Her New Year Baby Secret Page 8

  There was just the most infinitesimal pause before Sophie echoed, ‘Yes, perfect. As long as I don’t crack. Don’t leave me alone with her, that’s all I’m saying. I’m not sure I’d win in a straight duel. Has she always been this way?’

  Marco began to stroll down towards the Rialto Bridge. He planned for them to cross over the famous bridge and then head back to the palazzo to collect his boat for the afternoon. ‘As long as I can remember.’

  ‘But why? It’s usually the other way round, isn’t it? Pressure on the daughter to marry? I’m sure you’re a catch and all...’ The dimple was out again and he couldn’t stop smiling back in response even though his mother’s obsession with his future was his least favourite topic. And it wasn’t easy to put into words.

  ‘It’s not about me, not really. She’s obsessed with the past, the future, the palazzo. Venice is changing, has been for the last fifty years. More and more real estate is owned by foreigners, many of whom don’t live here, which means more and more families moving onto the mainland. Both my parents came from ancient Venetian families, together they owned a lot of real estate, a lot of businesses around the city.’ He allowed himself a brief smile. ‘We’re a city of traders, of merchants. Even I, though I wanted to set out on my own, trade goods back and forth. It’s in my blood, like the sea.’

  ‘What does that have to do with marriage?’

  ‘It’s about not letting the old bloodlines die out, with keeping a Santoro in the palazzo, running the family business, sons at his knees, just like the old days. Now Bianca is getting married—and to another scion of an ancient family—her attentions can be fully focussed on me. London might not be far enough. I may try Mars.’

  ‘Would it be so bad? Marriage?’ She held her hands up, laughing as he turned to look at her. ‘That’s not a proposal, by the way, not even a leading question. Just plain curiosity.’

  ‘I’m the Santoro heir,’ he said. ‘It’s a position that comes with privilege, sure, but also with expectations. I’m the only son. And from the moment I was born I was reminded that I had a duty to the family, to the name, to Venice. That what I want doesn’t matter, that to pursue my dreams is a selfishness unbefitting a Santoro.’ He could hear his father shouting the words as he spoke them. ‘Marriage is part of that responsibility. So to me it isn’t something natural, something healthy, something good. It’s a heavy expectation I’m expected to bear. And now my father is gone...’ He swallowed as he said the words. It still didn’t seem possible. Venice seemed emptier without him, the palazzo hollower. ‘Now I’m not just the only son, I’m the only remaining male, it’s become even more imperative to my mother that I marry and soon. But the more she pushes, the less ready I feel. And I love my city, my family, of course I do. But I won’t sacrifice myself, my integrity to tradition.’

  ‘Have you told her?’ Sophie asked softly. ‘Told her how you feel. That you’re not ready.’

  His mouth quirked into a smile; if only it were that easy. ‘Many times. But she only listens when she wants to. Hears what she wants to hear.’

  ‘It’s not good to let misunderstandings grow, let resentments fester.’ There was a quiet certainty in Sophie’s voice.

  ‘I think we understand Mamma too well, Bianca and I. She was orphaned young, raised alone by her grandparents in an old palazzo. They had a title, an illustrious ancestry but no wealth. When she married my father she wanted security and a large family. Together they built up an empire to rival that of the early Santoros, but they had to settle for a small family. After Bianca she just couldn’t conceive again. So she turned her attentions to grandchildren, to building the dynasty she always dreamed of. She thinks she knows best what will make us happy. I don’t hurt her on purpose, but we have such different ideas on the way I should live.’

  Hurt was inevitable. Every time he said ‘no’. Every time he chose his own path. But if he didn’t, then what had it all been for? The hard-fought-for independence, the ten years of estrangement, the knowledge he would never make it up with his father.

  The knowledge that his father might even yet have been here, still alive, if Marco had been a different kind of man. More pliable, obedient.

  ‘So you live in a different country and seldom come home?’ Sophie was shaking her head. ‘I don’t know, Marco, it’s a solution, but it doesn’t sound like a good one. Not at all.’

  And the worst thing was, Marco knew she was right. But what other choice did he have?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘DID YOU AND Marco have a good day yesterday?’ Bianca’s eyes were sly as she looked at Sophie in the mirror. ‘Mamma was disappointed you didn’t come back for supper. She was so looking forward to getting to know you better.’

  Sophie circled Bianca, checking every seam and every hem. The dress was gorgeous, far bigger and more ornate than she would have chosen personally but perfect for a wedding as imposing as Bianca’s promised to be. But Bianca’s new curves spilled out of the silk ballgown’s sweetheart neckline, turning it from daring to borderline indecent, and it was a struggle to get the zip up at the low back—in fact Sophie had decided against forcing it, not wanting to snag the delicate fabric.

  ‘Lovely, thanks. We spent the morning at the palace, and then we had lunch with your mother, so I hope she wasn’t too disappointed we missed supper, and then Marco took me out onto the lagoon for the afternoon.’ He’d pointed out some of the more notable islands, promising to bring her back to visit one or two before the end of their trip, and then he had taken her to dine at an island hotel. Sailing in through the private water gate to be escorted up to the glassed-in terrace with views across to Venice itself had been the most romantic thing Sophie had ever experienced. If only she hadn’t felt so tired and her appetite hadn’t been so capricious. And if only she hadn’t replayed Marco’s words over and over in her mind. You can see why I asked you here.

  She wasn’t sure why those words had pricked her. She had been under no illusions about his sudden invitation; Marco hadn’t brought her here because he’d been struck down with instalove—and she’d accepted for that very reason. But to have him spell out so baldly that she was a mere ploy to keep his mother happy was a little bruising to her pride.

  But then again, after one lunch with his mother she fully accepted his reasons, sympathised with them even. Only, it would be nice to be more than convenient, to really matter to someone... She stopped still, staring down at Bianca’s elaborate train. Where had that thought come from? She was happy on her own, remember? Not at all interested in a relationship.

  But maybe one day. If she chose better, found someone who valued and cherished her the way her friends were loved and cherished, then maybe she could take that risk. Because if she did spend her life hiding from the possibility of love, did spend her life thinking she wasn’t good enough, then Harry won after all, didn’t he?

  ‘Right.’ Sophie blinked back unexpected, hot tears. What on earth was wrong with her? It was time to remember why she was here and not on a plane back to London. ‘There’s no way this dress is going to fit the way it is. Luckily your hips and waist have only increased by the smallest amount, so it’s a reasonably easy fix, no major restructuring needed, but we do need to do something about the neckline.’ She hesitated, searching for the right words. ‘I could re-bone the bodice, but I still think you’ll look more top-heavy than you intended. So what I’m proposing is that in addition to letting out the seams and adjusting the zip I make you a lace overdress. It’s up to you if you just want it for your top or to cover the skirt as well. Look, I’ll show you.’ She picked up a gossamer-thin scarf and deftly twisted it around Bianca, pinning it in place.

  ‘You need to imagine this is lace,’ she warned Bianca. ‘This is just to give us an idea.’

  Sophie stepped back and pursed her lips as she fixed her design in her head. ‘The beading on your skirt is lovely. It w
ould be a real shame to cover it up with lace,’ she decided. ‘Let’s go with a lace bodice. I’ll find buttons to match your beads, tiny ones, and it can button up your back.’ She shot Bianca a reassuring smile. ‘I’ll sew those on at the very last minute to make absolutely sure it fits.’

  Bianca stared at herself in the mirror, hope flaring in her expressive dark eyes. ‘Will it really work?’

  ‘Absolutely.’ In fact the more Sophie thought about it, the surer she was. ‘I think it will be stunning. I can give you capped sleeves, little straps just off the shoulder—or we could go really regal with full-length sleeves, so decide what you’d prefer. The most important thing is making sure the lace matches the exact colour of the dress. Not all ivories are created equal. Do you have a swatch I can use?’

  Bianca nodded, her eyes bright with tears. ‘Thank you, Sophie. I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate this, how much it means that you haven’t just fixed my problem but made my dress even better.’ She caught a tear with her finger, wiping it away, pulling a watery smile as she did so. ‘If there is anything I can do to repay you...’

  ‘No repayment necessary, I promise. I’m happy to do it. Let’s get you out of the dress before you spoil the silk with your tears and I’ll take a look at the zip. It only needs a few millimetres, I think, to be comfortable. I might not even need to add an insert. Unpicking the stitches and redoing it might be enough.’

  It took a few minutes to manoeuvre Bianca out of the many folds of the dress, but eventually Sophie hung the layers of net and tulle and silk back up, smoothing the silk out with careful hands as she figured out the best way to deal with it. ‘I wonder if I could get my hands on a tailor’s dummy,’ she pondered. ‘If I put a dummy on a dais, I would find it easier. There must be somewhere I could source that from. I’ll draw up a list of all we need: lace, silk, thread, buttons.’

  ‘Sì, none of that should be a problem. The best place for lace is Burano, one of the islands. I’ll ask Marco to take you. It’s very pretty. I think you’ll like it.’

  ‘Sounds perfect.’ Sophie turned to look at Bianca. The Italian girl sat on her unmade bed, a robe loosely drawn around her, the magnificent mane of hair spilling around her shoulders, tears still shimmering in her eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sophie, I’m not usually such a mess. The thing is...’ she took a deep breath ‘... I didn’t eat too much over Christmas, nor am I that stressed about the wedding, not really. It’s just that... I’m having a baby and I haven’t told anyone yet.’

  ‘You’re what? But that’s wonderful. No wonder you’ve gone up over two cup sizes and barely gained a centimetre around your waist! How far along are you?’

  ‘The doctor says ten weeks. I only realised at the end of last week. I’ve always been irregular, so I didn’t notice any changes there, but I was always crying, or suddenly really hungry and then really nauseous. I’ve been so tired, light-headed. And I can’t even cope with the smell of coffee, let alone the taste. Honestly, for someone with so many qualifications I can be very stupid, but I just didn’t realise what was wrong. It wasn’t like we were trying.’

  Sophie perched onto the bed next to Bianca and patted her arm a little awkwardly. ‘But this is good news, surely? After all, you’re about to get married.’

  ‘Sì, it is, at least, it will be, when I get used to it. I just thought we’d have time to be married before starting a family.’

  ‘So,’ Sophie asked gently, ‘why the secrecy?’

  ‘Antonio is stressed about the wedding, it’s so big, I just don’t want to give him anything else to worry about. I will tell him,’ she said defensively as Sophie raised her eyebrows. ‘I was planning to tonight—telling you was the first time I’ve said it out loud. It wasn’t as hard as I expected.’

  ‘And your mother will be over the moon.’

  Bianca’s mouth twisted. ‘Oh, sì, Mamma will be delighted. But I won’t be telling her until after the honeymoon. She can be a little overpowering.’ She giggled. ‘Okay, a lot overpowering. She already tried to take over the planning of the wedding, make it into her dream wedding, not mine. I’m not ready for her to take over the baby as well, not until I know how I feel about it all.’

  ‘That makes sense.’ But Sophie’s mind had wandered back to something Bianca had said earlier. Something about not noticing that she was pregnant because she was irregular. Sophie was the complete opposite. In fact she was like clockwork, every twenty-eight days. Usually...

  Frantically she counted back. Almost five weeks had passed since she had spent the night with Marco. Over five weeks without her period. Her regular-as-clockwork period...

  ‘That’s all great, Bianca, I mean congratulations again and I can’t wait to get started. I just remembered, I didn’t pack for a week-long stay and there’s a few things I need, so I’m just going to go out and grab them...’ She collected her bag and backed out of the door still babbling inanely. ‘When I get back we’ll talk lace, okay? I won’t be long.’ The last thing she saw as the door swung shut behind her was Bianca, upright and staring at her in complete surprise.

  Smoothly done, Sophie.

  But she couldn’t wait, not another second, not while this big what if was thundering through her body, beating its question with every thud of her heart.

  Although she found her way out of the palazzo easily enough, having earmarked enough landmarks to find her way to the main hallway and back up to her room, as soon as she set foot outside it was a different matter. Sophie plunged into the alleyways and back streets searching for the green cross that meant pharmacy in a dozen different languages. But each road seemed to lead her nowhere, a dead end with water rippling gently at the end, round in a gently curving circle back to the same square over and over.

  And what would happen when she reached a pharmacy? She could barely order a pizza in Italian let alone a pregnancy test and she doubted her mime skills were up to scratch.

  You’re being ridiculous, she told herself. You used protection, you were careful, he was careful.

  But the rest of Bianca’s words came back, almost visible, floating around her in the still, cold air. Emotional? Check, look at the pity party she’d held for herself on New Year’s Eve, the tears just now. Light-headed and tired? For a couple of weeks now. Nauseous? Yes, a low level, almost constant feeling of sickness. All kinds of things set it off. She hadn’t been able to stomach even the smell of wine for ages; it had been an oddly teetotal Christmas and New Year’s Eve.

  Sophie stopped dead in the middle of the street. Of course she was pregnant. How could she not have known—and what on earth was she going to do now?

  * * *

  ‘Sophie, Bianca mentioned you wanted to visit Burano. Would this afternoon be convenient?’

  Sophie skidded to a stop outside the salon and fought an urge to hide her handbag behind her back as if Marco might see through the leather, to the paper bag within. It had been a mortifying experience, but thanks to the Internet, her phone, some overly helpful shoppers and a very patient pharmacist she had finally got what she needed.

  Well, two of what she needed. She hadn’t paid that much attention in Science, but she was pretty sure all experiments could go wrong.

  ‘Marco! Hi! Yes, Burano, this afternoon, sounds wonderful, great.’

  One eyebrow rose. ‘Are you okay?’ He sauntered over to the salon door and she had to fight the urge to step away.

  ‘Fine, I’ve been out. I got a little lost, that’s all.’

  ‘The best way to learn Venice is to get lost in her,’ he said, but there was a quizzical gleam in his dark eyes as he looked at her.

  ‘In that case we’ll soon be the best of friends.’ Sophie knew she was acting oddly, but she needed to get out of this hallway and up into the safety of her room and find out for once and for all. ‘What time do you want to leave?’


  ‘If we leave here just after noon, we could stop for lunch along the way.’

  ‘That sounds wonderful. I just need to talk to Bianca then, take another look at the dress and get a swatch of material. Shall I meet you back here in an hour? Great. See you then.’

  She barely registered his response as she walked as fast as she could up the stairs, slowing a little as she tackled the second and then the third staircase until finally she was twisting open the door to her room, throwing her bag onto the bed, grabbing the paper bag and rushing into the bathroom, tearing open the plastic on the box as she did so...

  * * *

  She was pregnant. Two tests’ worth of pregnant.

  Sophie sank onto the bed with a strangled sob, throwing her hand across her mouth to try to keep the noise in. Idiot. Fool. Stupid, stupid girl. It was different for Bianca. She was engaged to a man she loved, she had a great career, a life ready and waiting for a baby. What did Sophie have? A fling with a commitment-shy man she barely knew, a shoebox of a flat, an unfulfilled dream and a job scrubbing toilets and serving drinks. How was she going to fit a baby into her flat, let alone her life?

  She slumped down on the bed and stared up at the ceiling, every fat cherub leg, every beaming cherub grin on the fresco an unneeded reminder. The thing was she did want children. Had planned to have them with Harry—although she had never got him to admit the time was right. Thank goodness. She shuddered; if she had had his baby, would she ever have got out? Ever freed herself or would she still be there now? Holding down a job, taking care of the house, looking after the kids while Harry lied and cheated and manipulated...

  But Marco wasn’t like Harry. He was, well, he was... ‘Face it,’ Sophie said aloud. ‘You know nothing about him except he doesn’t want to get married. He’s rich. He’s handsome. He’s good in bed. He seems kind, when it suits him to be...’ Added together it didn’t seem an awful lot to know about the father of her baby.