Page 169 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

He turned to look at her, his face unreadable.

‘How was the drive?’ she asked, to take her mind off what it did not help her to think about. ‘It’s not the easiest part of the world to get to.’

‘It was fine,’ he said. ‘Sat nav did it all.’ His eyes were on her still, and still unreadable. ‘How have you been keeping, Siena?’ he asked.

‘OK,’ she answered. ‘My ankles have swollen a little, but—’

‘That’s not good!’ he cut across her sharply, frowning.

She shook her head, negating his reaction. ‘I’m within normal range. No sign of pre-eclampsia. All my readings are fine. I saw the midwife this morning, and she’s happy with everything. She said that if I’m not in labour by midweek she’ll come again to check on me.’

She didn’t want him fussing.

‘Can I make you a coffee?’ she offered, to stop any more questions. ‘This place comes with a coffee machine—though it’s probably a bit basic for you. Come into the kitchen and see.’

She led the way, knowing she was waddling, but there was nothing she could do about it. Absently, her hand touched her distended abdomen, as if she were patting a puppy that did not know how much disruption it was causing, but whose feelings she did not want to hurt all the same.

Because it’s not your fault, little one. None of this. You couldn’t help being conceived the way you were!

‘There’s a choice of coffee pods,’ she said, opening an ornamental tin box beside the coffee machine on the worktop. ‘I’ve used all the decaf ones. And anyway, these days I prefer something that’s more easily digestible. I’ll make a mint tea for myself.’

She went to fill the kettle, memory filling her head as well. She’d asked for a mint tea at the end of that tasting menu dinner at the seaside hotel and had never drunk it.

She had run instead.

Knowing she had to.

It had been too dangerous...much too dangerous...to do anything but run...

But I ran in vain.

She snapped the memory off. There was no point to it...no purpose.

He was stepping forward to make his selection of coffee pods and Siena moved away. For the first time she was glad of being the size she was. She could not have looked more different than she had that night at the hotel in Devon. Then, pregnancy had given her a bloom, enhancing her looks.

Dangerously so.

Disastrously so.

She pulled her thoughts away again. She must not indulge them. However hard—unbearable—it was to have Vincenzo here now, at this time, she had to endure it. He had a right to be here.

It was not his fault any more than it was her baby’s fault that her life was now the mess it was. The mess that was infinitely worse than she had ever thought it would be the day she’d found herself pregnant.

Anguish bit again.

She took a breath as she flicked on the kettle, steadying herself as she often must now.

Vincenzo switched on the coffee machine, turned to look at her. ‘I was wondering,’ he said, his voice careful, ‘if you would like to have dinner with me tonight?’

She shook her head. ‘I get very tired now, and I go to bed very early. Do try the pub in the market square for yourself, though. It’s supposed to be pretty good—at least by local standards.’

‘Thank you—I’ll try it out.’ His eyes were resting on her, still unreadable. ‘And how areyou, Siena?’ he asked. ‘Not just physically, but—’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, cutting across him. There had been concern in his voice, and she did not want that. She could cope with him being here only by keeping well clear of anything personal. ‘Like I said,’ she went on, ‘I’m just keen to get a move on now.’

He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘That I can understand,’ he said. He paused a moment. Then, ‘Do you want to tell me what your birth plan is? I... I would like to be there...or close by...if you will allow me.’

She looked at him uncertainly. ‘I... I don’t know. If you want to be at the hospital while it’s all going on, I guess I don’t mind. As for a birth plan... Well, nothing out of the ordinary. I assume I’ll want pain relief at some point. Other than that...just as it happens, I suppose. My grab bag’s all ready—by my bedroom door. That’s it, really.’

---