Page 145 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 1-4

‘So what have you been doing with your life so far?’ he continued.

She busied herself buttering her roll. She didn’t want to talk about having hoped to go to art school. Let alone second time around. Let alone why it was second time around.

She felt memories from those anguished years seek to intrude, painful and difficult. But she must not let them. There was no reason now, in her condition—healthily pregnant—for such haunting, such apprehension.

It’s nothing like it was for them—it’s all quite different. Quite different for my baby...

Vincenzo was speaking again, and she found herself glad of the distraction from thoughts—fears?—she did not want to have.

‘Did you grow up in London?’ Vincenzo put to her.

Siena shook her head. This was safe enough, surely? ‘No, I’m a country girl, born and bred.’

‘What part of the country?’ he pursued.

‘East Anglia...a small country town.’ Without her being conscious of it her voice softened as she remembered her happy childhood. ‘My father was a vet, my mother his veterinary nurse. My brother trained as a vet too, ready to take over the practice in due course—’ She broke off.

It wasn’t that safe after all...

She was aware that Vincenzo was resting his gaze on her, and that it still had that careful, watchful quality to it.

‘Have you told your family you are pregnant?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she said. She tried not to let her voice sound short. ‘My parents—’

She stopped, took another drink from her glass, her mouth suddenly dry. She looked away, out over the restaurant, which was now starting to fill up.

‘My parents didpro bonowork every year. My father was an equine vet, and he and my mother went out to North Africa regularly, to help at a donkey charity they supported. Donkeys are crucial to the livelihoods of most of the rural population in that part of the world—but sadly their owners often don’t have the means to look after them properly. My parents gave their own services to the charity, and helped to train local practitioners as well. They did it for years... Except that one year—’ She stopped again. Took a painful breath. ‘One year, while they were out there, there was an earthquake.’

She felt her throat tighten, reached for her glass again.

‘I’m sorry.’

She heard the words, spoken quietly, but she could not look at him. Nor could she say anything.

Into the silence he spoke again, careful still. ‘You mentioned a brother—?’

‘He lives in Australia,’ she said quickly. ‘We’re not estranged or anything...’ She could hear the awkwardness in her voice and tried to speak over it. ‘But, well...it’s the other side of the world.’

That was all she wanted to say. But inside her head thoughts were running that she did not wish to think. Thoughts about her brother. At some point she must tell him that she was pregnant. It would not be easy...

She looked up at Vincenzo, setting down her knife. ‘What about you?’ she asked, turning the tables on him. Deflecting questions away from herself.

Did she even want to know anything about him?

If they were going to get beyond their destructive, exhausting hostility she must make an effort to.

He’s apologised—I’ve accepted it. Now we move on.

He did not get a chance to answer her. At that moment their food was arriving, and Siena quickly made a start on her fish. It was delicate, and delicious, the tiny new potatoes and fresh peas served separately equally delicious. Across from her Vincenzo was eating his lamb—which looked, to her mind, too rare for her palette.

‘How is your sole?’ Vincenzo asked politely.

‘Very good,’ she answered, equally politely.

For a few minutes they did nothing but make inroads into their dinner, then Vincenzo resumed their conversation.

‘You asked about me,’ he said, picking up on the question she’d turned on him. He took another forkful of lamb before he went on.

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