by Jane Porter
If she wanted to cast blame, she could only blame herself for falling for him, and worse, allowing herself to become so terribly attached. The attachment, the love, the passion... It was what made her hurt now. It was maddening that she felt so much for him, and he felt nothing at all.
The dinner with his winemakers went later than he anticipated and the castello was dark when he returned. Brando locked the front door and headed upstairs, hesitating on the second landing, wondering if he should still check on Charlotte at this late hour.
There was no light shining beneath her door and he remembered their fight earlier. Perhaps it was better to let her sleep. She needed sleep, and so did he. He’d have breakfast with her in the morning and begin working on untangling their knotted relationship, because ignoring her, and their problems, hadn’t worked so far.
The next morning Brando asked his housekeeper if Charlotte had requested a breakfast tray yet. The housekeeper looked at him, expression bewildered.
“She left yesterday, signor,” she said. “A car came for her a little after you left.”
Brando didn’t believe it. He went through his room, and then her former bedroom, but all traces of her were gone. He called her but her phone was turned off, and he was sent to voice mail. Brando struggled to stay calm as he threw his things into his leather duffel to return to Florence.
He spent the drive to Florence trying her phone—still off—before making some calls. She wasn’t at his house in Florence. She hadn’t checked back in at the hotel she’d stayed at before. Florence was a city filled with hotels. She could be anywhere.
He called a half-dozen hotels while he drove, and none of them had her under her name, or even his.
His frustration mounted with every call. This was ridiculous. Such a waste of time, as well as dangerous for her and their son. She was supposed to be on modified bed rest, not running off somewhere making it difficult for her to be found.
In Florence, he went straight to his house, asked his staff to help make discreet calls, but even after two days no one could find a trace of her. Brando was certain she wouldn’t try to fly, not in her condition, but where had she gone? And why? Why go through the motions of marrying him, if she’d never intended to stay?
Those questions haunted him over the next week and continued to trouble him for the rest of the summer as it seemed Charlotte had vanished completely.
CHAPTER TEN
TWO MONTHS WENT by, two months without a word from Charlotte, months that passed with agonizing slowness for Brando.
Where had she gone?
And why had she cut him out so completely?
He knew she’d seen Dr. Leonardi at least three times over the past eight weeks, because ten days ago Brando had cornered the doctor and demanded information. Dr. Leonardi didn’t know where Charlotte was staying, but he confirmed that she’d come in for her regular appointments and all was well.
So Charlotte was in the area still—that was a plus.
But where, he didn’t know, and he couldn’t find her, despite repeated searches. Knowing she’d remained in Florence helped calm him, though. He still didn’t understand why she’d leave, but he was grateful she wasn’t taking unnecessary risks by traveling.
The baby’s due date was September 24. If it wasn’t harvest season, he’d be permanently in the Florence town house, but as harvesting had begun, he was at the castello in Chianti, waiting for word, should word come that she’d gone into labor.
Word arrived far earlier than he expected, though. It was just the first week of September when Brando received a call from Livia telling him to get to the hospital immediately, that Charlotte had gone into labor.
It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how Livia found out, but instead he hung up and drove straight to the hospital. Thankfully it was the middle of the day and there was no traffic, and he made it to the Florence hospital in under an hour.
Brando was met in the emergency waiting room by Livia. “There are complications,” Livia said bluntly. “They’ve taken her to surgery.”
“The baby?”
“Is fine. He’s here, small, but healthy. It’s Charlotte. She’s hemorrhaging. They’re trying to save her now.”
Brando shook his head. “What do you mean, save her?”
“Her blood pressure dropped very quickly. Her heart—”
“You’re not making sense.”
“Because you’re not listening. Charlotte is in critical condition, and I was told to prepare you—”
“Prepare me for what?”
“She might not make it, Brando. The surgeons are going to do the best they can, but there was a lack of blood flow to her vital organs.”
“I need to see her.”
“You can’t. She’s in surgery.”
“I’m her husband, Livia.”
Livia gave him a pitying look. “And what will you do once you’re there? How can you do anything to help her?”
“You don’t think I should be with her?”
“Where have you been all summer?”
He froze, and then slowly turned to stare at his sister. “What do you know about this?”
“I’ve taken care of her all summer.” Livia lifted her chin. “She’s been with me.”
“I’ve been to your house. She wasn’t there.”
“She’s been staying in the apartment over my studio. I’ve been taking her meals and making sure she gets to her doctor appointments. My daughter has been helping, too, keeping her company so she wouldn’t be lonely when I had to work.”
“You never told me.”
“Charlotte asked me not to.”
“Why?”
“She was terribly unhappy. She needed a friend.”
“I am her husband.”
“Yes, but not her friend.”
Livia’s reproach stung. His hands knotted. “You shouldn’t have gone behind my back.”
“What would you rather I did? Turn my back on my new sister, pregnant with your baby? Tell her I don’t care? But I care, and I took her in, because I know somewhere in your hard heart, you care.”
“I do not have a hard heart, and I have always cared. I was never unkind, never impatient—”
“But was there love?”
“Of course there was love. She’s my wife, the mother of my son.”
Livia sighed. “Brando, you’re so very shrewd in so many areas, but you don’t understand women, and you don’t understand Charlotte. Charlotte loves you, so much so that I think she’s dying because her heart is breaking.”
“She’s not dying.”
Livia’s shoulders twisted. “Fine. You know best. You know everything.”
Her icy, dismissive tone gave him pause. “You’re not being dramatic?”
She shot him a look of scorn. “You have a newborn son, and a wife dying. Why should I be dramatic?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe I’m in shock.”
“Then prepare yourself. It’s probably going to get worse.”
His chest tightened, his pulse felt heavy and slow. “She can’t die. We have a son—”
“You’ll find another wife. It’ll be fine.”
Brando drew back, appalled, sickened. “What in God’s name?”
“Her heart stopped, Brando. It will be a miracle if she makes it. But you’ll find someone else to marry and raise Charlotte’s son—”
Brando walked away from her then, going to the nurses’ desk and demanding to be allowed into the surgical room. “I’ll scrub in. I need to be there. My wife needs me.”
“That’s not permitted, signor. I’m sorry—”
He dropped his voice, speaking in measured words. “I am one of the largest benefactors for this hospital. I’m not asking to participate in surgery, but to be allowed to be in the room. I will
not interfere with anyone. I just need to be near her.”
The nurse said she’d check, but she couldn’t promise anything.
Brando refused to look at his sister while he waited for the nurse to return. Brando watched the hands on the clock slowly move. It seemed to take forever for the nurse to return, but it was maybe just five minutes.
“They’re just finishing now. She’s to be taken to ICU, where they will monitor her recovery. I’ll take you to her once she’s there. It will be another ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”
“So, she’s okay? She’s stable?”
“I wasn’t given any information about her condition, only that she’s to be closely monitored.” The nurse hesitated. “Would you like to see your son, though? I can take you to him until you’re able to join your wife.”
Brando stood at the window of the neonatal intensive care unit staring at his son in the Isolette. His son looked tiny and red-faced, swaddled in a blue-and-white blanket with a little blue knit cap on his head.
A nurse joined him outside the window to explain that the incubator was protecting the baby from infections, allergens and excessive noise. He’d had a stressful delivery and the hospital was doing what it could to regulate his environment with optimum oxygen, humidity and warmth. “It’s a lot to go from his mother into the outside world,” the nurse said with a smile. “But overall he’s doing well.” She shot him a side-glance. “It’s his mother we’re worrying about. How is she?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m supposed to go to her once she’s in recovery.”
“Let me make a call.”
The wait again felt endless, and Brando stared at his son, unable to imagine his child growing up without his mother. Without Charlotte.
He couldn’t imagine life without Charlotte. She was meant to be with him, part of everything. She was part of him. How could she go? How could there be a future without her?
Brando’s gut burned, and the fire spread to his chest, creating a searing pain. None of this made sense.
How had they even gotten to this point?
And yet how had he thought this would turn out?
The nurse returned. “I’ll take you to her.”
Charlotte might have been taken to recovery from surgery, but she wasn’t awake. She lay utterly still, her skin so pale that it looked like alabaster. Tubes were attached, as well as machines that monitored her.
Her long hair had been gathered into a side ponytail, the vivid gold strands the only color against the white sheets.
The nurse who’d walked him to ICU stood next to him for a moment. “She’ll remain sedated for some time,” she said quietly. “Don’t expect anything.”
Brando gave a brief nod that he’d heard the nurse, but he couldn’t look away from his wife. He still couldn’t process it all. That she’d been with Livia all this time. That his family had been taking her meals and keeping her company. That even his mother had been to see her.
Everyone had been with her but him.
The nurse silently slipped out and Brando drew a chair close to the bed. He watched the shallow rise and fall of her chest, watched the pulse at the base of her throat, watched the monitors measuring her every breath and beat of her heart.
She looked so small and fragile. So terribly alone.
Regret filled him, regret and pain. He’d caused her pain, and everyone could see it, and everyone could feel it, and everyone wanted to do something about it...everyone, it seemed, but him.
Brando slipped his hand through the tubes and cords and covered her hand with his, careful not to bump or disturb anything attached to her.
Carefully, gently he squeezed her hand. Of course, there was no response, and yet her very lack of response drove home how vulnerable she was. How vulnerable they all were.
“We made a beautiful baby,” he said to her, voice low and rough. “He’s in the nursery where they’re taking good care of him. But he needs you, cara. You are his everything. You’re the only one he knows. You’re the only one he loves. He trusts you. He depends on you. Don’t leave him, Charlotte. Don’t break his heart.”
There was no response from her, no flicker of her eyelids, no movement in her fingers. She was so still it was as if she was no longer there.
And yet she was here. She was somewhere in there, resting, quiet, waiting.
Waiting for what?
He thought of Livia’s words. But was there love?
He’d answered that of course there was love. He married her. He was starting a family with her.
Charlotte loves you, so much I think she’s dying because her heart is breaking...
But that didn’t make sense. He loved Charlotte. It’s why he’d followed her to Los Angeles. It’s why he wanted her in his life—forever. How could she not know how he felt? How could she not believe he cared deeply?
He stood up, and leaned over her, gently kissing her forehead. “It’s not just the baby that needs you, cara. I need you,” he whispered, his lips brushing her cheek, and then her lips. “I love you. I always have. I always will. Now come back to me. You’ve made your point. I’m paying attention. Give me a chance to make it right.”
She woke late that night, groggy and weak, but her eyes opened, and she saw him and for a long moment just stared at him. “The baby?” she croaked, voice raspy. “How is he?”
Brando left the chair he’d been in all day, all night, and stood next to her. “Good. But he’ll probably be happier once he’s with you.”
“He’s really all right?”
“Yes.” He could see the fear in her eyes as well as the extreme fatigue. She’d been given transfusions, but she was still pale, dark shadows etched beneath her eyes. “You’re the one we’re worrying about.”
“I’m fine.”
And yet her voice sounded hollow and there was no light in her eyes. She wasn’t fine. She hurt. She didn’t feel safe, didn’t feel loved. He felt an ache in his chest, hating that all this time he’d caused her so much pain. “I have missed you,” he said. “I looked for you everywhere. I called everyone in your family. No one knew where you were.”
“Hiding right beneath your nose,” she answered.
“I’ve been worried sick.”
“I took no risks. I kept all my doctor appointments. Your family has been really good to me.”
He felt another lance of pain. “I should have been the one taking good care of you.”
“I don’t think we belong together—”
“But we do,” he interrupted quietly, firmly. “I haven’t expressed my feelings properly, and I apologize, and vow to become better, and more communicative, but you must know that just because I struggle with words, doesn’t mean I don’t feel, and don’t care. Charlotte, I love you. I care for you so much that I can’t imagine a future without you in it. I don’t want a future without you in it. You are my future.”
Her head turned and she looked up at him, her eyes slowly filling with tears. “You have your son now. You don’t need me. I did my job. I gave you what you wanted. Now I just want you to let me go.”
“Cara, baby.”
The tears shimmered in her eyes, turning the blue irises aqua. “I can’t live like this anymore.” Her eyes closed, and a tear spilled. “I don’t want to live like this. Let me go.”
“I love you, Charlotte.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
He bent over her and wiped away the tear before kissing her near the corner of her mouth. Her lips trembled. “I love you, Charlotte.”
Another tear slipped free. He wiped that one, too. “I love you, Charlotte,” he repeated.
“They’re just words.”
“But they’re the words you needed to hear, and I should have told you. I should have said them before, not just once, but over and over, until you felt safe, and loved. Because you are
loved. You are my heart, Charlotte. Come back to me. Stay with me. Give me a chance to show you I’m the one for you.”
Her mouth quivered as she gave her head a faint shake. “I can’t do more pain.”
“There’s no more pain. We’ve done that part already. It’s time for happiness. Time for love. Time for change. I promise. I swear. I give you my word.”
Her eyes slowly opened and she looked at him. “I don’t want your word. I want your heart.”
“You have it, cara. You have all of it.”
“Why do you feel now, but you didn’t before?”
He used the pad of his thumb to dry her cheek. “I feel. I’ve always felt things, sometimes so strongly that I keep those emotions under lock and key.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I was the youngest in a big family. Everyone else was important. Everyone else had a voice. I was the baby, dismissed as shallow and silly, a boy with a pretty face. I learned to hide things, especially the things that affected me deeply. It’s become a terrible habit, and I promise to never again shut you out.”
Her hand reached for his. Her fingers circled his. “I need to know how you feel. We need to know, your baby and me.”
“Our baby,” he corrected. “And, yes, I agree.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS A week before she was released from the hospital but now they were all back at the castello, a family having come home.
The grapes were close to being harvested, and the days were long and warm. During the morning and early afternoon, Brando was in the fields, and with his winemakers, but late afternoon he always returned to her. Now Charlotte drowsed in the lounge chair beneath an umbrella by the pool, their newborn asleep on her chest, while Brando swam laps. She could hear the lazy hum of bees in the flowers in the big terra-cotta pots and the warble of a distant bird. Now and then she opened her eyes to watch him swim, marveling at the ripple of bronzed skin and muscle against the sparkling water.
He was magnificent.