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CHAPTER NINE
TO SOPHIE’S AMAZEMENT Marco was still in the breakfast room when she came down, having overslept again. She stopped and hovered at the door, stupidly shy.
How she could feel shy when he’d left her bedroom just four short hours ago, how she could still feel shy after the things they’d done in that bedroom, eluded her and yet her stomach swooped at the sight of him and her tongue was suddenly too large for her mouth, like a teenager seeing her crush across the hallway.
They hadn’t eaten breakfast together since that first morning. He was usually already out working when she came downstairs, their first communication of the day at lunch. Lunch was civilised, easy to navigate, but breakfast? Breakfast was an intimate meal. She wasn’t ready for breakfast...
His presence wasn’t the only thing that had changed. The atmosphere in the palazzo seemed lighter somehow, less fraught. Less weighted with the air of things left unsaid, when the silences were more eloquent than words. For the first time since the party she and Marco had stayed at the palazzo for dinner last night and Marco hadn’t tensed up too much when his mother had quizzed Sophie once more about her future plans and shot him meaningful glances every time she did so. Marco’s mother was very charming, but over the space of the evening she’d ramped up the inquisitional levels to almost overbearing, her hints so broad Sophie hadn’t known where to look half the time. She’d aimed for obliviousness, but it was difficult to look unknowing when she was invited to try on Marco’s dead grandmother’s engagement ring, asked about her perfect honeymoon plans or how many children she wanted and didn’t she think her eyes with Marco’s colouring would look cute in a baby?
She might, possibly, have been able to laugh the whole thing off if it weren’t for the pregnancy. Guilt, embarrassment and fear mingled in a toxic concoction every time Marco’s mother opened her mouth. Every time Signora Santoro mentioned children guilt shot through Sophie, like a physical pain. It took everything she had to sit and pretend everything was okay, not to jump up and announce her pregnancy in a rush of tears. She still thought it was fair to wait until after the wedding, it was just a week’s delay after all, but she knew in her heart she was deceiving Marco, lying to him by omission.
And part of her knew it wasn’t Bianca’s welfare really driving her, it was fear. She’d spent so long living her mother’s dreams, only to crush them when she’d walked away, the rift still no way near repaired. Then she’d allowed Harry to set her course, making him the sole focus of her life. This family was so certain, so overbearing, so grand and overwhelming—what if they tried to take control as soon as they knew about the baby? Had the last year and a half given her enough strength to hold firm and make her own choices?
Time would tell, but she needed these days to prepare. To try to work out exactly what she, Sophie Bradshaw, wanted, before the Santoro expectations descended onto her.
She took a deep breath and walked into the room, hooking a chair and sitting down, swiping a piece of brioche off Marco’s plate as she did so. The key to fighting off both the tiredness and nausea, she’d realised, was carbs and plenty of them. The way she was eating she’d be sporting plenty of bumps long before the baby actually started to show.
‘Good morning. All on your own?’
Marco folded his newspaper up and pushed it to one side. Sophie really liked the way he focussed his full attention on the people he was with, apologising if he checked his phone or took a call. He never kept his phone on the table when they were out, never scrolled through it when she was speaking. Harry had never made any secret of the fact every contact in his phone, every game, every meme, every football result came before her. ‘You just missed Mamma and Bianca. They told me to remind you that you can join them at any time. Apparently the twenty times they asked you last night wasn’t a pressing enough invitation. Are you sure you don’t want to go with them?’
Sophie grinned. ‘Your mother, Bianca’s future mother-in-law, all five of her future sisters-in-law and her three best friends all alternately talking in Italian so I sit there gaping like a goldfish before switching to English to quiz me on your intentions and my potential wedding plans? There’s not a spa luxurious enough to tempt me.’ She realised how ungrateful that sounded and backtracked quickly. ‘I like them all well enough, in fact I love Bianca and your mother individually...’
‘But together they strike fear into the heart of the bravest warrior?’
‘They really do. Besides, the day after tomorrow it’s the wedding and I fly back to London the morning after that. I’m making final adjustments to Bianca’s and the bridesmaids’ dresses tomorrow, which makes this my last free day here. I want to make the most of it. Explore Venice one final time.’
