him.
‘I didn’t say yes.’
‘Of course you did,’ he said with smug male complacence before he kissed her and made her feel as though she’d say anything he wanted her to.
It was two days later that Cesare accompanied her on her visit for her first scan.
The plush offices of the Harley Street clinic were a million miles from the NHS department she had expected to be attending.
Watching her budget was too deeply ingrained in Sam for her not to feel a flicker of guilt at her luxurious surroundings, but, having seen Cesare’s expression when he’d spoken of the safety and health of his unborn child, she had recognised that this was not a point that he was prepared to be flexible on. It seemed better to save her energy for battles she could win.
Besides, she couldn’t see Cesare standing patiently in an NHS-clinic queue—he would probably behave so badly they would be asked to leave.
‘What are you smiling at?’
Sam turned her head, astonished. ‘How do you know I’m smiling?’
He shook his head, looked briefly perplexed by the question himself, and said, ‘But you are?’
‘I was thinking about you behaving badly.’
His voice dropped to the seductive purr that always made her stomach muscles quiver. ‘I thought you liked it when I behaved badly, cara?’ he observed with a pretty feeble display of innocent surprise.
‘I wasn’t thinking of the bedroom.’
His grin deepened. ‘I rarely think of any place else.’ He didn’t need to be psychic then to know she was blushing.
A few minutes later Sam knew Cesare’s thoughts were not in the bedroom.
She turned her face briefly from the screen and the look she caught on his face tore at her heart. She had been too excited and enthralled by what she had seen to give a thought to how Cesare would feel hearing the doctor describing the images of their baby—images he could not see of a child he would never see.
Swept away on a wave of painful empathy, she caught his big strong hand between two of hers, for once not caring of his ultra sensitivity to any form of sympathy. To hell with his pride! His skin felt cold as she brought his hand to her chest; she felt the raw pain in his face as a physical ache.
Her expression grew determined. She could not make him see but she could share.
‘You can see his head and his heart beating and that…’ She threw a questioning glance towards the medic. ‘The spinal cord?’
Cesare swallowed, the muscles in his brown throat working hard as his fingers tightened around her own.
‘You say he?’
‘Do you want to know the sex, Cesare?’
There was a pause before Cesare responded. ‘I do not care about the sex so long as he, she, is strong and healthy.’
‘Well, the way he she is moving around there seems very little problem there.’ She glanced towards the doctor to seek confirmation and he nodded.
‘I’m happy to say everything is as it should be.’
‘In a few weeks you’ll be able to feel him move, kick… I just need to make some measurements to confirm your dates.’
‘Oh, there is no mistake about those,’ she said without thinking.
‘Indeed, a night to remember,’ Cesare agreed blandly.
‘I’m not blushing,’ Sam lied, not looking at the doctor.
‘You are,’ Cesare replied, a smile in his voice.
She blushed again when the medic confirmed that her dates were spot on before wiping the gel off her stomach and leaving them alone.
‘Thank you for that.’
Sam finished readjusting her clothes and got to her feet. ‘For what?’ Sam asked, avoiding those dark eyes and wishing she could avoid the intensity of her own feelings as easily.
‘Thank you for letting me see our child through your eyes, Samantha.’
A warm glow spread through Sam as she savoured the intimacy of the moment. Her throat clogged with emotion as she replied, ‘You’re welcome. He is, after all, the one thing we have in common. We should be able to share that much at least.’
He appeared about to speak but then stopped and instead reached out and took her chin between his fingers. His ability to be able to place her in a room always astonished Sam. ‘So you will let me see our baby through your beautiful blue eyes.’
‘They are blue,’ she admitted.
‘Tim got quite lyrical when he described the colour to me—like violets, he tells me. This is the point where you remind me you have freckles.’
‘And what do you do?’
‘I kiss you,’ he said, and did.
Eight days after the scan the day of the wedding dawned—no point in hanging around, Cesare had said—and Sam had been suffering panic attacks on a daily basis. It was as if the thing had gathered momentum like a snowball and run away from her.
She could have stopped the snowball effect with one word but she hadn’t—because the alternative would mean a lot of things, including spending her nights alone.
They’d spent every night together except the two that Cesare had stayed over in Rome for business, and the previous night when Sam had returned to her bedsit for the last time. During the nights of passion she had no doubts; it was when daylight dawned that she started wondering about her sanity.
Maybe morning had a similar effect on Cesare, maybe he woke up wondering what he was doing? After earlier that day it seemed a distinct possibility. Why else did a man ring the woman he was marrying ten hours later that day at five-thirty in the morning?
He had rung off after ten minutes and the why was no clearer. But she had been left with the nagging impression that he had wanted to say something—possibly to call the whole thing off—and had changed his mind.
She had picked up the phone to ring him back several times but had lacked the guts to follow through.
She was still wondering about what he had intended to say when the car arrived to take her to the register office.
‘It’s not too late,’ she told her pale reflection. But it was and she knew she was committed. This was the best thing for the baby. The best thing for her wasn’t going to happen—it couldn’t. Cesare didn’t love her.
The discovery that she loved him had not come to her in a blinding flash.
She wasn’t even sure at what point during the last week she had actually realised the truth.
When he had slid the
