Modern Romance November Books 1-4. Sharon Kendrick
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on Christmas Day. I think your mother might see right through me and there’s no way I want to deceive her. So maybe it’s best if I just disappear and leave you to say whatever you think is best.’ She swallowed. ‘Perhaps you could arrange for your plane to take me back to England as soon as possible?’
Salvio stared at her, unprepared for the powerful feeling which arrowed through his gut. Was it disappointment? Yet that seemed much too bland a description. Disappointment was what you felt if there was no snow on the slopes during a skiing holiday, or if it rained on your Mediterranean break.
He furrowed his brow. After Lauren he’d never wanted marriage. He’d never wanted a baby either but, having been presented with a fait accompli, had done what he considered to be the right thing by Molly. And of course it had affected him, because, although his heart might be unfeeling, he was discovering he wasn’t made of stone. Hadn’t he allowed himself the brief fantasy of imagining himself with a son? A son he could teach to kick a ball around and to perfect the elastico move for which he’d been so famous?
Only now Molly wanted to leave him. Her womb was empty and her spirit deflated by his cruel accusations and she was still staring at him as if he were some kind of monster. Maybe he deserved that because hadn’t she only ever been kind and giving? Rare attributes which only a fool would squander—and he was that fool.
‘No. Don’t go,’ he said suddenly.
She screwed up her eyes. ‘You mean you won’t let me use your plane?’
‘My plane is at your disposal any time you want it,’ he said impatiently. ‘That’s not what I mean.’ His mouth hardened. ‘I don’t want you to go, Molly.’
‘Well, I’ve got to go. I can’t hang around pretending nothing’s happened, just because you don’t want to lose face with your parents.’
‘It has nothing to do with losing face,’ he argued. ‘It has more to do with wanting to make amends for all the accusations I threw at you. About realising that maybe—somehow—we could make this work.’
‘Make what work?’
‘This relationship.’
She shook her head. ‘We don’t have a relationship, Salvio.’
‘But we could.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re not making any sense.’
‘Aren’t I?’ He lowered his voice. ‘I get the feeling you weren’t too unhappy about having my baby.’
She stared down at her feet and as he followed the direction of her gaze, he noticed her toenails were unvarnished. It occurred to him that he’d never been intimate with a woman whose life hadn’t been governed by beauty regimes and his eyes narrowed in sudden comprehension. Was that shallow of him? She looked up again and he could see the pride and dignity written all over her face and he felt the twist of something he didn’t recognise deep inside him.
‘If this is a soul-baring exercise then it seems only fair I should bear mine. And I couldn’t help the way I felt about being pregnant,’ she admitted. ‘I knew it wasn’t an ideal situation and should never have happened but, no, I wasn’t unhappy about having your baby, Salvio. It would have been...’
‘Would have been what?’ he prompted as her words tailed off.
Somebody to love, Molly wanted to say—but even in this new spirit of honesty, she knew that was a declaration too far. Because that sounded needy and vulnerable and she was through with being vulnerable. She wished Salvio would stop asking her all this stuff, especially when it was so out of character. Why didn’t he just let her fly back to England and let her get on with the rest of her life and begin the complicated process of getting over him, instead of directing that soft look of compassion at her which was making her feel most...peculiar? She struggled to remove some of the emotion from her words.
‘It would have been a role which I would have happily taken on and done to the best of my ability,’ she said. ‘And I’m not going to deny that on one level I’m deeply disappointed, but I’ll... I’ll get over it.’
Her words faded into silence. One of those silences which seemed to last for an eternity when you just knew that everything hinged on what was said next, but Salvio’s words were the very last Molly was expecting.
‘Unless we try again, of course,’ he said.
‘What are you talking about?’ she breathed.
‘What if I told you that fatherhood was something which I had also grown to accept? Which I would have happily taken on, despite my initial reservations? What if I told you that I was disappointed, too? Am disappointed,’ he amended. ‘That I’ve realised I do want a child.’
‘Then I suggest you do something about it,’ she said, her words brittle as rock candy and she wondered if he had any idea how much it hurt to say them. Or how hard it was to stem the tide of tears which was pricking at her eyes. Tears not just for the little life which was no more, but for the man who had created that life. Because that was the crazy thing. That she was going to miss Salvio De Gennaro. How was it that in such a short while he seemed to have become as integral to her life as her own heartbeat? ‘Find a woman. Get married. Start a family. That’s the way it usually works.’
‘That’s exactly what I intend to do. Only I don’t need to find a woman. Why would I, when there’s one standing in front of me?’
‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Don’t tell me what I mean, Molly. I mean every word and I’m asking you to be my wife.’
Molly blinked in confusion. He was asking her to marry him—despite the fact she was no longer carrying his baby? She thought about the first time she’d ever seen him and how completely blown away she’d been. But this time she was no longer staring at him as if he were some demigod who had just tumbled from the stars. The scales had fallen from her eyes and now she saw him for what he was. A flawed individual—just like her. He had introduced her to amazing sex and fancy clothes. They’d made love on a giant bed overlooking the Bay of Naples and he had kissed her belly when a tiny child had been growing there. She had met his parents and they had liked her—treating her as if she were already part of the family. And somehow the culmination of all those experiences had changed her. She was no longer the same humble person who would accept whatever was thrown at her. The things which had happened had allowed her to remove the shackles which had always defined her. She no longer felt like a servant, but a woman. A real woman.
Yet even as that realisation filled her with a rush of liberation, she was at pains to understand why Salvio was making his extraordinary proposition. He was off the hook now. He was free again. Surely he should be celebrating her imminent departure from his life instead of trying to postpone it?
‘Why do you want to marry me?’ she demanded.
His gaze raked over her but this time it was not his usual sensual appraisal—more an impartial assessment of her worth. ‘I like your softness and kindness,’ he said slowly. ‘Your approach to life and your work ethic. I think you will make a good mother.’
‘And that’s all?’ she found herself asking.
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Surely that is enough?’
She wasn’t certain. If you wrote down all those things they would make a flattering list but the glaring omission was love. But Salvio had loved once before and his heart had been broken and damaged as a result. Could she accept his inability to love her as a condition of their marriage, and could they make it work in spite of that?
Behind him, Naples was framed like a picture-postcard as he began to walk towards her and for once his limp seemed more pronounced than usual. And although the thrust of his thighs was stark evidence enough of his powerful sensuality, it was that tiny glimpse of frailty which plucked at her heartstrings.
‘I wanted this baby,’