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“And you feel the same,” she murmured softly.
There was surprise in the depths of his eyes, but then he nodded. “Yes.”
She nodded for no reason – or perhaps it was because yet another piece of the puzzle was sliding into place, making sense of this man for her. It wasn’t the nineteenth century. They both knew she could have raised this child on her own, and that Massimo could have been an important part of their daughter’s life without Max and Alessia having to get married. But that would have never been enough for Max. He had needed to marry Alessia but not because of their daughter or because of guilt over their first marriage. Massimo was righting a wrong of the past. He was trying to reach back through time and fix his own childhood, to heal the hurts inflicted by his parents, to reassure himself that their acts were outside the biological norm.
Had she always known that? On some level. But clarifying it filled her with a sense of panic, as well as a new sense of commitment. Fully understanding his reasons for insisting on this marriage didn’t change anything – it simply underscored why she needed to remember the strict parameters of what they were.
In the midst of that, though, they were becoming friends, and with every revelation he made, she began to trust him – and she began to trust their future.
Chapter Eleven
“DO YOU EVER THINK about him?”
Even in her third trimester, Alessia moved with a grace that had his eyes lingering on her, watching the gentle movement of her body as she lifted her arms over her head.
She was tired. Christmas at Villa Fortune was exhausting, but he knew it wasn’t just the social interactions with his brothers and cousins, with Elodie and Maddie, and the children.
It was everything that went along with visiting his family. Pretending they were completely in love. Sharing a room, and a bed, when he knew her preference was to avoid that. He’d surprised them both and curled up on the sofa in their room rather than inflict his presence on her. He’d sensed her prevarication, as though she wanted to tell him not to be so silly. And if she’d said that? He would have told her it wasn’t silly. He couldn’t sleep in the same bed as her without touching her. Not intentionally, but during his sleep, he knew he would reach out for her at some point, his fingertips brushing her bare skin, his body stirring to life with needs, his body whispering promises to hers that she too wanted fulfilled.
So he’d slept on the sofa, and she’d slept in the bed, but in the morning, when they’d joined his family and watched as the children unwrapped their gifts, she’d sat at his side, nestled there as though there was nowhere else on earth she’d rather be. And it had been the most natural thing for him to reach down and put an arm around her shoulders and draw her even closer, to press his lips to the top of her head and inhale her sweet fragrance. He’d thought it would be make believe, an act to fool his family into thinking everything between them was normal – a simple marriage – but it hadn’t felt at all like pretence.
He’d watched her with his family and hadn’t felt the usual spear of jealousy – a familiar sensation to him now, whenever he watched her ease with Fiero or Nico, and even with Gabe. She was one of the few people who could easily charm him into a smile.
Why was that j
ealousy missing? Because he had no place for it. He wasn’t excluded from her warmth, he no longer needed to keep her at a distance, as he’d done so well during their marriage. He didn’t need to remind himself the whole time they were together of all the reasons he couldn’t touch her.
She was a grown woman, she was having his baby, and she was relaxing around him, so it was, at times, easy to forget that their marriage was a house of cards. Built on his paying off her ex-fiance and her falling pregnant during a night that shouldn’t have happened.
“Who?” She relaxed back on the sofa, the light cast from the Christmas tree giving her an ethereal glow. He reached for her legs, curled up beneath her, and gently guided them to his lap. His hands moved her feet rhythmically and without forethought – he saw them bare and simply wanted to touch.
He wasn’t sure why he was asking her this. Perhaps he was simply a glutton for punishment?
What could she say that would be acceptable?
“Sam.”
Her eyes opened wide, surprise obvious. “My fiancé?”
“Ex-fiancé,” he corrected automatically.
“Right.” Her smile was relaxed again. She leaned back against the cushion. “That feels so good it should be illegal.”
His body stirred, tightness forming inside of him. He ignored it. Frustration spread through him. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“Didn’t I?” Her eyes were heavy. He should let her go to sleep, not torture her with questions about this man. What was he hoping? That she’d somehow absolve him of all guilt? I never think of him. I never even really liked him. Our engagement was a mistake. Anything that would help him realise that he’d been completely justified in getting involved in her life the way he had?
“Do you really want to talk about him?”
He kept his voice relaxed, though it was with effort. “Sure. Why not?”
Alessia closed her eyes, because it was easier to shield her hurt that way. He didn’t care. He had no personal stake in this question, he was just interested, the way Massimo was interested in everyone and everything. He had to know what made people tick, he had to understand the world – and her fiancé was a part of that. Had their engagement not broken off so abruptly, and so close to the wedding, their night together wouldn’t have happened.
“I don’t think of him often, no.”
His hands running over her feet stilled for a moment so she was tempted to open her eyes and look at him; she didn’t.
“You loved him?”
