Her New Year Baby Secret Page 16

  It was a start. If he had his way, she’d be living with him and wouldn’t need to cope on her own. But he had agreed to respect her wishes—it didn’t mean he couldn’t make things a little easier for her though.

  Marco hailed a cab the second they left the hospital and gave directions as he opened the door for Sophie. Neither of them spoke as the taxi crawled along. It was barely three miles to their destination, but in London traffic that could mean an eternity. As they sat there Marco was assailed by homesickness for the city of his birth. Yes, Venice could be insanely crowded, but just five minutes on a boat and he could be in a deserted spot the tourists would never discover. London had been a wonderful adventure, the place where he had grown up, established himself, become a man in his own right, not just the Santoro heir, but he was ready to move on.

  Except Sophie was here—and so his child would be here. Which meant London was his home too for the foreseeable future.

  ‘I don’t know this area at all.’ Sophie was looking around as the taxi inched its way around Hyde Park heading north. ‘I spent my first few nights in London at a cheap hotel near Euston while I looked for work and, once I had the job, rented a flat as close by the office as I could afford. Luckily I had a small savings account I’d kept from Harry—if he’d known, he’d have spent it on guitars or booze or a lads’ holiday. I was saving up for a wedding or a baby. Luckily I came to my senses before either of those chained me to him, but it did mean I could afford the first six months’ rent while I started to make a life for myself here. But I’m ashamed to say I haven’t explored London much at all in the year and a half I’ve been here. I’m usually working for Clio or working for myself at home.’

  She sounded so matter of fact, Marco couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been starting afresh in a new city where she knew no one, had nothing. He had already had some contacts when he’d made the move over, a fledgling business and money enough to make the move easy and comfortable. Being his own man was so important to him, but, he acknowledged ruefully, it was easier to start from a position of privilege with a network of contacts than it was completely alone and from scratch. He might have the more successful business, the expensive house, the influential network, but Sophie had a grit and determination he could only hope to emulate and learn from.

  He’d thought she was beautiful the first time he’d met her, shivering in the snow, enjoyed her company over the first couple of glasses of wine. He’d been intrigued by her lack of interest in pursuing a relationship with him, a refreshing attitude to his jaded soul, and been taken aback by her horrified response to his family’s wealth and influence. There was a grounded realness to Sophie he hadn’t come across before. Her experiences could so easily have made her bitter, but instead, although she maintained a guard over her emotions, she was willing and ready to embrace life, to try new things whether it was a small challenge like driving his boat or a huge one like motherhood. He wanted to be with her every step of the way. He just had no idea how to make her believe he meant it.

  * * *

  Marco was quieter than usual. Partly because, like her, he was overwhelmed by the scan bringing the baby to life before their eyes and partly, she suspected, because he was trying his best to show her that he had taken her wishes on board. How long he would manage to consult her before taking any step, from hailing a taxi to opening the door for her, she wasn’t sure, but she was touched to see the effort he was making with such sincerity.

  The taxi had dropped them off just north of Paddington by a canal filled, to Sophie’s delight, with colourful narrowboats. ‘They call this area Little Venice,’ Marco explained. ‘It isn’t a patch on the real thing, naturally, but it has a real beauty of its own.’

  ‘I love narrowboats,’ Sophie said, staring around her with fascination. ‘I’ve always wanted to live on one and travel from place to place, you know, with pots of herbs and flowers on the roof and maybe a dog.’

  ‘Lovely in summer,’ he said doubtfully. ‘Probably less romantic in late November when it’s been raining for weeks and you can’t dry your clothes.’

  ‘It’s always sunny in my imagination.’ They began walking along the towpath, Sophie peeking in at each boat they passed, squeaking in excitement when she spotted something novel whether it was a cat curled up in the sun or a riotous selection of flowers and vegetables covering the entirety of the boat.

  He didn’t say that the palazzo overlooked a canal on one side, that the terrace and courtyard were big enough to grow all the herbs and flowers she desired, that the heating kept it toasty warm in the colder months and the shuttered windows and thick walls provided shade and coolness in the summer. He didn’t need to; she knew it as well as he did.

  She knew there were plenty of empty salons just waiting to be put to use, rooms she could line with rails filled with her designs, a drawing board set up by the window, her sewing machine in one corner, a cutting-out table in the other. All that could be hers, she only had to say the word.

  But space and money weren’t enough. All she wanted, all she’d ever wanted was unconditional love. And for that she’d have gladly lived on a narrowboat through the fiercest of storms.

  ‘There are several cafés on boats, one of which is an Italian deli run by a Venetian man. I can vouch for the quality of both his pasta and his bread. How hungry are you?’

  Sophie considered. She could always eat, but was she actually hungry? ‘You know, I think if I get a snack to sustain me I would rather walk first, eat afterwards. Is that okay?’

  ‘Of course, it’s still early. Why don’t we walk up to Regent’s Park and decide what to do next from there?’

  After a black coffee for Marco and a bottle of sparkling water and a toasted ciabatta filled with mozzarella and tomatoes for Sophie at what was, she conceded, the best Italian café she had been to in London, they headed north towards Maida Vale and Regent’s Park. The sun was warm, a gorgeous contrast to the dampness that had characterised most of February and added to the almost holiday atmosphere along the canal side. A family passed them, a baby snug in a sling against its mother’s chest, a curly-haired toddler swung high on his father’s shoulders. Sophie and Marco paused on the towpath to let them walk by and then stood looking after them as the couple chattered and laughed as they pointed things out to their small son.

  Sophie’s heart ached. Would she and Marco ever walk along with their baby in such compatible ease or would it be the polite handovers and lonely nights of a civilised joint custody?

  ‘They look happy,’ he said softly as if reading her mind.

  ‘Yes.’

  He put a hand on her shoulder and she looked up, surprised, to see a serious expression darkening his eyes. ‘Sophie, I just want you to know that I am here for you, whatever you decide to do, however you decide to do it. I know how important your independence is to you. I admire...’ he paused, a smile twisting his mouth ‘...I really admire how hard you’ve fought for it, fought for everything you’ve achieved. You should be so proud. I am. I just want you to know that.’

  Sophie’s heart began to speed up, her throat constricting as she listened to him.

  ‘It’s yours, whatever you need, my house in London or the palazzo in Venice or somewhere new. For me they are just places, but I want to help you find a home, the right home for you and the baby. If you’ll let me. I don’t have much else to offer, I realise that now. Strip away my name, strip away my family and there’s not much there. I told myself that I didn’t need them, that I was enough by myself, yet at the same time I coasted along comfortably on all they brought me. I admit, I didn’t think I needed to ask whether you wanted to marry me or not. I’d spent so long running from marriage it didn’t occur to me that you might turn me down, want something different for your life. I was an arrogant fool.’

  His eyes, still steady on hers, were heavy with sadness and she impulsively lift
ed a hand to his cheek. ‘No, you had good reason to feel that way. I was with you, at that wedding. I saw how people looked at you. I heard what they said. And if I was someone else, if I hadn’t been so broken, then maybe I would have said yes. Maybe respect and chemistry would have been enough.’

  He shook his head. ‘No, you were right. Love is the only basis for marriage. It should be. It’s hard enough to succeed at something so huge without starting out short. I didn’t think I was the kind of man who could love, but you’ve taught me differently.’

  Her pulse began to hammer so loudly the rest of the world was drowned out. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

  ‘I thought of love as selfish, as needy, as constrictive. I thought love meant giving up who you are, what you are. But now I know it means wanting the best for someone else regardless of the cost to you. Tell me what you need from me and I’ll do it. Anything. All I want is to be the best father I can be to our child, to make you as proud of me as I am of you.’

  All the surety had been wiped away, replaced with a heartfelt expression and the kind of tenderness Sophie hadn’t believed could exist in the world, not for her. Scarcely believing, she stared into his face and saw the truth blazing out. He loved her, not because of what she could do, nor because of how she made him feel, but because of who she was.

  ‘Anything?’ She couldn’t believe her voice was so steady.

  ‘Anything,’ he confirmed.

  ‘Then marry me.’ She hadn’t even known that was what she was going to say, but as soon as she said the words she knew they were right. That they were perfect. ‘Marry me three weeks from now in a small ceremony here in London. Just like you wanted, only with the people we love and the people who love us celebrating with us because a wedding should be a celebration, always.’

  ‘It should. I was a fool to think any differently. Sophie, are you sure? You don’t have to do this.’

  ‘Surer than I have ever been about anything. I love you, Marco. Saying no to you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I couldn’t be with someone who didn’t love me again, not even for the baby.’

  ‘You won’t need to,’ he vowed. ‘Because I love you more than I ever thought possible.’ He grinned. ‘See how far I’ve come? My machismo is not even slightly dented by your proposal.’

  ‘You did propose to me twice first,’ she pointed out. ‘Although the first time was more of a fait accompli than an actual proposal.’

  Marco caught both her hands in his. ‘Not only do I accept your proposal, but I’ll make you a promise, here and now, as binding as any wedding vow. We’re a team. I’ll always remember that. I won’t ever try to control you, try to stop you from fulfilling your dreams, from being the person you want to be.’

  ‘That’s all I need.’ She laced her fingers through his; now she could hold on to him she didn’t want to ever let go. ‘That’s all I ever needed. Your promise and you.’

  And as he bent his head to hers to seal their bargain with a kiss Sophie knew she was home at last. London, Venice, a narrowboat cruising the country, wherever Marco was she would be too. She finally had a place of her own.

  * * * * *

  If you loved this story, make sure you catch the rest of the magical Christmas quartet

  MAIDS UNDER THE MISTLETOE!

  A COUNTESS FOR CHRISTMAS

  by Christy McKellen

  GREEK TYCOON’S MISTLETOE PROPOSAL

  by Kandy Shepherd

  CHRISTMAS IN THE BOSS’S CASTLE

  by Scarlet Wilson

  Keep reading for an excerpt from

  SLOW DANCE WITH THE BEST MAN

  by Sophie Pembroke

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  Slow Dance with the Best Man

  by Sophie Pembroke

  CHAPTER ONE

  THREE DAYS AFTER CHRISTMAS, Eloise Miller stood on the ancient stone steps of Morwen Hall, her hands clasped over the buttons of her dove-grey wool coat, and waited for her childhood arch nemesis to arrive and all hell to break loose.

  ‘I wonder if she’ll wear the veil,’ Laurel mused beside her. ‘I mean, she sent me scampering all over the country looking for the absolute perfect lace confection, but I can’t help thinking that Melissa really doesn’t like it when people can’t see her face.’

  ‘Which explains those awful billboards for her latest film,’ Eloise agreed, thinking of the monstrosities, tall as double decker buses, which featured little more than Melissa’s flawless features, shiny blonde hair and slim, pale shoulders. Oh, and the name of the film, probably. But Eloise would bet money that no one who’d seen the posters could remember what the film was called.

  Melissa had the sort of captivating beauty that made everything else fade into insignificance. Except the fact she was a perennial mean girl, of course.

  ‘Do you think she’s as...demanding on set as she has been over this wedding?’ Laurel asked and, not for the first time, Eloise felt a burst of sympathy for her new friend. As Melissa’s half-sister and wedding planner, Laurel had it far worse than Eloise. Not only did Laurel have to manage a whole five-day wedding celebration extravaganza for the rich and famous but, once this wedding was over, Eloise would never have to see Melissa again. Laurel would.

  Mind you, having survived the teenage years, Eloise had been pretty sure that misery at Melissa’s hands was over for her, especially once Melissa set sail for Hollywood and stardom. And once she’d actually found it, against all the odds, Eloise had been certain that she’d never have to get closer to Melissa Sommers than a movie poster ever again.

  That was until Melissa revealed her engagement to A-list Hollywood actor, Riley Black, in Star! magazine, wearing a giant rock of a diamond on her left hand, and announced her intention to get married back home in England. And not just England—at Morwen Hall, the elite, luxury Gothic stately home turned hotel where she’d spent her teenage years working as a maid, and making Eloise’s life miserable. Well, the last bit wasn’t in the magazine, but it was all Eloise had been able to see when her boss had shown her the article.

  ‘She can’t possibly be as bad on set,’ Eloise answered, shifting from one foot to the other to try and keep warm. She’d go back inside, but she knew the moment she turned her back would be the moment Melissa turned up, complete with her fiancé and his even more famous best man—Noah Cross. That was just the sort of luck she had. And, as the interim ma
nager of Morwen Hall, it was her job to be there to greet their VIP guests. Even if they were planning on filling her hotel with actors. ‘She’s not that good an actress. They wouldn’t keep casting her in all those blockbusters if she was as much of a pain to work with as she has been lately. Or as she was at Morwen Hall ten years ago, come to that.’

  Laurel turned to look at her, curious. ‘What was she like? I never even met her until she was sixteen, after my dad, well...you know.’

  Eloise did know. She suspected most of Britain—the world, even—knew the story of how Melissa Sommers had been brought up by her single mum, her dad visiting only when he could get away from his real family across town. Laurel’s family.

  ‘Organising this wedding has been the most time I’ve ever spent with her.’ Laurel didn’t add thankfully but Eloise could hear it in her voice.

  ‘She was...’ Cruel. Evil. Nightmarish. A total witch in a blonde wig. ‘She liked to be the centre of attention,’ Eloise said, conscious that Laurel was Melissa’s sister, despite everything. She’d only met Laurel at the start of the wedding planning, six months ago, and most of their conversations so far had been wedding-related—with the occasional frustrated eye-roll and knowing glance when Melissa video-called in from LA with another hundred demands. But since Laurel had arrived at Morwen Hall the day before to set up for the wedding, Eloise had found it hard to believe that she and Melissa had even one parent in common, they were so different.

  They had the same ambition, though. While Melissa had channelled hers into stardom, Laurel had taken a quieter route—setting up her own wedding planning company that was just starting to be featured in bridal magazines and websites. Of the two paths, Eloise felt strangely more envious of Laurel’s than Melissa’s. Eloise had never wanted to be a star, not really. But her own business... She shook her head. She had a good job at Morwen Hall. One she didn’t plan to jeopardise by daydreaming.