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“I’m pregnant.”
“Of course.” He moved into the room, taking her hands in his, lifting them between them. “I’m trying here, Alessia. Come to dinner with me. We’ll share a meal. Bene?”
At that precise moment, her traitorous tummy made a grumbling noise. His laugh sent a kaleidoscope of butterflies through her belly. “You’re hungry.”
She pulled away from him, needing physical space. “Yes. Fine. Give me a minute to get ready.” She didn’t look at him, but waited until the door clicked shut to exhale. The room smelled like him, a lingering aroma of pine needles and citrus spice. It had been a cold day. She grabbed a thick woollen coat and scarf and changed into a pair of socks and boots, then added a hint of make up to a face that was pale – clearly showing how poorly she’d slept the night before.
When she emerged downstairs, Max was standing in the hallway by the door. He was wearing the same suit he’d been wearing before, but he’d added his own coat and scarf. He looked so damned suave and perfect. She wouldn’t have been human if she didn’t feel a jolt of desire for him. What red-blooded woman wouldn’t have been affected by his obvious good looks?
“Ready?” She asked, her tone business-like as she reached the bottom step. His smile threatened to disarm her.
“Yes.”
He opened the door and put a hand in the small of her back, lightly and instinctively, as though he might not have realised he was doing it. But Alessia realised. The simple touch sent fireworks buzzing through her.
It would have been childish to jerk free, but as soon as they were on the front step she moved away from him, looking down the street. The air was bracingly cold, the street stunningly beautiful. At this time of year, golden lights were strung from one side of the street to the other,
zigging and zagging the length of it, perfectly festive and lovely. She remembered this so well.
Of course, she’d been so young and in love then, such a fool. She’d decorated the house to match the street – making sure a huge fir tree was erected in the front window so passers by could enjoy the spectacle. She’d filled it with lights and ornaments that she’d bought with the romantic notion they’d be something she’d pull out every year and add to as well, each ornament bringing with it a story she could tell her kids and one day, her grandkids. What foolish dreams she’d cherished then! Their marriage had meant nothing to him. He’d used her. Everyone had used her.
She tilted her chin, blotting out the beauty of the street. “Which way?”
His hand found the small of her back again. He guided her towards the corner. “You loved the duck.”
It took her a moment to remember, but yes, he was right. She’d eaten duck a l’orange for her birthday that night, and it had been one of the best things she’d ever tasted.
At the restaurant, Massimo was greeted like family, the waiter pulling him into a hug.
“My wife, Alessia,” he introduced.
“Ah, yes,” the waiter nodded. “So nice to have you back, Signore.”
Alessia frowned. Had he served them last time? She couldn’t remember.
“Thank you.” Her voice sounded so prim. She attempted to soften it with a smile but her lips barely cooperated. She looked away as Max helped her out of her coat and scarf, handing both to the handsome French man before removing his own winter wear.
Thankfully, the waiter led them to a table on the other side of the restaurant to where they’d sat that night. Then, they’d been folded into an intimate space near the back. Now, there was a table by the window, and the waiter showed them to it with panache, pulling out a seat for Alessia before draping her lap in a napkin.
“Some wine?”
“Sparkling water,” she said with another attempt at a smile.
“Very good. And Massimo? The Sangiovese?”
“Water will be fine.”
When they were alone, Alessia said quietly, “You can have a glass of wine, Max. Don’t feel you can’t drink because I’m not.”
“I’m happy with water.”
“Honestly, I really don’t drink often at all so it’s not like pregnancy has been much of an adjustment.”
He settled back in his seat, watching her carefully. “I suppose being a doctor, you are best to stay sober?”
“I’m on call – I was on call – often,” she agreed, lifting her slender shoulders. It was tempting to confide in him, but she didn’t. She’d learned that lesson and she intended to remember it. Max had a skill for making her feel at ease – so that she gave away far too much of herself while he stayed resolutely silent and closed. She’d given him way too much already.
“You like what you do?”
