CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FOUR
‘We should probably talk about the practicalities of this,’ Imogen said tentatively, when Aurora was settled for her nap.
Luca tilted her a glance, saying nothing. He was intimidating when he was like this.
Imogen forced herself to continue. ‘I work three nights a week, and I teach a couple of kids piano some afternoons. I do lessons online, but generally schedule them for when Genevieve is around to help out. I’ve checked and she can come here, when I’m working, to look after Aurora.’
He swore softly. ‘Because you do not trust me with our daughter?’
‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but you don’t have any experience with kids. Wouldn’t you rather have some help, at least in the beginning?’
Something in his eyes shifted, an emotion she couldn’t comprehend. ‘I’m a quick study.’
‘I…admire your confidence.’ She sat down on the edge of an armchair, pulling her hair over one shoulder. ‘But this is our daughter. I can’t go to work unless I know she’s safe.’
His features tightened perceptibly now. ‘You don’t think I can protect her?’
‘That’s a little dramatic. I’m not talking about some big bad wolf storming through the door. I just mean in case she falls over, or makes a run for the stairs.’ She gestured around the apartment. ‘Toddlers are non-stop. You have to be vigilant the whole time.’
‘I intend to be.’
Imogen nodded slowly.
‘You don’t look reassured.’
Imogen’s eyes widened. ‘It’s just—’
‘She doesn’t know me,’ he said, crossing his arms over his chest.
And whose fault is that?
He didn’t say it, but he might as well have. Imogen’s cheeks flushed pink. ‘What would you have done, if I’d told you back then?’
He hadn’t been expecting the question; she could tell by the way his head jerked a little. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Would you have made me move in with you then? What would you have said?’
‘What I might have done doesn’t really matter, as I never got the chance. I’m more interested in what you thought I’d do. That, after all, is the reason I was denied knowing her.’
Imogen flinched, but it was a fair question. ‘I thought you’d completely flip out.’
Despite the seriousness of the conversation, the smallest ghost of a smile tilted his lips for a fraction of time before the thunder-clouds took over again.
‘Difficult conversations still have to be had.’
‘Our last difficult conversation was kind of hard for me to get over. I wasn’t in the headspace for another.’
She toyed with her fingers, standing and moving towards the side table. It still had some interesting objects atop it, because it was too high for Aurora’s curious little fingers. She picked up a glossy shell, running her fingers over its crenellations.
The truth was, she’d been depressed. After that morning, she’d gone into a dark, dark place and hadn’t known how she’d ever get out of it. She’d barely existed. It was Aurora who had pulled her out of that funk, slowly but surely.
‘Maybe I wasn’t thinking clearly,’ she said with a lift of one shoulder. ‘At the time, I was sure it was the best decision for everyone.’
‘You claimed to love me,’ he said, and she shivered, hearing that word in his mouth, remembering how badly she’d wanted him to say it back to her. How sure she’d been that he would, because every moment they’d shared had felt like love to Imogen.
How stupid she’d been!
‘And yet you really thought withholding a child from me was the best decision? How could you deny a child the presence of a man you claimed to love?’
‘I didn’t love you.’
Imogen had fantasised about saying those words for so long, and she’d thought it would be a heady delirium to throw them at his feet if ever she got the chance, but saying them now, she just felt very hollow.
Nonetheless, she spun around to face him, still clutching the shell, and she caught the shadow of surprise on his face and was glad. ‘You were right. It was just sex. I loved sleeping with you, that’s all.’ She sucked in a breath, wondering why she didn’t feel more victorious. ‘Was it any wonder? I was a virgin, of course I got swept up in the excitement of it all.’ She waited for the hit to land, then moved on, her voice soft and sadly reflective. ‘I did like you, though. I thought you liked me. But the way you spoke to me made me realise I didn’t even know you, and I sure as hell didn’t think you had the emotional maturity to be a parent.’
He flinched and silence fell. She waited, breath held, for him to respond. To say something. To fight with her, to push her to admit that she had in fact loved him. Because she had, of course. Utterly and completely. But for pride, she’d lied to him now and she was glad.
Silence stretched, static and painful.
‘If it makes you feel better, and you think it’s best for Aurora, your sister can come over when you work.’
Tears threatened to fill Imogen’s eyes. Not because he’d conceded the point but because he’d let her assertion stand, and she wanted to correct the record now and tell him she’d loved him with all her stupid, stupid heart.
She spun away, replacing the shell before swiftly leaving the room.
* * *
He stared at the wall for a long time after she left. Stared, replayed their conversation, pulling it apart, answering her questions to himself, now that he could explore them properly.
What would he have done if she’d told him back then?
Married her? Been secretly thrilled because he was actually missing her in his life?
He hadn’t expected to. He’d truly believed he’d get over Imogen quickly, but she was a uniquely fascinating woman and a month with her had changed his parameters. He hadn’t found her easy to forget, and months later, in the time frame of her pregnancy discovery, he’d been yearning for her in a way that might have weakened his resolve.
Marriage would have been wrong for her, because she would always want more than he could offer. She wouldn’t be happy with a simple marriage for the sake of a baby. She would want it to be real, and he could never give her that.
He would never let himself have that, more to the point. Not after his family. Not after his failure to save them. He was going through the motions of this life, but he wasn’t really living. He didn’t want to live.
And there he found the problem, as he hadn’t fully understood it then. Imogen had made him feel so alive. She’d made him feel so happy , in a way he hadn’t deserved. She’d made him feel as though nothing in his past mattered. She’d almost made him want to forgive and forget, but he couldn’t. His tribute to his family, the family he could not save, was to exist in a kind of purgatory. Imogen had threatened that with every single part of her.
She still did, he realised with a groan, dropping his head forward and transferring his intense stare to the carpet.
‘I didn’t love you.’
Cristo , it had felt like she was plunging a knife right through his gut, even when he recognised the sense of what she was professing. Of course she hadn’t loved him. It had been a childish infatuation, nothing more, and he’d put an end to it.
But for three years, he’d had the knowledge locked in the back of his mind that if someone like Imogen Grant could love him, he wasn’t all bad. It wasn’t as though he’d forgiven himself for the loss of his family, and for what he’d failed to do to save them, but in his darkest moments, the fact that Imogen had loved him had been like a little touchstone of warmth deep in his cold, black heart.
And now, even that was gone; all the light had gone out.
* * *
In the few seconds it took for Imogen to properly wake up, she had the strangest sense of discombobulation. She reached for her phone to check the time only to feel air—no bedside table where hers usually was. She sat up, looking around blearily, and with another deep, dark cry, she remembered.
She was at Luca’s.
He knew about Aurora.
‘I didn’t love you.’
‘I need to get there. Stop. Let me go.’
His voice was loud, angry, raw with emotion. She pushed the sheet off herself, half worried he’d wake Aurora, half worried about him, and ran the short distance down the corridor, from her bedroom to his. She flung open the door without hesitation.
Luca was asleep, eyes shut, body naked—from the waist up at least—and sheened in perspiration. He thrashed as she watched, hitting the mattress. ‘Stop! No! I have to get there, she’s crying for me!’ He slipped into Italian, and she recognised a dark curse in the midst of a string of other words.
Imogen had no idea what his nightmare was about, but it was terrifying to see Luca like this. Luca who was always in control, Luca who had a cool strength inherent to him.
‘Luca.’ She said his name loudly, sharply, but her voice shook.
He made a sound, barely human, and when she moved to him, it was partly because she was still worried he’d wake Aurora, but mostly, it was because she couldn’t bear to see him like this. She told herself she would have done the same for anyone . Her humanity required her to offer help and comfort when needed.
She moved quickly to his bed and put her hands on his shoulders, steadying him. His skin was warm to touch, almost feverish, and his brow was covered in a light sheen of perspiration. Pity twisted her gut.
‘Luca, Luca.’ She shook him.
‘Let me go,’ he cried, louder. But he wasn’t talking to her; he was in his dream. His nightmare. She’d never seen him like this—couldn’t have imagined it was possible for him to feel such pain. ‘I have to go!’
‘It’s me. It’s Imogen.’
His eyes burst open and stared at her without really seeing. His face was lined with panic, his body prone with alertness. She kept her hands on his shoulders, holding him to the mattress. Not that she was any match for him physically—she just hoped he wouldn’t lash out in his dreamlike state.
‘You’re okay,’ she said, voice husky now, reassuring him. ‘You’re home. Everything’s okay. Everything’s okay.’
He frowned, as if still not comprehending. His body was so tense, his face so unfamiliar to her. He shifted a little, frowning and her heart turned over.
Her need to comfort and reassure him, to draw him back into the present, was her guiding light. Instincts were at the helm—instincts, she kept telling herself, she would have felt if it were any other person. But that wasn’t completely true. There was no one else on earth she would have attempted to soothe in the following manner. For a moment later, without forethought, she leaned down, her lips finding his on autopilot, tasting the salt of his perspiration as she kissed him, swallowing the rapid husk of his breathing, hoping to draw him back into the reality of this life, and away from whatever had been torturing his sleep.
Stop! a voice in her head commanded her, shrieking at her to remember who he was and what he’d done to her, how he’d forced her to move into his home. To remember how capable he was of wounding her. And yet he was also a man, tortured by a dream, and this was just a kiss, after all—something they’d done plenty of times in the past without it ever meaning anything.
Until the threads of Luca’s nightmare frayed and broke, returning him to his usual self, and he was not responding in a state of fear, but rather something else. Something more urgent and primal, an animalistic need that ran through them both.
His hands moved to her hips, lifting her easily and bringing her over him, and then he was kissing her back, his body shifting to free the sheet that was between them.
‘You had a nightmare,’ she said into his mouth, as he rolled them, so she was on her back, his powerful body atop.
‘Yes,’ he agreed—which was more than she’d expected—and then he was kissing her so hard it was impossible to talk, much less think. She arched her back, her hunger for him catching her completely off guard. And yet why should it have? Wasn’t this the way it was with them? Wasn’t this their normal? No matter what she thought intellectually or knew to be true and right, this was an undeniable reality with them, and she couldn’t fight it.
Not then.
Not when he needed her.
When he needed her, she would be there for him. Not because she cared about him—she wouldn’t be that stupid ever again—but because he was a human being, in pain, and she was right there, and knew how to fix it.
Only it wasn’t selfless.
Imogen needed fixing too.
Imogen needed the sense of wholeness and euphoria that came from being with Luca. When they were together, everything was right in the world, and she didn’t need to think beyond that. How could she feel that way, after everything that had happened with them? She hated him, and yet she hated seeing him hurt. She hated him, and yet she needed him too. She needed him to need her . Proof that those awful words he’d thrown at her three long years ago had been a lie—it was something to cling to, a small power she held over him that was somehow mollifying and reassuring.
But that was almost too academic. When it came down to it, Imogen sometimes felt that being with Luca went beyond a choice: it was something that was almost predestined with the two of them, something that she could fight tooth and nail but never fully control.
Except it didn’t change anything between them. Tomorrow, the sun would dawn, and they’d be in the exact same predicament, the trap created by Aurora’s birth, but they would have had this—at least it was something, in the chaos of their lives, a small silver lining to this whole damned mess.
She remembered where he kept his condoms and reached across towards the bedside table, but her arms weren’t long enough. Not when she was pinned beneath him on the bed.
‘Please,’ she groaned, lifting her hips.
He grunted his agreement, stretching out to open the drawer and remove a string of contraceptives. She didn’t think about how well stocked he was. She didn’t think about the fact he’d undoubtedly replaced her again and again in the three years since she’d left him.
Not now.
Not when he was sheathing himself and taking her, pushing deep inside so Imogen cried out and writhed beneath him, waves of pleasure washing over her until she couldn’t think straight.
Thinking was overrated anyway.
* * *
He had sworn this wouldn’t happen. Hell, he’d wanted to keep her at arm’s length, but in the tumult of his nightmare, in the torture of those memories, he’d woken to see Imogen, and she’d been like a beacon, a light in the abject darkness of his grief and failings, looking at him with her sweet, kind face, with all the goodness that glowed from her like starlight.
He’d wanted to shout at her, because her kindness and concern were the last things he wanted. His nightmare had been awful; his stomach was churning, just like it had that night, and he’d been relishing that pain, because he deserved it. How long had it been since he’d had a nightmare? In the beginning, they’d been frequent, but then he’d managed to control even his dreams. It must have been seeing Aurora. She was so like Angelica, so like his little sister, the memories had been stirred up and brought to life once more. And he’d been glad! Glad to exist in that pain and torture. But then Imogen had leaned down and kissed him, and any intention to control the spark that flared between them had been lost in the sheer urgency of their coming together.
He glanced across at her sleeping face, so innocent and beautiful, so achingly familiar, and regret slammed into him hard. Regret for his weakness, her kindness, for the passion that seemed determined to rule their interactions, even when they both clearly wished they didn’t feel it.
There was nothing for it; Luca would simply have to try harder to control this. Imogen had offered herself to him once before, on a silver platter, and he’d known it to be impossible. Her love had been the last thing he’d wanted, the last thing he could accept, and nothing had changed. She wasn’t offering love now, but she was still offering more than he would ever let himself have. She was still offering him a balm to his past, a way to forget, maybe even to forgive, and for that reason alone, Luca would hold firm. Imogen was not, and never could be, his, in any way.
* * *
She must have fallen asleep because it was dawn when she woke in his bed, then rolled to her side so she could look at him.
And her stomach churned because this was so familiar. Waking early, seeing his face, knowing she wouldn’t have long before he stirred and started preparing for his day. Showering—always alone—dressing into one of those immaculate suits, gradually putting up all his barriers and pushing her away.
She hadn’t realised it at the time, but Imogen had had three years to reflect and consider, and now she saw his morning rituals as a form of excising her from his life. Of showing her he didn’t want her to be there more than she had been.
Why hadn’t she understood that at the time?
She contemplated leaving his room, creeping out to avoid having to be pushed away again, but Imogen was older and wiser now, and more determined to do things on her terms. Whatever that might mean.
As if her being awake had somehow communicated itself to him, he blinked his eyes open and they landed straight on her, so her skin fizzed with a strange awareness, and her body trembled.
She didn’t say good morning, and nor did he. It was almost too banal for them, after what had happened last night.
‘You had a nightmare,’ she said, as she had the night before, only this time, a question was couched in her words.
His jaw tightened.
‘What was it about?’
His eyes darkened. ‘I don’t remember.’
Imogen’s heart panged as if screws were being tightened on both sides. ‘Don’t you?’ Scepticism tinged her words.
‘It was just a dream.’
‘No, it was a nightmare,’ she insisted, as frustration whipped at her spine. ‘You must have thought I was so stupid,’ she said softly, pitying her twenty-two-year-old self.
Luca’s frown showed he didn’t understand.
‘You did that all the time back then and I didn’t even realise.’
‘Did what?’
‘Deflect. Not answer. I’d ask you a question and you’d deftly sidestep it, or turn it into a question about me instead. I hardly knew you, Luca, and all the while I was an open book to you.’
A muscle jerked in his jaw, but he didn’t deny it.
‘You’re doing it now. If you don’t want to talk about your nightmare, then just say that. You don’t have to lie to me. I know what I saw.’
‘And what did you see?’
She frowned slowly, searching for words. ‘You were terrified. No, you were haunted.’ She shuddered. ‘It was awful.’
He pushed back the sheet and stepped out of bed, gloriously naked and uncaring, striding towards the en suite. It was all so familiar, she felt as though she’d been sucked back in time. He’d pushed her away so often then, but she’d been living in a fantasy land, failing to recognise what he was doing. She saw it now and it hurt like hell. She hurt for this moment, but also for all the moments that had gone before. For the younger woman she’d been, who’d loved so unquestioningly, so trustingly, and had been blind to what he’d been showing her all along.
He’d been using her. Using her for sex, for pleasure, because she was easy. Just like he’d been using her last night, to forget his nightmare. Nothing with Luca was real, and nothing with Luca was ever about Imogen. This was what Luca needed, what Luca wanted.
And damn it if she didn’t keep letting him do it to her. She kept throwing herself at him, no matter what happened between them. She kept making it easy for him to make love to her,
But she was different now, she reminded herself once more. She was older, wiser and refused to soften towards him. She knew what he was now, when she hadn’t then. As she had promised Genevieve, she refused to let her guard down with him.
‘Then you have your answer,’ he said, when he reached the door to the bathroom, surprising her, because she presumed his departure had signalled the end of their conversation. ‘And yes,’ he admitted, uneasily. ‘It was more awful than I care to explain.’
* * *
Imogen would have said there weren’t many things about Luca that could surprise her now. She knew he was callous, cold, selfish, unfeeling. But she hadn’t expected this version of him. The Luca who was sitting opposite their daughter, lifting fingers of toast and aeroplaning them towards Aurora in a way that made the little toddler giggle with total abandon before stuffing the toast into her mouth and munching it with classic Aurora enthusiasm.
The contrast with the dark, tortured man she’d made love to the night before and this version of him was giving her whiplash.
‘She’s a good eater,’ Luca said, with genuine admiration, turning to Imogen.
Her breath hitched in her throat because in that moment, he was just a dad, discovering things about his daughter, and loving it. Loving her.
Imogen’s heart felt heavy and detached from her body. So, he was capable of loving after all. Just not of loving Imogen.
She nodded quickly, trying not to let that realisation hurt. ‘She’s adored food from the moment we introduced solids.’
‘We?’
‘Gen and me. Gen’s been invaluable.’ Luca turned back to Aurora, but not before Imogen caught the look of anger in his eyes.
‘What else?’ he asked, though, continuing the conversation.
‘What else?’ She took a seat at the table, a little way down. Observing but not intruding. Luca was right: he’d missed so much. This was his chance to make up for lost time, and Imogen had no need to get in the way.
‘What else does she like, besides toast?’
‘Oh, right.’
‘Baba chimiken,’ Aurora said, showing she didn’t miss a beat.
‘Butter chicken,’ Imogen translated.
Luca raised a brow.
‘Pasta. Rice. She’s really good with vegetables. I make a broccoli soup that she can’t get enough of. Cheese sticks, cucumber.’ Imogen wracked her brain. ‘I took her for sushi a couple of weeks ago and that was fun. Messy but fun.’
‘Sushi.’ He nodded slowly, as if cataloguing the list in his brain.
‘She’s very adventurous,’ Imogen continued, because he wanted the gaps filled in and she possessed the information necessary. ‘Not just with food, but with anything. She loves to go down slides—the higher the better. And to be pushed in the swings—same thing. I can never push her high enough. She loves see-saws but that makes me nervous so we don’t do that too often.’
She watched as Luca took another piece of toast, flying it through the air with a buzzing engine noise. Her heart had gone way past painful and throbbed into no-longer-capable-of-beating territory. Years ago, she’d dreamed of this—of their happily-ever-after. She’d believed they were falling in love, that they would marry and have children, a family of their own. Those dreams were childish, not based in reality. She’d accepted that. So living, now, in a version of those dreams—one that was lined with darkness and enmity—was almost impossible to bear.
‘Does she go to nursery?’
Imogen shook her head, trying to dislodge her painful thoughts. ‘She’s too young. She’s made friends with some kids who go, though. She watches them scooter off in the mornings and can’t wait to join them.’ Imogen swallowed quickly. ‘Sometimes I feel like she’s the most independent toddler that’s ever existed.’
‘Independence is not a bad thing.’
‘No, it’s not. But it can be hard,’ Imogen admitted with a wistful smile.
‘Hard how?’
‘I don’t know. I guess I can already imagine the day she packs up and moves out.’
Luca turned to Imogen, scanning her face thoughtfully. ‘There are worse things to imagine.’
Imogen frowned at the cryptic remark. He was right, but that didn’t invalidate her feelings.
‘It’s just all going so fast. I feel like she was a new-born three seconds ago, and now look at her.’
Aurora finished the last piece of toast then started to pull at the restraint of her high chair.
‘Breakfast is over,’ Imogen said with a smile, as Luca went to clear Aurora’s plate.
‘I’ll do that,’ Imogen murmured. ‘Why don’t you play with her?’ And then she added, ‘I’ll be in the kitchen, if you need me.’
Need her?
Of course he didn’t need her.
Not only was Luca Romano apparently a Wunderkind in the business world, when it came to looking after their daughter, he had the skills of Mary Poppins. Of course.
Because he was just frustratingly good at everything. Except peopling, she reminded herself.
She should have been glad that he was adapting so well to the role of fatherhood, but she wasn’t, because every time she saw him with Aurora, she was hit right in between her eyes with doubt as to her decision to keep them apart. It had seemed so obvious at the time, she hadn’t once questioned her choice. But now?
How could she not?
She kept busy in the kitchen. Hiding, she admitted to herself. Initially, she cleaned up the breakfast dishes but then, she made a brownie with the ingredients she found in Luca’s walk-in pantry, before cleaning up those dishes, so when he strode in almost two hours after breakfast was finished, the air was heavy with the smell of sweets.
‘There have been four yawns in the last ten minutes. I take it it’s nap time?’ he prompted, looking at Aurora, who was snuggled into his hip.
‘Yeah,’ Imogen said, her voice throaty, her eyes suspiciously stinging. Aurora just looked so right on Luca’s hip. She was so comfortable with him already. They were father and daughter, and Aurora seemed to somehow just understand that.
Imogen spun away quickly, busying herself with washing her hands and making a meal of it to buy for time.
‘I’ll take her up,’ she said, when she could trust herself to speak.
But Luca waved her away. ‘I can do it. At least, I think I can.’
‘I have to change her diaper.’ Imogen shook her head.
‘I can do that too.’
‘Really? Have you had much practice with changing a toddler’s diaper?’
‘More than you know,’ he said, before turning on his heel and leaving.
What? What toddler? she wanted to call after him, but with Aurora on his hip, it wasn’t the time to interrogate him, and so she stayed downstairs, one ear trained for calls for help while she set about making some sandwiches for their lunch. She wasn’t really hungry, but it was something to do with her hands, something to help distract her, and God knew she needed that.
* * *
He was surprised by how much of caring for Aurora was, in fact, muscle memory. From feeding her to carrying her to placing her down for her nap, it all brought back so many memories of Angelica. And more than his little sister, it brought back memories of his late mother’s voice, as she’d gently instructed him on the way to hold a baby, then a toddler; on the best methods for settling a little one into bed.
He knew he didn’t need to stay with Aurora as she fell asleep, but he did so anyway, driven to watch her drift off for very selfish reasons. Firstly, he had missed so much of his daughter’s life that he was now gripped by a visceral need to absorb absolutely everything. To watch as her lashes fluttered over her velvet-soft cheeks and her breathing grew slumberous.
But he was also avoiding Imogen.
Avoiding her intense stare, her perceptive eyes, her always kind questions. Avoiding her because she confused him, and made him forget everything he had sworn to himself.
Avoiding her because when he was with her, he wanted her.
She helped him forget, yes, but she also made him feel something other than this heart-rending grief and guilt, the gift that Imogen had always bestowed upon him. A gift he had no place accepting, let alone craving.
Imogen was off-limits. She should have been so three years ago, and she sure as hell was now—he just had to remember that.