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‘You have no idea what I’m feeling,’ she said, tilting her head to his. ‘So don’t tell me how I’m supposed to act. Don’t tell me I’m going to be like myself again.’
He nodded sympathetically, but when he spoke it was with grim determination. ‘This was my baby too. Do you think you are the only one who is grieving?’
She sucked in a deep breath. ‘Are you trying to make me feel guilty now?’
He sighed. ‘No, nothing like that. But you are not alone in this.’
‘Yes, I am.’ She squeezed her eyes shut against all the pain and sadness that was choking her. ‘And I want to be alone.’ She lay back against the sofa, turning her back on him and closing her eyes.
She breathed in and out and now, with her eyes shut, and sadness filling her up; she could finally see their baby again. She could see his little face and the dimples she’d imagined he’d have; she sobbed freely, believing herself to be alone. She sobbed with all the grief in her heart. And she wasn’t just grieving their baby. It was everything. The loss of hope. Of love. Of her belief that she had found her own happily ever after.
‘You’re not alone,’ he said finally, after so long that she’d presumed he’d left. ‘I’m here with you.’
She sobbed harder, grieving their baby as well as their love. Grieving the life she’d imagined before her.
It was all a lie, just like everything about them.
‘I wish I’d never met you. I wish you’d never spoken to me.’
‘Hush, hush,’ he murmured, patting her back.
‘I hate you,’ she sobbed into the pillow. ‘I hate you so much.’
* * *
Skye wasn’t sleeping, so much as dozing fitfully. She was exhausted, yet the second she closed her eyes and drifted off she awoke in a panic, feeling as though she were drowning and there was nothing she could do to stop the water that was gushing into her lungs.
She woke in such a manner early the next day, and she noticed three things.
A small water glass had been filled with geraniums at some point and placed on the occasional table beside her. And she knew who had done it. The gesture iced her heart, for it was at once both so sweet and meaningless.
Matteo was asleep across the room, sitting in an armchair dressed in day clothes, looking as exhausted as she felt.
And she was hungry.
It was just a kernel of need, but it was unmistakable. She pushed off the sofa quietly, careful not to wake Matteo, and padded into the kitchen. There was no Melania, no one. Skye wondered, vaguely, if Matteo had told Melania. Had even asked her to give them space.
The fridge was full, as always, but when Skye opened it and looked inside she couldn’t make up her mind as to what she felt like.
She opted for a small croissant, simply because she could eat it without any preparation or fuss. She took it with her onto the terrace and stared out at the city, her stomach dropping with grief at this place that would never be her home.
‘Cara.’ The word was gravelled. She spun around, her cheeks flushing with something like guilt. Matteo looked...terrible and delicious all at once. She tamped down on the stirring of primal needs.
She wouldn’t answer their call ever again.
‘I thought you were gone.’
She blinked, turning away from him,
facing out towards Venice. ‘No.’
She felt him move behind her and braced for the inevitable physical contact. Perhaps understanding what she needed most of all, he stayed a little distance away, giving her space.
‘How are you feeling today?’
She shrugged. What words were there for how she felt?
‘Come and rest some more,’ he said softly. ‘It’s early.’
