optimistic, and perhaps a little unrealistic, to hope that Antonio would fall in love with her this time around, but she had three months to show him her love was big enough for both of them.
When she came out a few minutes later, Antonio rose from the table to hold out her chair for her, his dark eyes moving over her features like a searchlight, a small frown bringing his brows together. ‘Is everything all right, cara?’ he asked. ‘You were away for so long I was about to send someone in to find you.’
Claire shifted her gaze and sat down. ‘I’m fine; there was a bit of a queue, that’s all.’
The woman seated opposite leaned forward to speak to her. ‘I read about the reconciliation with your husband in the paper this morning. I am sure you’ll be very happy this time around. I’ve been married to John for thirty-five years this September. We’ve had our ups and downs, but that’s what marriage is all about—give and take and lots and lots of love.’
Claire stretched her mouth into a smile. ‘Thank you. I am sure there will be plenty of hard work ahead, but, as you say, that is what marriage is all about.’
‘My husband is a plastic surgeon as well,’ the woman who had introduced herself as Janine Brian continued. ‘He’s very impressed with some of the new techniques Antonio is demonstrating. You must be very proud of him. He has brought new life and hope to so many people all over the world.’
‘Yes…yes, I am,’ Claire said, glancing at Antonio, who was now deep in conversation with one of the other guests at the table. She felt her breath lock in her throat as he turned his head to look at her, as if he had sensed her gaze resting on him.
She couldn’t stop staring at him; it was like seeing him for the very first time. She marvelled at how handsome he looked in formal dress, how his tuxedo brought out the darkness of his eyes and hair, and how the stark whiteness of his dress shirt highlighted the deep olive tone of his skin. His mouth was tilted at a sexy angle, as if he knew exactly where her thoughts were leading. How could he possibly know how much she wanted to explore every inch of his body as she had done so often in the past? Could he see the hunger in her eyes? Could he sense it in the way her body was tense and on edge, her hands restless and fidgety, her legs crossing and uncrossing under the table? Desire was an unruly force in her body. She felt it running like a hot river of fire beneath her skin, searing her, branding her inside and out with the scorching promise of his possession.
‘You two are just so romantic,’ Janine said with an indulgent smile. ‘Look at them, John.’ She elbowed her husband in the ribs. ‘Aren’t they the most-in-love couple you’ve ever seen?’
Claire felt a blush steal over her cheeks as Antonio came back to sit beside her. He placed an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close. ‘I was a fool to let her get away the first time,’ he said. ‘It will not be happening again, I can assure you.’
‘Well, you know what they say: there’s nothing better than making up in the bedroom,’ Janine said. ‘That’s how we got our three kids, wasn’t it, darling?’
‘Janine…’ John Brian frowned.
‘What did I say?’ Janine frowned back.
‘It is OK, John,’ Antonio said, giving Claire’s shoulder a little squeeze. ‘Claire and I cannot expect everyone to be tiptoeing around the subject of children for the rest of our lives.’
Janine Brian’s face fell. ‘Oh, dear…I completely forgot. John did tell me about…Oh, how awfully insensitive you must think me. I’m so, so sorry.’
Claire gave the distressed woman a reassuring smile, even though it stretched at her mouth uncomfortably. ‘Please don’t be upset or embarrassed,’ she said. ‘Each day has become a little easier.’
The conversation was thankfully steered in another direction when the waiter appeared with the meals for their table. Claire forced herself to eat as if nothing was wrong for Janine’s sake, but later she would barely recall what it was she had eaten.
After the meals were cleared away, Antonio was introduced by the chairman of the charity. Claire watched as he moved up to the lectern, which had been set up with a large screen and data projector. After thanking the chairman and board members, Antonio spoke of the work he carried out in reconstructive surgery under the auspices of FACE. He showed pictures of some of the faces he had worked on, including several from Third World countries, which the charity had sponsored by bringing patients to Rome for surgery to be performed.
Claire looked at one of the young children he had worked on. The little girl, who was seven or eight, had been born with hyperteliorism, a congenital condition which presented as a broad face with wide, separated eyes and a flat nose. Fixing it required major cranial-facial reconstruction, with a team of three surgeons: a neurosurgeon, a facial maxillary surgeon and a plastic surgeon. In this case it had been Antonio. The team had operated for twelve hours to give the little girl a chance at a normal life, without shame or embarrassment over her unusual appearance. The before and after photographs were truly amazing. So too were the happy smiles of the child’s parents and the little girl herself.
Once Antonio had finished his presentation he took some questions from the floor before returning to the table to thunderous applause.
The band began to play again and Antonio reached for Claire’s hand. ‘Let’s have one more dance before we go home,’ he suggested.
Claire moved into his arms without demur, her own arms going around his neck as his went around her back, holding her in an intimate embrace that perfectly matched the slow rhythm of the ballad being played.
‘I thought you handled Janine Brian’s little slip very graciously,’ Antonio commented after a moment or two.
She looked up at him with a pained expression. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘But you’re right in saying we can’t expect people to avoid the subject of babies all the time. I have friends with little ones, and I have taught myself to enjoy visiting them, even babysitting them without envy.’
He looked down at her for a beat or two. ‘That is very brave of you, Claire.’
She gave him another little grimace before she lowered her gaze to stare at his bow tie. ‘Not really…There are days when it’s very hard…you know…thinking about her…’
Antonio felt the bone-grinding ache of grief work its way through him; it often caught him off guard—more lately than ever. Being with Claire made him realise how much losing a child affected both parents, for years if not for ever. The mother bore the brunt of it, having carried the baby in her womb, not to mention having the disruption of her hormones during and after the delivery. But the father felt loss too, even if it wasn’t always as obvious as the mother’s. Certainly the father hadn’t carried the child, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel the devastation of having failed as a first-time father.
Antonio had grown up with an understanding of the traditional role of husband and father as being there to protect his wife and children. He might have gone into marriage a little ahead of schedule, due to the circumstances of Claire’s accidental pregnancy, but when their baby had died it had cut at the very heart of him. He had felt so helpless, swamped with grief, but unable to express it for the mammoth weight of guilt that had come down on top of it.
He wondered if Claire knew how much he blamed himself, how he agonised over the ‘what if’ questions that plagued him in the dark hours of the night. He still had nightmares about arriving at the delivery suite to find
