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‘No, go to Paris, be happy and in love. I’ll email you a picture of the scan, okay?’
‘Only if you’re sure.’
‘More than sure. Now go and get ready to look surprised. Au revoir.’
‘Email me straight away, love you.’
‘I love you too.’ Sophie clicked her phone off and suppressed a sigh. It would have been lovely to have her oldest and best friend with her when she met her baby for the first time, but there was no way she would butt in on Ashleigh’s first Valentine’s Day with Lukas.
She turned her phone over and over in her hand. She didn’t have to go alone. After all, there was someone else who was probably just as keen to meet his baby. Their baby.
She hadn’t met up with Marco at all over the last few weeks, partly because he was travelling and partly because he seemed to be respecting her request for space and time. It hadn’t stopped him sending details through for potential flats and houses he ‘wondered’ if she might find more suitable or arranging a delivery service to supply her with home-cooked meals she just needed to heat up. She told herself that she should be mad at his officiousness, but she was so busy and tired the meals were a godsend and she couldn’t help but concede he had a point about the flat. Hers was too small, too noisy and up too many flights of stairs.
The only problem was that every property he sent her was way, way out of her price range. She was pretty sure he was expecting to pay for wherever she moved to and knew that unless she suddenly sold every outfit she had made she was going to have to accept in the short-term at least. Necessity didn’t make it easy though. ‘For goodness’ sake,’ she told herself. ‘At least he’s not expecting you to support him. That’s a huge improvement, right?’ But much as it made sense it still felt like the first step on a very slippery slope.
She sighed. They did need to talk and a scan was a good, positive place to start. Before she could change her mind she called up his name and pressed Send. It was the right thing to do.
* * *
‘Buongiorno.’
Marco scanned Sophie with a critical eye, nodding with satisfaction as he noted the shadows had disappeared from under her eyes and her cheeks had colour once more. Her hair was freshly washed and full of its usual bounce and her eyes no longer had the sad, defeated look he’d taken away with him when he’d left her a few weeks ago. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘Hi.’ She smiled shyly at him and his heart squeezed. It had taken every single ounce of self-control he possessed not to call her or pop round over the last few weeks, but he had promised her, promised himself, that he would give her the control she needed, the time she needed. It had seemed like an eternity.
He’d thought he’d missed her when she left Italy, but that was nothing to the way he’d felt over the last few weeks. He’d thrown himself into work, but it had been almost impossible to concentrate when all he could think about was how he had blown it, how he had destroyed the best thing that had ever happened to him. Through arrogance, through ignorance.
Marco wasn’t sure when he had fallen in love with Sophie, but he did know that this pain in his chest, the ache in his heart, the constant knowledge that something fundamental was missing, was love. He suspected he had fallen for her at some point in Venice. He was sure he loved her when he’d walked away from her flat, when he knew he’d let her down and had no idea how to fix it. When he’d decided that he had to respect her decisions, her choices, no matter how much it hurt him to do so.
He’d hoped that it would simplify things, but, looking at her nervous smile, he realised it complicated everything. If he told her how he felt, he suspected she would feel manipulated, think that he was saying what she wanted to hear, not what he felt, and after the last few weeks he wouldn’t blame her.
He usually had all the answers, but today he had nothing. ‘Thank you, for asking me here today.’
‘I should have given you more notice. It’s lucky you were in London.’
He hadn’t left London, although he’d given her the impression he was away. He couldn’t have left her if his business depended on it. What if she needed him and he was nowhere to be found? He’d let down one family member through pride. That was more than enough.
‘I’d have found a way to get here. What do we do now?’
‘We go in there, register, I have to drink lots of water and then we meet our baby. Ready?’
Our baby. The words hit him with full force. He, Marco Santoro, was going to be a father. Excitement mingled with pride filled him and he vowed he would do anything and everything to keep his child safe and secure. To make him or her happy. For the first time he understood why his mother fretted and planned and pressured him. Why his father had insisted he knew best no matter what Marco said or felt. They too felt this way; misguided as they might have been, they had just wanted to protect him. He just needed to remember that his version of happiness might not be the same as his child’s. He took a deep breath. Yes, he was ready for fatherhood and all it entailed. ‘Sì, let’s do this.’
