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“I’m not hungry,” he retorted blithely.
“Don’t be an idiot,” she muttered. “Just… stay there.” She regarded him with a frown. He looked truly dreadful. In her kitchen, she fossicked through her pantry for something that might tempt his appetite. She couldn’t help smiling, when she remembered the chips she’d bought earlier that day, for lunch. She hadn’t eaten them, in the end, because she’d been so shell-shocked by the discovery of her pregnancy that she’d been unable to think of anything else. She heated them in the microwave, which made them soggy and warm, then layered them in between white bread, liberally smothered in butter. As the chips landed on the spread they melted it, making the sandwiches ooze with golden goo. Just as they ought to. She added a squeeze of HP sauce for good measure, and then placed another buttery slice of bread on top. She cut them into triangles, and assembled them on a plate.
She froze just inside the door to the lounge. Carlo was reclined on the sofa, his eyes shut, his expression tense. Was he sleeping? She walked quietly across the carpet, placing the sandwich plate onto the coffee table as she passed. She leaned over him, and just stared. Even now, so slim and pale, he was still the most beautiful man she’d ever known. Her fingertips tingled with the need to touch him. Just one little caress of his cheek, to be sure he was okay.
But he looked exhausted, and she rationalised that he’d be better left to sleep. Or should she wake him to eat? Jane was riddled by doubt as to how best to proceed.
Just as she made the decision to leave him sleep for a little while, his dark eyes sprung open, and lanced her blue gaze instantly. Her stomach rolled like she was dropping off the side of a cliff. He stared up at her, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. His gaze was intent on her face, and slowly, as if drawn by a magnet within her, he lifted his hand to her face. Just as she’d been longing to do to him, he cupped her cheek.
She closed her eyes and pressed her face against his palm.
“Have I proved myself to you enough, cara?”
“Proved yourself?” She queried, her voice a husky whisper.
“You told me that you would only be happy if I left you alone. Are you happy?”
Jane didn’t meet his eyes. She couldn’t. Instead, she pulled away from his hand and stared bleakly at the wall. “I made sandwiches. You need to eat.” She walked towards the coffee table, lifted the plate in two hands and carried it over to Carlo.
“I don’t want to eat,” he said impatiently. “I’m not fucking hungry.”
Her heart turned over. “Eat. I’m not saying another word until you have had at least two triangles,” she threatened.
His expression was mutinous, but he did reach out and take one of the pieces from the plate.
She watched him eat, feeling oddly buoyed when he finished one and reached for another.
“I had forgotten how much I love these,” he said, moments later, as he reached for a third.
“Had you? Anna said you used to make them, after I left.”
He nodded. “Yes, for a time.”
Jane dropped her gaze. She didn’t want to talk about the past. It would likely get her nowhere. But so many questions had formed over the last few weeks. Things she needed to know, and wanted to understand. She opened her mouth to ask the questions, but something held her back. Uncertainty and nervousness.
What was she hoping? That he’d be able to explain everything away? So that they could get their happy ending after all? What kind of naïve child was she? The happiest ending she could hope for was a healthy baby at the end of a trouble free pregnancy. Things with Carlo were too broken to be repaired.
He put the plate down, and turned to face her. “Don’t suppose you have coffee?”
Usually, she would have said something snappy about being ordered about, but she was so thrilled that he was seeming more like himself that she stood immediately. To her mutual chagrin and surprise, he followed her into the kitchen, and watched as she loaded a pod into her nespresso. “Black?”
He looked at her with mock surprise. “Is there any other way? I know you were only an Italian for a year, but I thought we had imprinted these habits on you.”
She couldn’t help the small smile on her lips. “Some habits more than others.”
“Such as?”
“Mmm, the food. Definitely the food. I miss Anna’s bruschetta and papa il pomodoro, and her Bolognese, as you know.”
“Is that all you miss?” He mocked gently, so much more like the usual Carlo Santini that Jane was almost sorry for plying him with delicious sandwiches.
“I think I liked it better when you were all silent and exhausted,” she said impishly, handing him a cup of black coffee.
He grinned as he took it. “What can I say? Seeing you again has been very reviving for my spirits?”
“Has it?” She asked nervously. She wondered if he’d still feel that way when she slammed him with the shock of an unexpected pregnancy. Again, her stomach rolled with anxiety. Was she being precipitous to tell him before she’d seen a doctor? Maybe she should have got proper medical confirmation first. Surely those tests weren’t always accurate.
Jane’s inner-Jane rolled her eyes. Of course they were accurate. One in a million might malfunction, but four different tests from four different makers? She was pregnant.
