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‘That’s not what I meant.’ He reached over and grabbed her hand.
It was unexpected. A little part of the biscuit dropped from her hand onto the cobbled street.
Her eyes fixed on it lying amongst the cobbles, rather than looking at his hands or his face. She didn’t pull her hand back. ‘I get it, Logan. You’d rather not have to work with me. But I won’t compromise on my job. We’re just going to have to both be professional about it.’ She lifted her gaze to meet his.
His eyes widened. ‘No, Lucia. You’re reading this all wrong.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I know we had a difficult past. And seeing you after all these years...it’s been...’ He seemed to struggle to find the right word. ‘It’s been hard.’
She felt her heart squeeze.
He moved the position of his hand. This time his thumb was inside her palm, moving in tiny circular motions, while the rest of his hand rested over hers.
He lowered his voice. ‘But it’s been good to see you, Lucia. Really good. It’s left me wondering why we didn’t do this earlier.’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Because it would have been too hard.’ Her gaze was steady on his. ‘And you’re right, it is still hard.’
‘But it doesn’t have to be?’ There was an edge of optimism in his voice. A little glimmer of hopefulness.
Tears prickled in her eyes. A lump rose instantly in her throat. This was dangerous territory. Business was business, but this was something else entirely. She swallowed. ‘I think it always will be. There’s too many memories. Too many associations.’
He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Logan had always been like this. His thumb kept moving in little circles, the way it always had when he was trying to soothe her. And for the most part it worked. Logan had always been cool, almost like the eye of a storm. Few things made him ever raise his voice. Few things made him rattled.
She looked at him again. He was still her Logan. Still so handsome. Still so protective. Grief had made his love feel suffocating. But the truth was Logan had never been suffocating. He’d encouraged her to blossom and grow while they’d been in Florence together. He’d be the very person to tell her never to hide her light under a bushel.
Why on earth hadn’t he met someone over the last twelve years? Why wasn’t he married with children? It had always been what he wanted. And he’d seemed to cope so much better with the death of Ariella Rose than she had.
He’d been grief-stricken for sure. The plans they’d made for baby furniture and paraphernalia had silently disappeared. He’d spoken to the doctors regarding a proper burial. Things were difficult when a baby was so young. But Logan’s calm and assuring manner had persuaded them to go along with his wishes and they’d got to lay Ariella Rose to rest in a cemetery just outside the city walls.
The short ceremony by the priest had been beautiful, the flowers and funeral arrangements all carried out by Logan—she’d been too numb to help with any of it.
It was only now, in hindsight, that she could appreciate just how hard that must have been for him. She hadn’t been the only one to cry over the death of their daughter. And after he’d spent days trying to get her talk and she hadn’t responded he’d finally stopped and mirrored her behaviour. Closing in on himself and shutting out the world around him.
He finally replied. ‘Let’s just see how things are. I’m glad we’ve met again, Lucia. I’m glad that you’re settled in an amazing city and doing a job that you love.’
There it was. The unspoken words.
I’m glad you’ve finally moved on.
But had she?
* * *
All he wanted to do was reach across the table and hold her. Lucia was at her most fragile right now. He could see the hidden pain in her eyes and he hated it that he was the person who had done that to her. Hated that her association with him was her most painful memory.
He had painful memories too. But he was still able to remember the good times in Florence—running through one of the fountains during a rainstorm, watching her face when he’d come home with every flower that the street vendor had been selling, sneaking out in the morning to buy her favourite pastry and watching her nose twitch as she’d woken up to the smell. For a long time Lucia had been his joy—and the feeling had been mutual. He only wished he was still hers.
She’d haunted his dreams on and off for years. Dreams about them meeting again in some random place, having dinner together, or catching each other’s eye across a crowded room.
