Chapter 14 #2
Elodie didn’t get a chance to reply. Her eyes landed, a moment later, on a woman who walked onto the terrace, holding a tiny little bundle of a baby.
“That’s Willow and Francesco’s daughter,” Portia explained, as Willow stood, a radiant smile beaming from her face, when she strode to meet the nanny and take her daughter into her arms. “She’s only a month old.”
Elodie couldn’t take her eyes off mother and child, and then, when Francesco joined them—Raf’s brother—something sparked inside of her. A feeling of recognition. Understanding. That was family. He put his arm around Willow’s shoulders and she lifted the baby higher to kiss her forehead.
“We’ll be back soon,” she called over her shoulder, but her eyes didn’t leave her daughter’s face. She was completely and utterly mesmerized.
Elodie’s gaze shifted, of its own accord, to Raf, to find he was staring at her with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.
That made her wonder if they were having exactly the same thoughts and feelings.
The sense of wonderment at what they’d done: create a life together.
Never mind that theirs was not a love story—it would be.
With the birth of this baby, they would fall in love.
Not with each other, but with the little person who was equal parts both of them—and a huge thread in the tapestry of this fascinating, multi-layered family.
Something tightened in her throat, though.
Something like panic.
A feeling of darkness, swallowing that delicious light. Like she was missing a huge part of herself. Like she was missing out on her dreams. She couldn’t quite catch the thought, to know what was troubling her, but something about that description of her future just didn’t ring true.
“You got a sec?” She glanced up to find Dante standing to her right.
Elodie glanced at Portia. She couldn’t say why, but the other woman had such an easy confidence, and natural authority, plus she seemed to so fully belong, that Elodie was finding it safest to be guided by her.
“He doesn’t bite,” Portia assured. Then, with her pale gaze shifting to Dante’s, her features tightening slightly, she added: “If he does, he’ll have me to deal with.”
Dante lifted his hands in silent acknowledgement of that and Elodie almost laughed. Portia was a diminutive woman, and yet she clearly had this strong, alpha Italian wrapped around her little finger.
“She’s worked for me for years,” Dante said with a grimace, as Elodie stood up and fell into step beside him. “But you’d think she was my mother, sometimes.”
Elodie’s lips twitched in a smile, but the further they got from the group, the more nervous she became. This one was all intimidation. Big, strong, gruff, in all the ways Raf was, she supposed, but there was a cool reserve to Dante that made her insides tremble.
They walked a few minutes in silence, towards a large formal garden that ran off to the side of the terrace. Dante plucked a sprig of rosemary and twirled it beneath his nostrils, closing his eyes for a moment.
“My wife loved it here. My first wife. She used to always clip this rosemary and massage it between her fingers, to release the fragrance.”
Elodie’s eyes flew wide.
“I was married before Georgia, to a wonderful woman named Bianca. We had a daughter, Livvie.” His voice was raw.
“I lost them both in an accident. Livvie was four.” He cleared his throat, the emotion obviously still very close to the surface.
“I’ve been blessed with a second chance in life, and even more so because Georgia understands the space I have in my heart for the family I lost, as well as the family I am now blessed with. ”
“I’m so sorry,” Elodie said, surprised to find tears springing to her eyes.
“I mention it because I understand grief. And I have seen Raf grieving for more than two years. What that woman did to him—,” but Dante broke off here with a sharp shake of his head.
“He has been through the darkest of times. Blaming himself, hating her, and then hating everyone. He has pulled away from our family when he needed us most—it’s a classic move, one I am familiar with. ”
She bit into her lip, nodding slowly, but feeling a hint of guilt at having a conversation about Raf with his cousin—albeit a clearly trusted, well-meaning cousin.
“Tonight is the first time in a long time I’ve glimpsed a hint of the man I know and love. There is light in his eyes again. He seems happy.”
Elodie’s heart turned over in her chest as memories of how they’d spent the last two weeks flooded her.
Discovering themselves and their chemistry at his villa in Tuscany, the tension that had simmered between them, almost to the point of being unbearable, and then, the yacht, where they’d simply found their groove.
Without questioning, defining, or overanalyzing anything.
It had been so…easy. And yes, he’d been happy. So had she.
A little gasp strangled in her chest. She’d been happy.
Happy in a way she’d hadn’t understood that she wasn’t with Aaron.
Happy in a way she’d never known she should seek, let alone deserved.
It had been a feeling of joy to wake up each morning, excitement to face the day because Raf was a part of it.
A sense that not only was she hanging on his every word, he was doing the same with her, listening with rapt attention to her stories, her thoughts, her ramblings about life.
It had felt as though she were truly in lockstep with someone.
Truly content.
Her heart thumped harder, as if to say, ‘remember me?’, but she ignored it. Her heart had done her wrong once before, convincing her that she was in love with Aaron, when he hadn’t deserved her. Her heart was not to be trusted.
“When Georgia fell pregnant, we were not a couple. I wasn’t ready to accept what that would have meant.
I didn’t know how to love her, and honour Bianca, at the same time.
” He lifted the rosemary to his nose once more, inhaling the fragrance, as a wistful smile crossed his lips. “Thank God I came to my senses.”
Her heart stammered again. Wishful thinking. An unwelcome, errant thought and hope—the idea that Raf might wake up and declare his love for Elodie. As if she’d even want that. She couldn’t want that. If sleeping with him was complicated, then love was a whole new ballgame.
“I’ll always remember how everyone welcomed Georgia. I particularly recall my father saying something like, you’re having a baby together, which makes us family—and we are so happy. He told Georgia she would always be welcome here, and that she should come often.”
“Portia said something similar to me, tonight.”
His smile was laced with genuine, easy affection. “She is a true Santoro.”
Elodie laughed softly, because the other woman had a plum British accent and was clearly a Santoro by marriage, but Elodie took Dante’s point. She understood the vibe; it was in her heart.
“It is important for you to know that you have our support. We want, more than anything, for Raf to be happy, and for that happiness to mean he is good to you—in whatever capacity you are in one another’s lives.
But no matter what, your child is a Santoro, and you are the mother of a Santoro.
You must always feel that you can speak to any of us, at any time.
Nothing matters more to us than family.”
And her heart burst at the way he seemed to wrap her up in that idea, that statement of family.
At the way it was so easy to believe that yes, she was a part of all of this—these people she’d just met, because of a man she’d only known a matter of months, and yet time didn’t seem to matter.
It was as though she was the missing piece they’d been waiting for, as though she were valuable and special.
It was all so kind and genuine, and yet, that black, spreading emptiness was growing in her chest. For each and every Santoro that opened their arms and welcomed her, all she could think about was Raf, and what their future would be.
Suddenly, she didn’t know what she wanted, but she couldn’t say with certainty that the ‘parents with benefits’ relationship she’d proposed came even close to being it.
In fact, it seemed a thousand miles from what she now wanted.