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And then there was Lachlan to consider.
How would he feel to have the world know he was nothing but a replacement child? That he had only been conceived to fill the shoes of the lost Armitage son and heir?
She ran her tongue over her lips, fighting for time, for strength, for courage. ‘I … I made a terrible mistake … a few years back …’ She bit down on her lip, not sure if she could go on.
‘Tell me about it, Natalie.’
Oh, dear God, could she tell him? How could she bear his shock and horror? Those tender looks he had been giving her lately would disappear. How she had missed those looks! He was the only person in the world who looked at her like that.
‘Tatty?’
It was the way he said his pet name for her. It was her undoing. How could one simple word dismantle all her defences like a row of dominoes pushed by a fingertip? It was as if he had the key to her heart.
He had always had it.
He hadn’t realised it the first time around, but now it was like the childhood game of hot and cold. He was getting warmer and warmer with every moment he spent with her.
Natalie slowly brought her gaze up to look at him head-on. This is it, she thought with a sinkhole of despair opening up inside her. This is the last time you will ever see him look at you like that. Remember it. Treasure it.
‘I killed my brother.’
A confused frown pulled at his forehead. ‘Your brother is fine, Natalie. He’s safe and sound in rehab.’
‘Not that brother,’ she said. ‘My baby brother, Liam. He drowned while we were holidaying in Spain … he was three years old.’
His frown was so deeply entrenched on his brow it looked as if it would become permanent. ‘How could that have been your fault?’ he asked.
‘I was supposed to be watching him,’ she said hollowly. ‘My mother had gone inside to lie down. My father was there with us by the pool, but then he said he had to make a really important business call. He was only gone five minutes. I was supposed to be watching Liam. I’d done it before. I was always looking out for him. But that day … I don’t know what happened. I think something or other distracted me for a moment. A bird, a flower, a butterfly—I don’t know what. When my father came back …’ She gave an agonised swallow as the memories came flooding back. ‘It was too late …’
‘Dear God! Why didn’t you tell me this five years ago?’ he asked. ‘You never mentioned a thing about having lost a brother. Why on earth didn’t you say something?’
‘It’s not something anyone in my family talks about. My father strictly forbade it. He thought it upset my mother too much. It was so long ago even the press have forgotten about it. Lachlan was the replacement child. As soon as he was born every photo, every bit of clothing or any toys that were Liam’s were destroyed or given away. It was as if he had never existed.’
Angelo took her by the upper arms, his hold firm—almost painfully so. ‘You were not to blame for Liam’s death,’ he said. ‘You were a baby yourself. Your parents were wrong to lay that guilt on you.’
She looked into his dark brown eyes and saw comfort and understanding, not blame and condemnation. It made her eyes water uncontrollably. The tears came up from a well deep inside her. There was nothing she could do to hold them back. They bubbled up and spilled over in a gushing torrent. She hurtled forward into the wall of his chest, sobbing brokenly as his arms came around her and held her close.
‘I tried to find him as soon as I noticed he wasn’t beside me,’ she said. ‘It was barely a few seconds before I realised he was gone. I looked and looked around the gardens by the pool, but I didn’t see him. He was at the bottom of the pool. I didn’t see him. I didn’t see him …’
‘My poor little Tatty,’ he soothed against her hair, rocking her gently with the shelter of his frame. ‘You were not to blame, cara. You were not to blame.’
Natalie cried until she was totally spent. She told him other things as she hiccupped her way through another round of sobs. She told him of how she had seen Liam’s tiny coffin being loaded on the plane. How the plane had hit some turbulence and how terrified she had been that his tiny body would be lost for ever. How she had sat in that wretched shuddering seat and wished she had been the one to drown. How her father had not said a word to her the whole way home. How her mother had sat in a blank state, drinking every drink the flight crew handed her.
She didn’t know how much time passed before she eased back out of his hold and looked up at him through reddened and sore eyes. ‘I must look a frightful mess,’ she said.
He looked down at her with one of his warm and tender looks. ‘I think you look beautiful.’
She felt a fresh wave of tears spouting like a fountain. ‘You see?’ she said as she brushed the back of her hand across her eyes. ‘This is why I never cry. It’s too damn hard to stop.’
He brushed the damp hair off her face, his gaze still meltingly soft. ‘You can cry all you want or need to, mia piccola,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing wrong with showing emotion. It’s a safety valve, si? It’s not good to suppress it for too long.’
She gave him a rueful look. ‘You always were far better at letting it all hang out than me,’ she said. ‘It used to scare me a bit … how incredibly passionate you were.’
He stroked her hair back from her face. ‘I seem to remember plenty of passion on your part too,’ he said.
‘Yes … well, you do seem to bring that out in me,’ she said.
His hands slid down to hers, his fingers warm and protective as they wrapped around hers. ‘I think it’s high time you were tucked up in bed, don’t you?’
Natalie shivered as his gaze communicated his desire for her. ‘You want to …?’
He scooped her up in his arms. ‘I want to,’ he said, and carried her indoors.
Angelo lay awake once Natalie had finally dozed off. It had taken a while. In the quiet period after they had made love she had told him how today was the actual anniversary of her baby brother’s death. It certainly explained her recent agitation and restlessness. He thought of her horrible nightmare the other night, how she had thrashed and turned and how worried he had been.
It all made sense now.
He still could not fathom why her parents had done such a heartless thing as to blame her for the tragic death of their little son. How could they have possibly expected a child of seven to be responsible enough to take care of a small child? It was unthinkably cruel to make her shoulder the blame. Why had they done it? What possible good did they think it would do to burden her with what was essentially their responsibility?
And where had the resort staff been?
Why hadn’t Adrian Armitage aimed his guilt-trip on them instead of his little daughter?
His gut churned with the anguish of what she must have faced. Why had she not told him before now?
