CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER FIVE
‘Luca, what did you mean before?’
She asked the question as soon as he returned to the kitchen, sometime after leaving to settle Aurora for her nap. And she asked the question with the full expectation that he would deflect, as always. Frustration champed at the edges of her belly; she braced for his defensive technique, but still she waited in silence.
‘When?’
Sure enough, there was a cautious caginess to his voice, as though he knew she was buying time to work out his best obfuscation technique.
‘When you said you had more experience with toddlers than I realised.’
His eyes met hers, carefully blanked of expression. Yet his jaw clenched visibly, and she felt his reluctance. ‘It means you can count on me.’
‘No,’ she persisted, once again marvelling at how stupid she’d been three years earlier to have let him put her off so easily. ‘That’s not what I’m asking.’
‘I know what you’re asking.’ He jammed his hands into his pockets, his jaw set in a mutinous line.
‘So?’ she prompted, refusing to let this go.
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘It’s a simple question.’ She stood firm. ‘You made a statement. I’m asking what it meant.’
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, looking away sharply before removing one hand from his pocket and dragging a hand over his stubbled jaw. ‘Aurora isn’t the first toddler I’ve spent time with.’ His voice was clipped, as if each word was resented.
He didn’t want to talk about this, but Imogen wasn’t prepared to let it go—not until she understood. Luca had indeed been a closed book to her, but that was no longer an acceptable proposition to Imogen. ‘Who else?’
His eyes flicked to hers, then away again. ‘That’s not important.’
She sighed heavily. He wanted to keep hold of this particular barrier, hard and impenetrable. He wanted to make it impossible for her to understand him. Why? What was he hiding? And why had he referred to his experience with kids in the first place, then? Or had his admission simply slipped out?
‘You can’t have it both ways, Luca. If you don’t want to talk about something, don’t drop cryptic little hints.’
His brows shot up, his face angling back to hers. ‘That wasn’t my intention.’
She rolled her eyes, frustrated beyond belief with the man. Frustrated with how their relationship had been then, and how it was now. ‘Fine,’ she grunted with a hint of anger. ‘Have it your way.’ She pushed away from the bench and began to stalk towards the kitchen door, but right before she reached it, his hand snaked out and curled around her wrist, arresting her, so she turned to face him, scanning his features. His grip wasn’t hard. The touch, if anything, was gentle, but every cell in her body sprung to life in response, which seemed to sear her skin.
‘I had a little sister.’ His voice was cool, his eyes locked to hers but revealing nothing. His features were bland. It was as if he were speaking from a part of him to which he had no access, reciting lines by rote, refusing to allow himself to feel them. ‘She died when she was two and a half.’
Imogen reached behind her, needing to hold something for support.
‘Her name was Angelica.’ He paused, the silence heavy with Luca’s pained confession and Imogen’s questions. ‘Aurora looks just like her.’
Imogen stared at him, utterly and totally shocked into silence for several long beats.
‘I had— I didn’t— You never mentioned her. I had no idea.’
‘I know that.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Why would I?’
‘We were dating for a month, Luca. It seems like something that would have come up.’
‘We weren’t dating.’ The words were almost a curse in his mouth. She pulled away from him, stepping back, her temper and hurt in conflict with her empathy.
‘What happened to her?’ she whispered, desperately sad to think of anything happening to a dear little toddler.
‘That’s not—something I care to discuss. She died. It was sudden.’
‘Your nightmare,’ Imogen murmured, and now empathy won out, for she stepped back towards him, putting her hands on his cheeks, holding his face. ‘You were dreaming about her.’
Despite her grasp, he angled his face away, glaring at the window as if he were about to punch it.
‘You asked about my experience with children and I told you. I don’t want to discuss it any further.’
She dropped her hands to her sides, suppressing a sigh. She had to respect his choice. More than that, she supposed she should have been somewhat grateful that he’d confided in her, even to some small degree. She could see how hard it had been for him.
‘How old were you, when she died?’
His Adam’s apple shifted as he swallowed. ‘It was the night of my twelfth birthday.’
Imogen closed her eyes on a wave of comprehension. The night they’d met had been his thirtieth birthday; he’d been in a terrible mood, determined to get blind drunk until they’d met and his plans had taken a detour. Then the other night had been his thirty-third birthday, and he’d come to the same bar, for the same purpose.
She bit into her lip. Despite the way he’d treated her, and how angry she was with him, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him too.
‘That must have been so hard, Luca.’
He visibly clenched his teeth. ‘I didn’t tell you for sympathy. I told you to explain. I know what I’m doing with our daughter—to some extent.’
Imogen had so many questions she wanted to ask, like what had his sister been like and how much did he do with the baby, and did he have a photograph of her? But she could see he’d stepped out of his comfort zone and was already withdrawing from Imogen, pushing her away, boxing himself into a lonely little corner.
And she couldn’t care. She couldn’t.
For all that she might feel sorry for him, it didn’t change the fact that he had broken her heart three years ago. He had spoken to her in a way that had been designed to wound; he had discarded her as if she were nobody. He had half destroyed her, and if it hadn’t been for her music, and then her pregnancy, she had no idea how she would have got through it.
‘Okay.’ Her voice was a little unsteady. She stepped back from him quickly. ‘Well, I’m here if you need help. With Aurora,’ she added, stepping further away. She disappeared into the bathroom, needing space, and the freedom to let her tears roll without Luca seeing them.
* * *
It wasn’t a big deal.
It wasn’t like he could have kept it from her for ever.
Like it or not, Imogen had become someone who would be in his life for good. She was Aurora’s mother; he was Aurora’s father. They had to work together in some capacity, and it was only natural that she should know about his life. Some of it.
When he was comfortable enough to discuss it.
It didn’t mean anything that she now knew. It wasn’t like it changed anything between them, nor with his guilt and grief. That was the point. There was no going back. No do-overs.
He hadn’t been able to save his family and they’d all died. That was the defining moment in his life. At twelve, he’d learned what it was like to betray everyone you loved, and he’d never forgive himself for it.
Imogen didn’t need to know nor understand that, but as to the facts, who cared? His family had died in a house fire on the night of his twelfth birthday. It wasn’t something he could hide from her now. Not for ever. Apart from anything, Aurora would have questions, one day. Was he going to lie to her about it?
He ignored the stitching pain in his chest, the awful, awful feeling he experienced whenever he thought of his parents. Not his guilt at how they’d died, but his world-shattering pain when he remembered their lives. How great they’d been. How much he’d loved them. How strong and powerful and capable of anything they’d made him feel. How his life had been great and perfect, until it wasn’t.
He boxed those feelings away, tightened his tie then strode out of the kitchen, needing space from this new domestic situation. And needing space from Imogen’s intelligent, sympathetic eyes in particular.
* * *
‘I’m heading to work.’
Imogen, dressed in a pair of jeans and a loose sweater, barely glanced up from the notebook she was writing in. ‘Yeah, okay.’ Her eyes had a dreamy, far-away look, so he wondered if she even saw him, much less heard him.
‘Earth to Imogen.’ He waved a hand in front of her face.
She frowned. ‘I heard you.’ She pulled the notebook closer without appearing to see him still. ‘Have fun.’
He frowned, stalking away from her towards the back door, easing himself out of it and climbing into his car. What was she working on? What was she doing?
A frown etched itself across his face as he drove towards the City. Three years ago, she’d been like an open book, just as she’d said, talking freely about whatever he’d asked. And he had asked. Mainly to deflect her interest in him, just as she’d accused him of doing. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t enjoyed hearing her talk about herself. Her life. Her family. Her passion for music. He’d never met anyone quite like her—such a free spirit, but so dedicated to one area as well. It hadn’t been about financial success for Imogen, but rather a drive to create music.
What was she doing now, besides playing in the bar and teaching kids to play piano? He pulled a face. It seemed like a waste of her talent.
Then again, it wasn’t his place to get involved. They were co-parents, nothing more. Her life was none of his business; he couldn’t allow himself to forget that.
* * *
Imogen and Aurora ate alone that night and Imogen tried not to think about Luca. She tried not to wonder where he was, nor to contemplate who he was with.
‘I will replace you.’
She tried not to imagine his life outside the house, tried not to imagine the world she’d interrupted, albeit unwittingly. And unwillingly, come to think of it. She tried not to think about how many women he’d slept with since her, while she’d been busy raising Aurora.
But as the minutes ticked by and she went about the business of settling Aurora to bed, her temper built in waves, and she found it almost impossible to keep at bay.
She settled their daughter to sleep for the night, carefully disguising any hint of her irritation, and then went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The kettle had just boiled when she heard the back door close.
Her temper sparked.
She tried to tamp it down, without success. She knew it wasn’t just about tonight. His being gone brought back too many memories. Too much of that same sense of frustration, at how hidden he was from her, at how he called all the shots. When he wanted Imogen, she’d been there. She’d never stopped to wonder if the same would be true in reverse.
‘Why exactly did you insist on us moving in here?’ she asked, whirling around to face him. Luca’s face was without emotion, his eyes landing on her and giving nothing away.
‘Excuse me?’
‘It’s eight o’clock. I’ve spent the last hour and a half feeding, bathing and putting Aurora to bed, and you were what? Where?’
‘I told you I was going to work.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Whatever. I don’t care. Just let me know in future so I can make plans.’
‘What is going on here?’ he demanded, crossing his arms. ‘You know I work late.’
‘No, I know you used to work late, but you’ve just discovered you’re a father and your daughter is here. I would have thought you’d make that a priority, at least for a while. God, this is so stupid. I have been so stupid, yet again, to move in here with you and actually think you were capable of putting someone else first.’
His nostrils flared. ‘You have been doing this on your own for more than two years. Are you telling me you couldn’t cope without me?’
‘No, I’m saying—’ She floundered, because this wasn’t really about Aurora, but rather the images she’d been conjuring all night of him making love to some other woman in some fancy hotel room or some gorgeous luxe penthouse. Some supermodel, or actress, or heiress. ‘Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter,’ she responded, her voice clipped. Their past was a visage from which she couldn’t escape. Three years of imagining him moving on from her swirled like shark-infested waters all around Imogen.
She went to walk past him, cup of tea forgotten, but he caught her wrist and held her still.
‘You’re jealous.’
Her eyes flew to his. Anger was a dark, suffocating torrent, rising inside of her. She couldn’t be jealous—at least she couldn’t admit it—because it was so far outside of what she’d promised to herself, and Genevieve, when she’d come to live with Luca. She was hurt; there was a difference.
‘Go to hell.’
‘You think I was with another woman.’
Damn him for being able to see through her so easily. ‘I don’t care,’ she responded quickly, coldly, but her heart was burning up and her body was trembling. ‘It’s none of my business.’
‘Be that as it may,’ he conceded with a nod, ‘you are jealous.’
She looked away from him, angry because he was right .
Danger sirens blared. She wasn’t doing a good job of keeping him at arm’s length. She wasn’t doing a good job with any of this.
‘What do you want me to say, Imogen? Do you want me to say that I was alone in my office? Do you need to hear me say I was not with someone else? Why is that?’
She sucked in a breath, furious with him and with herself. ‘I don’t care who you’re screwing,’ she muttered.
‘Liar.’
‘But I don’t intend to be someone you use to keep your bed warm on a quiet night. Keep your hands off me.’
And she pulled away from him with at least some sense of pride restored, stalking away from him with a spine that was ramrod straight.
He caught up to her little more than a few paces away but he didn’t touch her. ‘Need I remind you, you came into my room and kissed me…’
‘Oh, just—just—go to hell!’
His brows launched towards his hairline. ‘Were you always this dramatic?’
She spun around, fire in her eyes. ‘I doubt it.’
‘I am not using you to keep my bed warm. This is an evolving situation, and I am as unsure about it as you are. Clearly sleeping together is a terrible idea, given what happened last time. I would like to say it wouldn’t happen again. I would like to think I was capable of behaving with a modicum of restraint, but the thing is…’ His words trailed off, and he shook his head. ‘I can’t make that promise, and I don’t think you can either.’
She shivered, because he was being so honest, and he was right. He was fighting the same battle she was, trying not to give in to temptation, when it was like a drug…
‘Why would you jump to the conclusion that I’d gone off to sleep with some other woman?’
She stared up at him, her expression mutinous. ‘Because I’m replaceable, remember?’ She spat the words at him, the taste of them in her mouth like acid. ‘I’ve never forgotten, and thank God for that. It’s probably the only thing stopping me from being a total fool again this time around. I’m replaceable, and you can replace me whenever you want. But please have the courtesy to give me a heads up when it happens, so I don’t make dinner for you.’ She tilted her chin and stalked away; this time, he didn’t follow.
* * *
Once he started to remember that morning, he couldn’t stop. He sat with a glass of red wine, staring at a blank wall, and heard himself. Really heard himself. The things he’d said to her, cold and assured, the way her face had crumpled and then dropped into her hands, so he didn’t have to look at her as he berated her with all the reasons she’d been imagining anything between them.
He’d been so angry with her for falling in love with him. So angry with her, but he’d been even angrier with himself for being so careless. For telling himself that it was fine, that they were obviously just sleeping together and that surely she understood it meant nothing. He’d said things along the way in an attempt to convey that, to keep it light. But damn it, Imogen was too full of sunshine and warmth, too willing to see the best in anyone and everyone and she’d fallen hard for the wrong guy.
He’d told himself he’d been doing her a favour by ending it as harshly as possible, so she could forget about him and move on. But the way she’d thrown the word replaceable at him that night showed him how deeply he’d cut her.
He took a drink, a familiar feeling twisting low in his gut.
Guilt.
Guilt at having hurt her like that. Guilt at having led her on in the first place, just because he liked being with her. Guilt at taking the break-up too far, rather than letting her down gently. He’d panicked and he’d just needed her to go, because being loved by anyone had seemed like a total rejection of the state he deserved to live in for the rest of his life. Unknowingly, she’d stepped right over one of his most fundamental lines, a boundary he’d established as a twelve-year-old and never intended to allow to be eroded.
He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, though.
He’d spent three years confident that she’d have moved on, and easily. But what if she hadn’t? What if he’d cut her too deeply for that?
He dropped his head forward, the thought one he didn’t even dare contemplate.
‘I hate you.’
She’d said that to him that night at the bar, and he’d been glad. He was still glad. He just needed for her not to forget it.
* * *
It didn’t matter that it was late. When the soft knock sounded at her door, Imogen was still wide awake, reading a book without paying any attention to the words.
‘Yes?’
He pushed the door in, his features strained. ‘We need to talk.’
She didn’t want to talk. She wanted to do something far more physical; she just couldn’t decide if it involved punching him in the gut or dragging him to her.
‘Do we?’ she muttered, closing the book and placing it beside her.
He strode to the edge of her bed but stayed standing. Out of reach. Probably best, for both of them.
‘Three years ago, you fell in love with a fantasy of your own creation. You saw something that wasn’t there. It’s not your fault. Like I said—far less gently than I should have—at the time, you were young and inexperienced, and the physical nature of our relationship overwhelmed you. I should have done a better job of making sure you understood what I wanted.’
Imogen was frozen still. This conversation was her worst nightmare. She had relived the past, replayed that awful morning, enough times in her mind. She didn’t want to do it again now. Not with the instrument of all that pain right in front of her.
‘I told you,’ she said a little unevenly. ‘I wasn’t in love with you. I get that now.’
‘Great,’ he responded, a little tightly. ‘But that’s not my point.’
‘Well, what is then?’
‘I don’t want history to repeat itself.’
‘Believe me, I’m not going to fall in love with you. Or think I’ve fallen in love with you. Never gonna happen, buddy.’
‘Because the sex is still overwhelming,’ he admitted gruffly, ‘it’s easy to confuse that with something else, but I feel the same way I did then. I am not interested in a relationship.’
Her cheeks flushed with heat.
‘We’re parents. And I want us to live together, at least until we find out how to do this properly. But living together is bound to lead to sleeping together and I just need to know that I’ve been honest with you. Honest like I should have been back then.’
She shook her head, frustration making her lips pinch. ‘You seriously think I’d be stupid enough to fall for you?’
‘Probably not,’ he responded with a tight smile. ‘I’m just trying to avoid what happened last time.’
‘Last time,’ she hissed, ‘I had no idea what you were like. Now I do, and believe me when I tell you I’m not interested.’
He lifted one thick, dark brow.
‘Okay, sex has the potential to be a complication. We just…can’t let it.’
‘No?’ He moved closer and even just that single action, his body brushing the edge of the bed, made her skin lift in goose bumps.
‘No,’ she said, but her voice was hoarse. ‘We’re stronger than this.’
He nodded once, his eyes heavy on hers. ‘I hope you are right, Imogen. There’s too much at stake now for us to mess this up.’