandro had left a little after twelve. Burrowing deeper into the soft throw, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and wished harder than she had ever wished for anything in her life that things could be different…Wasn’t cheating a man out of his child on a par with cheating a defenceless elderly couple out of their life savings?
The unmistakable sound of her laptop signalling incoming mail broke into that disturbing thought, and, peering at the clock, she saw that it still wasn’t quite four-thirty in the morning.
Racking her brains for friends in the Antipodes, or even late-working New Yorkers, she padded across acres of wood-strip flooring into the open-plan space that constituted her living area. Leaning over her desk, she clicked the mouse and brought up the screen.
Tight schedule—now leaving first thing tomorrow—make your decision about returning to Ferara—let me know soonest—Alessandro.
Her heart gave a little flurry just to know that he was awake—and thinking of her. But, reading the e-mail again, she went cold. She couldn’t leave London. There was still the court case to settle. And it wasn’t going well; there were all sorts of outstanding issues.
Fingers flying, she typed a reply and sent it straight back.
I can’t make that sort of decision yet. I have a tight schedule, too.
She hovered anxiously over the machine, realising that he couldn’t read her mind and know all the difficulties she was facing at work. Out of context the message would just seem petulant.
His reply came through right away.
I understand you need more time.
Frowning a little, Emily pulled out her chair and sat down in front of the computer.
The case I’m involved in is proving more complex than I had anticipated.
This time she gave herself a little more space before touching ‘send’, and checked what she had typed again for possible misunderstandings. She hugged herself as she waited for Alessandro’s reply. It didn’t take long.
When will your case be completed?
Difficult to say. Two weeks max, at a guess.
Before the holidays?
Hopefully before the holidays.
I’ll send the jet.
No need.
But that’s a yes?
She hesitated about ten heartbeats—a split second.
Yes.
I’ll send the jet.
Emily sat staring at the screen until dawn sketched rosy fingers across a sullen, snow-laden sky, but there was no more mail that night from Alessandro.
Touching the screen by his name before she switched off, she wondered what lay ahead for them both with the holidays approaching fast. The possibility of seeing him again was the only present she had on her Christmas list.
Unforeseen delay in resolving case—no chance I can make it for Christmas.
Sorry.
Emily
Alessandro took out his frustration on his desk with a blow so hard he found himself nursing his fist, wondering if he had broken anything.
He had chosen e-mail specifically as a mode of communication to give them both a breather. A voice on a telephone could reveal so much…too much. E-mail was brief and to the point. And utterly without emotion—or should be…had always been…up to now.
Hating himself for putting his heart on the line, he stabbed back.
What’s the problem?
Sitting in her office, surrounded by papers, Emily rested her forehead on the heel of her hand and stared at the screen. She felt sick from early pregnancy blues augmented by a very real concern for her clients. It was beginning to look as though she would win the case, but the chance of securing some money for the elderly couple was appearing increasingly unlikely.
The likelihood of reaching any type of satisfactory conclusion before the long drawn-out holiday season interrupted everything was negligible.
She touched the screen by Alessandro’s question, as if it was possible to draw some comfort from him by doing that, then pulled her hand away. Having him at the other end of the line, waiting for her reply, was no compensation for having him with her. And knowing he was out there somewhere, but not knowing where, made her feel lonelier than ever. It made her feel weak and vulnerable—something she could have done without. Because that was no help to her elderly clients, whose future peace of mind lay in the scrambled mounds of documentation scattered across her desk. But the least she owed Alessandro was an explanation for staying in London over Christmas…
Freemantle has no money—no assets—no nothing. Can’t leave my clients in the lurch—have to keep trying.
Try what? Emily thought, absentmindedly dispatching the message before she had quite finished it. If Toby Freemantle was stony broke—
Her eyes flashed to the screen as Alessandro’s reply came up.
Trace his maternal grandmother’s will. She left him all h
er art treasures. His brother boasted to me that whenever creditors came to call the paintings were stored in their mother’s attic. Keep me informed. Alessandro.
Instantly alert, Emily straightened up, and tapped in. Thank you—I will.
And then, not because she thought it was prudent, or that he would even care, but because her heart took over, she lapsed into a personal style.
I hope you have a good Christmas, Alessandro—say sorry from me to your father. Emily.
Making a sound close to a tiger in a rage, Alessandro replied.
Sure to—Father in South Africa, looking at rose gardens—signing off, Alessandro.
Alessandro had been right, Emily thought, waving off two very happy elderly people, her hands clutching tight the bottle of champagne they had insisted on buying for her. She wouldn’t drink it now, because she was almost four months pregnant, but it signified their peace of mind, and that was all that mattered. She would take it to the Christmas gathering at her parents’ house.
Thanks to Alessandro, the works of art she had tracked down with the help of the fraud squad had raised millions at auction, brightening the London scene on the run-up to the big Christmas shut-down. There had been more than enough money to satisfy all the creditors and even set Toby Freemantle up for life—when he came out of jail.
As the elderly couple disappeared around the corner, arm in arm, she knew her first e-mail had to be to Alessandro. She had to thank him, let him know the outcome of the sale.
Great news—do you ski?
Married By Christmas Bundle: Anthology Page 57