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‘I’m sure you have things you’d rather not share,’ I shot back, even though I suspected it was unwise. ‘Do we have to tell each other everything?’
Matteo glowered at me. ‘We are husband and wife, Daisy—’
‘This is still just a trial.’
As soon as I said the words I wished I hadn’t. Why on earth was I picking a fight? I didn’t want to remind Matteo of the stupid trial; I didn’t want to be angry with him or him with me. But neither did I want to tell him how naïve and stupid I was—how used.
Matteo’s brows snapped together and his eyes blazed. Too late. He was angry.
‘Is that how you still see it, Daisy?’ he asked, his voice a low growl. ‘Truly?’ He gestured to my middle. ‘Do you realise we might have already created a baby together? I did not use protection that first time. Have you thought of that?’
Yes, I had—although I’d been too shy and nervous to mention it to him. Part of me half hoped I was pregnant. I knew it was probably unlikely but, dreamy fool that I was, I insisted on painting rainbows in a stormy sky.
‘It has crossed my mind,’ I admitted.
Matteo shook his head. ‘Yet still you talk about a trial?’ he demanded.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered. ‘I didn’t mean it. But why can’t you just drop it, Matteo?’ To my mortification, tears came to my eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter any more.’
‘Clearly it still grieves you, and therefore it does matter.’ Gently he wiped a tear that had trickled onto my cheek. ‘Why can’t you tell me, Daisy?’
‘I...I don’t know. It’s embarrassing, I suppose, and it makes me feel about two feet tall.’
I sighed and pulled my robe more tightly around me as I succumbed to the inevitable. Embraced it. How could I expect Matteo to be more vulnerable, more open, if I wasn’t willing to be so myself?
‘I’ll tell you, Matteo, if you really want to know.’
* * *
The sight of Daisy’s tear-filled eyes, her slumped shoulders, filled me with something close to fury. Whatever memory she was holding close it was an incredibly painful one, and I hated that. I hated that far more than I should.
‘I do want to know,’ I said, taking her by the hand. ‘But, more than that, I want you to want to tell me.’
‘There’s nothing you can do about it—’
‘We shall see about that.’
Whoever had hurt my wife would pay. In some way, he’d pay.
‘Come and sit down,’ I urged, and with a surrendering sort of nod Daisy allowed me to lead her to one of the sofas in the living room. The sun was setting and the whole world was bathed in vivid orange and pink; the light gilded her with gold as she curled up in a corner of the sofa.
‘I don’t know where to begin,’ she said, with a shaky, uncertain laugh.
‘Begin at the beginning,’ I told her as I tucked a damp tendril of hair behind her ear, because I felt the need to reassure her with my touch. ‘Or wherever you feel you want to.’
‘The beginning, I suppose, is back in Briar Valley.’ She sighed and wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘I always loved singing as a child, and Briar Valley is such a small place... I suppose I must have some talent, right?’
I opened my mouth to insist she had a great deal of talent, but she forestalled me with a shake of her head.
‘Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is, after my grandmother died I was at a loose end, to put it mildly. There was no money, and I didn’t have many friends—most people my age had left Briar Valley long before I did. So I decided to hitch my wagon to the proverbial star and head to the city in search of fame and fortune.’
She had told me as much before, but there was a darker undercurrent to her words now.
‘You wouldn’t be the first person to do so, Daisy,’ I said in a low voice.
I imagined her alone in the city, trying to make her way, innocent and optimistic, and my hackles rose in defence. Who had snuffed out her dreams—perhaps even worse?
‘No, and I don’t suppose I’ll be the last. Anyway, I went to New York full of dreams and determination, and I believed that would be enough. Turns out you need talent too.’
