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She knew he loved her.
The night hadn’t been about the children or staying together for the family. It had been about them as a couple. About expressing their love.
He still hadn’t told her that he wasn’t going to let her leave, but he would. She knew he would.
He was probably just being sensitive about bringing the subject up.
Tomorrow he’d tell her that she was staying in that arrogant, autocratic manner of his. She’d say yes.
And Christmas would be perfect.
Christy was making breakfast when the phone rang.
Before she could answer it, Alessandro strolled into the kitchen and picked up the handset. His eyes lingered on her flushed cheeks for a moment and then he gave a slow smile of masculine satisfaction and she blushed deeply.
Help, she thought as she turned back to the hob to stir the porridge. She was behaving like a teenager.
She was so lost in her own dreamy thoughts that she didn’t even listen to Alessandro’s conversation—didn’t even register that he was off the phone until he walked across the kitchen and poured himself a large mug of coffee.
‘That was your brother,’ he said, and his voice was so cold that she looked at him in alarm.
‘Is everything all right? Has something happened?’ A moment ago Alessandro had been looking at her as if he had every intention of skipping work and taking her back to bed. Now he looked remote and unapproachable and nothing like the man who’d made love to her all night.
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he said smoothly, ‘except that his other practice nurse has slipped on the ice and broken her wrist. So he wonders if you’d consider coming back immediately after Christmas.’
Her heart flipped. Surely this was the moment when he was going to tell her that she had to stay, that he wasn’t going to let her leave.
‘Well, I hadn’t thought about going that quickly…’ She hesitated, waited for him to interrupt her and tell her that she wasn’t going at all, but he stood still, studying her face with brooding intensity.
What was he thinking?
‘I’ll ring Peter back,’ she said quickly, ‘and chat about it.’
‘Fine.’ His mouth set in a grim line, Alessandro slammed his mug down on the table so hard that most of the liquid sloshed over the wood. Then he strode from the room, narrowly avoiding a collision with Katy, who was on her way to find breakfast.
She watched her father go with a look of surprise and then saw the pool of liquid on the table. ‘Now I know where Ben gets it from,’ she said wearily as she walked round the table and reached for a cloth. ‘Spilling drinks is obviously a genetic defect. Remind me to screen any man I marry—I don’t want to spend my life mopping up puddles.’
Christy was too miserable even to raise a smile.
Now what?
She thought back to the conversation they’d had when he’d walked out of the shower the night before. He’d been talking about the time they’d met. Hadn’t he implied last night that they’d married in too much of a hurry?
Obviously he was the one who was regretting their whirlwind courtship.
Perhaps, after all, he wanted to be free to date women like Katya but was much too traditional to make that decision himself.
So he was expecting her to make it.
Why hadn’t he told her that she couldn’t leave? She felt tears prick her eyes as she turned off the heat and poured porridge into bowls for the children.
‘Mum, this isn’t the story of Goldilocks, you know.’ Katy stared at the meagre contents of her bowl. ‘And I’m not baby bear. That’s never going to keep me warm on a cold day.’
Realising that she’d only put a spoonful in the bowl, Christy gave a wan smile and filled the bowl to the top.
‘Are you all right, Mum?’
No, Christy thought, suppressing a hysterical giggle. She was far from all right.
