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‘Marco, I...’
‘Then we’ll return here. You can live at the palazzo. You’ll need family around you and you don’t want to go back to Manchester. Besides, I need to be either here or London, so it has to be Venice. I can sell the London house, get a flat for when I’m there. I will have to travel a great deal, another reason why you’ll need my family close by.’
That was how he saw her future, was it? Here in Venice, safely tucked away with his family, the family he’d spent over ten years avoiding as much as possible, while he stayed in London.
She opened her mouth, but he ploughed on. ‘I don’t think we should tell anyone anything yet. You can go back to London as planned tomorrow. I’ll be back in a week. I’ll arrange for somebody to move your things into my house this week.’
It was obviously all decided. All taken care of in less than a minute’s decision-making. It didn’t matter what she thought, what she wanted. She was a problem to be taken care of. A problem he had solved in record time.
It wasn’t that she didn’t love Venice, that she couldn’t imagine living here, although she wasn’t sure she would ever feel at home in the huge, ancient palazzo. It wasn’t that she didn’t adore Marco’s family, overbearing as they were, because she did. But it had taken Sophie far too long to get to the point where she made the decisions about her life. She wasn’t about to hand over control to someone else. Just go along meekly with his plans like an obedient little wife.
‘Marco, stop. We don’t need to decide all this now.’ She couldn’t help the slight emphasis on the ‘we’. ‘Let’s take a few days to think about it and talk about it then, when you’ve had time to digest everything.’
He got to his feet, body half turned away, the message clear; this conversation was over. ‘There’s nothing to decide. Look, Sophie, you might not like it. You don’t have to like it. This doesn’t fit my plans either.’ Hurt lanced through her at his cold tones, at each distinct word. ‘But what’s done is done and we need to act like adults, put our own preferences aside.’ He smiled then, a wintry half-smile that left her colder than his earlier bleakness. ‘We get on well enough. We have chemistry. There are worse foundations for marriage.’
‘Yes, but there are better foundations too.’ She looked up at him, putting every ounce of conviction she had into her voice. ‘Marco, it’s the twenty-first century. We can both be involved, be good parents without needing to be married. We don’t need to live together, or even be together. We just need to respect each other and work together. I need you to listen to me, to consult me, not to make pronouncements that affect my entire life and expect me to jump to.’ Sophie could hear the quiver in her voice and swallowed, holding back the threatened tears. ‘I know you don’t want to get married and so thank you for suggesting it. But I don’t think a reluctant marriage is the best thing for me or for the baby.’
She stood up, the blanket slipping off her shoulders as she did so. ‘I am heading back to the palazzo. Please make my apologies to Bianca. I’m going to get my plane tomorrow and I’m asking you to give me some space. Please don’t come to my room tonight or offer to drop me off in the morning—I think we both need some time to think. Think about what’s best for all of us.’
Head held high, she touched him lightly on the cheek before turning and walking away. She’d been expecting anger or denial. Not this cold acceptance. But secretly, buried so deep down she’d hardly been aware of it, she’d been hoping for more. Maybe not love, she wasn’t that much of a fool, but liking. An indication he wanted to be with her. Not cold, hard duty.
But it looked as if cold, hard duty was all he had to offer—and it wasn’t enough. She deserved more—even if her heart was breaking as she turned and walked away. But better a cracked heart now than a lifetime with someone who didn’t want or respect her. Better a cracked heart than allowing someone to dictate her life. Because she’d allowed that to happen twice, and she’d had to fight to be free twice. Last time she’d vowed never again and she’d meant it. She meant it now. No matter how much it hurt.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘I CAN’T BELIEVE there are so many photos of you. It’s like Marco and his family are famous!’ Ashleigh was once again searching through Italian gossip sites on Sophie’s laptop.
‘Not famous exactly, it’s just they’re a really old family. A really old rich family. A bit like minor royalty.’ Sophie turned her head, not wanting to catch a glimpse of Marco, even on screen. He hadn’t texted, hadn’t called. A week of radio silence. She’d asked for time, asked for space, but this was beginning to feel a lot like punishment. ‘Marco and Bianca are gossip-column staples. Her wedding was a big deal. Not that I knew that when I offered to fix her dress. I’d have been far too terrified.’
