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No one else could really understand how they both felt—not unless they’d lost a child too.
He straightened up and sat back down in the chair opposite her again. But this time he pulled it closer, away from the table and round to the side so their legs were touching.
‘I miss things,’ he said softly. ‘I miss us. I miss what we used to have together. I didn’t just lose a daughter, Lucia. I lost the love of my life too.’
He could see her swallow painfully. It wasn’t just him that felt this way. But somehow Lucia didn’t want to go there. It was as if, now she’d finally managed to say something about Ariella, she didn’t know how to stop.
‘Sometimes I think we were lucky. Sometimes I think that I’m selfish.’
His head shot up in surprise. ‘What?’
She scrunched up her face. Her voice was sad. ‘I look at other people who’ve lost children. You see them on the news all the time. They had a little person, a real little person with life and spark and personality, and it’s just...’ she shook her head ‘...ripped from their grasp. One day they have a little boy or girl in their room at home, talking, laughing, playing, then the next day because of disease or accidents or war their precious little person is stolen from them. Gone, in the blink of an eye.’
Her eyes fixed on the uneven ground beneath their feet. ‘That’s when I think that most of the time I don’t know what I missed. I can pretend. I can build up all these thoughts of what Ariella Rose could have been like in my head.’ She met his gaze. ‘But the truth is, you and I will never know. Is it easier to lose a baby that you loved and hoped for than it is to lose an actual child you’ve spent years bringing up?’ She shook her head again.
‘I try to rationalise why I feel so empty. I try to make excuses about why I don’t want to be around pregnant colleagues or friends.’ She gave him a sad kind of smile. ‘I have twelve years’ worth of excuses, Logan, with reasons for not visiting new babies or friends playing happy families. It would surprise you how often I’m away with work.’
He could feel the tiny hairs standing up at the back of his neck. It just didn’t feel quite right. He could feel her stepping back, detaching herself from the thoughts and feelings she’d been having a few moments ago. It was the slight change in the tone of her voice. The cool way she could look at him now.
For a few seconds her heart had been virtually on display. Her fears and hidden emotions had been coming to the surface. But even though she hadn’t moved, was still sitting on the chair next to him, still letting their legs touch, she was pulling back again.
The only reason he could pick up on the tiny clues was because he knew her so well.
She straightened her spine in the chair. He could sense her sorting out her thoughts, finding a way to steal herself back from what she’d almost revealed.
He reached out to take her hand again. ‘How would you feel about taking a visit to Florence again? How would you feel about us going together to Ariella Rose’s grave?’
She pulled her hand back sharply from his, almost as if she’d been stung. It was too much. It was a step too far.
She wasn’t ready to take it. She might never be ready to take it.
And with that realisation he felt the woman he’d always loved slip away from him once again.
Her face had turned into a mask. ‘I don’t want to do that, Logan. I don’t think it’s necessary.’
Her phone beeped in her bag and she bent forward, obviously glad of the distraction.
Their coffees and breakfast were virtually untouched, discarded.
A bit like how he felt right now.
She gave a false smile. ‘It’s work. With the computer program verifying Burano as the artist of the fresco, we can start to plan for the restoration now.’
She stood up quickly. It was almost as if their conversation had been forgotten.
For a few seconds he didn’t move. He’d almost got there. They’d almost got there.
For him it was all or nothing. He knew that Lucia was the woman that he wanted, but he wasn’t just prepared to accept a small part of her. And just when she’d started, just when she’d finally managed to talk about their daughter, it was almost as if he’d been able to see the shutters come down over her eyes, closing off the part of her that was most exposed, most vulnerable and cocooning it back in herself.
He had so many hidden hopes and plans for them. Last night had been wrong. Last night had made him think that there might just be hope for them. That this relationship could actually bloom and grow after all these years.
