Page 167 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

She did not know. Not yet. But she must think of somewhere. She must.

Shemust...

Vincenzo was in Milan. He might as well be. There was no point being in England. Not any more. Siena had made that clear. Crystal-clear. He knew where she was, and for now that must do. He was not out of touch with her—not completely. She sent him brief monthly updates, reports from the midwife appointments she went to. Her pregnancy was progressing healthily—that was all he knew.

He knew he must allow her this. Allow her time and space and distance.

Because she does not want anything more from me.

He felt emotion stab at him, but he crushed it back down. There was no point allowing it...permitting it.

I have to accept that she wants nothing more than what she has made clear—completely clear.

And he must respect that—he had no choice but to do so. All he could do was what he was doing now. Leave her be.

The way she wanted.

Until...

When her time comes I shall be there. Be there for her.

On that he would insist.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SIENAWASWASHINGUP, looking out of the kitchen window into the garden at the back of the little terraced house. In the summer it was a holiday let, but she had rented it for the winter. In the garden, a robin and a blackbird were hopping about. She must put out some more food for them.

She moved slowly towards the back door that opened on to the garden. Her gait was ponderous now...gravid. Her feet had disappeared from view, and sitting down and getting up was a slow business.

As she scooped up some more birdseed and scattered it on the paved area beyond the back door she felt the baby move and turn within her. She stilled a moment, letting the movement subside.

Her time was coming...her due date approaching. No longer weeks—only days.

She walked slowly, ponderously, to the sink, filled up the kettle, set it to boil. A cup of tea to while away the time. She could do some sketching—but what for? She’d done a little, from time to time, but had no heart for it. The one of the garden and seascape that she’d made at the hotel in Selcombe had never been finished. She did not want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about the time she’d spent there that had ended so disastrously...

She felt a twisting inside her—like ropes pulling tight, into knots.

Isn’t this enough of a mess without...?

She tried to pull her thoughts away, as she had been training herself to do ever since she had fled, so urgently, so desperately, to find refuge here in this anonymous little house. Somewhere she could hole up...hide...

But how could she hide? This place, this time, was a respite only. Nothing more than that. Soon—and it was coming ever closer—in a handful of days, she must see Vincenzo again. She might wish with all her being that she need not do so, but how could she deny him?

Impossible to do so.

Her words, hurled at him so long ago now, speared in her head.

‘I am handcuffed to you—shackled to you!’

Emotion twisted inside her again. The irony of it was hard to bear.

I didn’t want anything to do with him because I loathed him. Now...

She stared blindly out of the kitchen window as the kettle started to boil. Outside the birds pecked hungrily at the seed she’d scattered for them, unseen by her. Emotion came again—a physical pain, stabbing at her. Unbearable to bear—and yet she must. For what else could she do but bear it? What else but endure the ultimate folly she had committed?

Not her pregnancy—not that at all.

A smothered cry of anguish broke from her and she turned away, hand pressed against her mouth, tears starting in her eyes.

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