Realising the implications of the thought, she stopped herself guiltily and looked to resume the conversation. “Thank you for inviting me, I’m still not sure I belong here at your family gathering, but it has been wonderful.”
Marcio privately thought that Helen belonged here a bit too well for his liking but chose to keep the thought to himself. Luckily they were interrupted by his eldest sister Benita, who approached them with fresh drinks and some food.
“So, Helen, you have brought a smile to my brother’s face. I am grateful.”
Helen wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Subconsciously she looked to Marcio for a reaction. As the day wore on it felt more and more as if she were here as Marcio’s date. Not because of his behaviour but because it felt so natural to be here with him, to converse with him, even talking to his gorgeous sisters.
Benita seemed to sense the awkwardness generated by her comment and changed the subject to what she hoped was safer territory.
“When are your babies due?”
Marcio had put the word out quietly on their arrival that Helen was expecting twins, which weren’t his, and that the father was a git who should not be mentioned. So far everyone had obeyed.
“They’re due early February, but in the UK they often induce you early if you’re expecting twins.”
“Do you know whether they are boys or girls?”
“No, I thought about finding out, but it’s harder to get it right with twins and to be honest I’m so terrified the less it seems real the better!”
“Do not be terrified, my second and third were twins.” She gestured to two of the children lurking near them, barely visible under the ice cream.
“It’s hard to begin with, but soon they entertain each other, talk to each other. It makes them less demanding of your attention. Make sure you find an antenatal group. That would be my advice. There is nothing to equal the support of women who have recently experienced what you are going through: believe me, you forget too quickly. Already I cannot remember what babies eat, when they sleep, and my youngest is only three.”
Helen looked at Benita in awe. She seemed so calm and relaxed, standing beneath the olive tree, looking like she should be modelling clothes in a catalogue. I can’t imagine having three children, two of them twins, and looking anything other than harassed and haggard.
She glanced over at Marcio and felt a jolt pierce through her as she met his intense blue eyes. She had expected his attention to be on Benita, not fixed unwaveringly on her. His expression was inscrutable but something about it made Helen feel hot, despite the shade of the olive tree. Lost in his eyes, Helen didn’t notice when Benita discreetly walked away, leaving the two of them alone under the tree.
Chapter Nine
Dropping Helen back at her hotel later that evening Marcio realised he wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her for good. He didn’t know what his feelings were exactly; after Mia he didn’t trust himself or his ability to read women. How can you get as far as the altar and not realise your fiancée is gay? The only thing he felt certain of was that, for a blissful few hours, he hadn’t felt like his life was devoid of hope.
As Helen bent forward to find something in her bag, Marcio stared straight ahead out of the windscreen, hands gripping the steering wheel. He tried hard not to notice the shape of Helen’s breasts, or the way they rose and fell with her breathing.
“What time is your flight tomorrow?”
Helen’s voice was muffled as she continued to rummage. “It’s 6p.m., although as I haven’t hired a car I’ll be starting out for the airport considerably earlier than that.”
“I have a proposition for you,”
Helen stopped searching through her bag for her hotel key and turned to look at Marcio, eyebrows raised in mute question.
Marcio took a deep breath and directed a silent stream of invectives at his errant body. Trying to lighten the tension building in him, he grinned at Helen. “Not that sort of proposition. Merely that it would be a shame for you to come to Barcelona and not get out on the water. I’m taking the boat out first thing; come have brunch with me and I’ll drop you at the airport in plenty of time for your flight.”
Helen found her search for the key hampered by the trembling in her hands. Her lungs felt constricted and it was suddenly a challenge to breathe. Sitting back in her chair she willed herself not to blush and tried to formulate a response to Marcio’s invitation. All she wanted was to get to her room and analyse her jumbled emotions. The idea of spending time alone, far from land, in reach of his toned, tanned, body left her feeling weak and giddy.
Am I going to be able to keep my hands off him if there are no sisters looking on? Maybe his family are coming? Of course, that’s it; it will be another family thing, like today. It would be nice to spend a day at sea and I won’t have to get myself to the airport.
Noticing the troubled look creeping into his blue eyes as she hesitated Helen came to a decision.
“Sure,” she tried for a nonchalant tone, but her voice sounded shrill. If he noticed, Marcio was too much of a gentleman to comment.
“Great! I’ll pick you up at 9am if that’s not too early?”
“Are you being funny? Already these darlings,” she patted her expanding tummy, “ensure that Mummy is up with the sun. I’ll be packed and waiting in the lobby. I’m travelling light so hopefully it won’t be a problem stowing my bag on the boat.”
Marcio’s smile was intriguing, “No, that won’t be a problem.”
As she got herself ready for bed, Helen replayed in her mind Marcio leaning over to kiss her goodbye. It was only a peck on the cheek but, holding her hand against the spot now, she could still feel the sensations it had ignited in her. She was scared to think of the implications of meeting him. Most men would run a mile rather than date a pregnant woman but she sensed Marcio was different. Certainly he was very natural in his role as Uncle Marcio.
It was far too early to hope that he might embrace her babies as well as her, but she had to admit he did seem to like her. The look in his eyes when he had leaned over to kiss her had sent shivers through her, chilling her despite the warmth in the car. His blue eyes were ocean deep with desire and it seemed only a last minute decision that caused the kiss to land on her cheek. She hoped the change of heart was merely temporary as already she yearned to be with him again.
Eyes heavy with sleep, Helen snuggled into her flat pillow as best she could and dreamed of a future where Marcio’s smile wrapped her in warmth and protected her from life’s bumpy road.
On the other side of town Marcio’s night was less restful. He had been tempted to go back to the vineyard after returning Helen to her hotel, but he was booked into the Hotel Arts for the night and decided he needed the peace and space, away from his prying sisters, to muddle through the mess of thoughts and emotions tangled in his brain.
Yesterday I was sworn off women for life and suddenly I’m not just attracted to a gorgeous woman, but one who is expecting someone else’s children. Marcio, you are priceless.
No longer able to deny the desire flooding through him, Marcio tried to make sense of the jumble of images in his mind.
The image that disturbed him most was one of him taking care of Helen and the twins, shielding them from harm. I never had myself down as a knight in shining armour. I’m not sure it fits well with itinerant writer. Still, the picture of him holding the twins, smiling that proud smile he’d seen his brother-in-laws wear, was as clear as a photograph in his head. Losing Mia had raised the awful prospect that he might never have children of his own.
Even if the twins weren’t his, he could imagine that, in time, he could love them as his own. Parenting was as much nurture as genetics after all. Not for the first time Marcio cursed his brain’s way of taking any given situation all the way to a conclusion. Helen’s only six months pregnant, anything could happen in that time.
He couldn’t ignore the hollow space inside him that still carried the chill of the church.
What if Helen decides to go back to the bastard who sired her children? Hormones can do funny things to women. Look at my sisters and all the crazy things they did when pregnant. What if I let her in, only to be left looking like an idiot again? How much worse would it be if I lost the twins too, having brought them up as mine?
The same doubt had surged through him in the car when he’d felt his body leaning in to kiss her goodnight. Settling for a peck on the cheek, he’d been mortified to realise he was no better than any other shmuck, letting the yearnings of his body erase rational thought.
He could feel his body betraying him again now, as he remembered Helen at the party. She seems oblivious to how sexy she is in that sun dress, all undulating curves and sweet-smelling skin. He grimaced as he remembered how hard it had been to keep the car on the road, with her scent filling the space between them. He found he couldn’t bear the thought of her returning to London without him.
Get a grip Marcio, you’ve known her less than two days and she’s pregnant with twins. Even if she feels the same as you, and that is certainly not clear, this isn’t a mad holiday romance. Besides, ready or not, she is about to have her life changed forever. Are you sure you want to be a part of that?
The writer in him wanted to know where this story was going, to follow it through to the dramatic conclusion, the hopeful happy ever after. Life isn’t like that though, he mused, as he headed for bed. Happy ever afters are just stories that haven’t finished yet.
With a mood to reflect the grey dusky sea outside his window, Marcio sank into a troubled sleep.
Chapter Ten
“Jesus!”
Marcio couldn’t hide his grin at her response. Like a proud parent he never tired of people’s reactions when they saw Marisol.
“Not a problem stowing my bag then.” Helen’s mind reeled at the size of the yacht moored in Barcelona harbour. She could fit the contents of her entire apartment in the hold. It wasn’t a flashy gin palace; it was a proper old fashioned fishing boat, in the process of being renovated.
“Gorgeous, isn’t she.” Marcio couldn’t hold his pride in any longer. He moved towards the yacht, securing the gang plank for Helen to come aboard.
“She’s a bit tatty,” he added apologetically, although Helen sensed he didn’t really believe his own words. To him she was an America’s Cup specimen. She could see by the evidence of work in progress that he obviously lavished much love and attention on her.
“Have you renovated her yourself?” Helen knew the answer, but wasn’t sure what else to say. “How do you find the time?”
“I’ve had her for a year or two now and I come out for a few weeks in the summer to concentrate on fixing her up. She actually lives up the coast – I can’t afford the mooring fees here in the harbour – but I brought her down early this morning as it’s easier to get on board here.”
“Is it just us?” Helen looked around, still half-hopeful that she might see Marcio’s sisters heading their way.
“Yes, just us. Those of my family not forced to rise with the toddlers this morning won’t be up until noon.” He loaded Helen’s small suitcase, and the picnic hamper he’d brought, onto deck and looked back to see Helen standing immobile. “Is that okay?” His face was flooded with sudden concern, like a boy who had been told he’d answered the wrong question in an exam.
Helen swallowed the emotions threatening to engulf her. It was more than okay to her but she was conscious of standing atop a slippery hill, worried one wrong step would see her flat on her back sliding to oblivion. I might fancy him but isn’t life complicated enough already?
He was standing beside her now, too close for coherent thought. Looking up she saw his blue eyes dark with worry and something more besides, something like affection.
Marcio unconsciously reached out and took Helen’s hand, leaving her fizzing with warm fluttery feelings. “We can do something else if you’d rather? Are you worried the sea will make you poorly?”
Helen laughed suddenly. “Thankfully those days are behind me. Three months ago I wouldn’t have even been able to stand on this pontoon.” As she said the words she became aware of the wooden walkway swaying beneath her feet. It really was a beautiful day. The skies were clear, but it was too early to be hot, and a gentle breeze cooled her skin and caused the boats to sway and tug at their moorings, eager to be off.
She didn’t remember the last time she was out on a proper boat, rather than a floating restaurant on the Thames. How long had it been? Not since she was a child, when Simon would row her out to sea and scare her by diving overboard and leaving her adrift. She smiled ruefully at the memory.
Shaking off any trepidation at being alone with Marcio, she looked up into his face and squeezed his hand. “It’s fine, I’m looking forward to it. I don’t know how to sail though; will you need me to do anything?”
Releasing the breath he hadn’t been aware of holding, Marcio’s face un-creased and he gave a little skip, tugging Helen behind him towards the yacht.
“No, no help required. I can sail Marisol in my sleep. Besides, it’s a calm day so we’ll probably cheat.”
Helen gave him a puzzled look.
“It has an engine too.”
Half an hour later they had left the harbour and were chugging slowly along the coast line. It was such a different way to see the city; Helen welcomed the opportunity to take some additional pictures to include with her bundle on the festival. Then she swung round and took some of Marcio at the helm, a look of deep concentration lending him an unexpected gravitas. She thought he looked completely natural, as if this was the only place on earth he truly belonged. It made her a little sad; he seemed in a place she couldn’t reach him. What did she know about sailing?
Then he looked up and caught her watching. All signs of seriousness vanished as he gave a cheeky salute. Suddenly he was the little boy again, borrowing his father’s car and taking it for a spin without permission. Helen marvelled at how many sides there were to this man. She thought about Daniel, about how all he ever talked and cared about was his job. She had been drawn to it, in the beginning, finding his drive and passion supremely attractive. But there had been no humour, she realised now, no time when he let the cares of adult life drop away and remembered what it was to be five. It had made her serious too, as if she needed to live up to his example. Now she felt a silliness emerge from within her that yearned to match Marcio giggle for giggle.
Stowing her camera in its case and wrapping it securely in a waterproof cover, Helen kicked off her shoes and padded over to Marcio. Her tummy gave a gurgle and she realised it was time to eat.
“The babies are hungry,” she said, as she stood close behind his shoulder, following his gaze along the coast. Her arms twitched, longing to wrap themselves around his torso, to bathe in the heady mixture of sweat and scent wafting towards her on the breeze. She pulled her fingers into fists and settled for enjoying the warmth emanating from him, careful not to brush against him with her bump.
“Then we had better feed them,” he responded, glad for an excuse to put some space between them before he lost control. Marcio turned down the engine and brought the boat to a stop in the water. He waiting while Marisol drifted a little into the shore before unhitching the anchor and dropping it into the azure water. It took a while before it hit bottom and Helen was surprised that the water was so much deeper than it appeared. She could see the sand glinting in the mid-morning sun as the rays penetrated the waves and set the sea alive with colour. It was a million miles from the greyness of her life two days ago and she wondered what the price to be paid would be.
“I hope you’re hungry as well as the babies,” Marcio’s voice interrupted her. Holding up the basket of food for her perusal he continued “I think there’s a bit too much just for a couple of tadpoles!”
The way he talked about the babies made Helen glow inside. There was such unconscious affection, together with the assumption that they formed part of the group. She thought t
hat even if Daniel had been ready for children, and had welcomed her news, he could never have been this naturally comfortable with the role of father. Aware her mind was drawing dangerous conclusions from a pleasant date, Helen sought for a neutral topic of conversation.
“When will you head back to London? Are you going to stay and work on your novel some more?” She lowered herself to the deck, where Marcio had laid out a woven blanket to protect them from the hot wood.
“I’ll probably stay for a few days; go spend some time with Mum. Luxurious as it is, the Hotel Arts isn’t exactly home living. It took me half an hour on my first night there to figure out how to work the lights.”
Laughing at his own ineptitude, Marcio sat beside her and opened the picnic hamper, taking out packages of food.
“And I guess it’ll be nice to eat a meal without feeling as if you have to critique every grain of rice?” Marcio had told Helen how much he hated writing job-stuff as he called it, particularly food reviews. It seemed like the perfect career to her, but then she guessed most things did when you looked at them from the outside.
Marcio nodded at her statement. “What about you? What’s in store for you when you get back to London?” As he unwrapped the food parcels Helen’s mouth filled with saliva at the sight of the meats and cheeses. She mentally reviewed which ones she was allowed to eat.
“Begging for work,” she responded without taking her eyes off the food. She looked up at him and saw a look of compassion on his face. She frowned, not wanting to dwell on life back in London. “I’m starting to wonder if you’re right, that freelance is never going to pay.”
“It does for some; it just takes some patience and a lot of hard work. Or a lucky break. You might take a shot that becomes iconic or catches the eye of some major publication.”
Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes Page 17