Page 22 of Bound by Their Christmas Baby

She ignored the recollections, focusing her attention instead on the castle. She was no expert in Italian history but she would have guessed the castle to be fifteenth or sixteenth century. It looked too rustic to have been influenced by the Renaissance movement, though that didn’t mean it wasn’t beautiful. In fact, it was the most beautiful thing Abby had ever seen. The windows were cathedral in shape and the door, at the very middle of the castle, was at least twice Abby’s height and made of thick, ancient wood. She’d put money on the wood having been sourced from one of these enormous pines—the forest that surrounded the castle must be hundreds of years old too. She breathed in deeply and tasted Christmas.

It was an odd thought for a woman who hadn’t celebrated the holiday in more than the most perfunctory of ways for many years. But if she could write Christmas as a fairy tale it would be set somewhere like this. A bird flew overhead, a night bird with wide wings and a soft song. Abby’s eyes were drawn upwards, following its progress and then remaining on the jewel-encrusted sky.

No matter how beautiful the setting, Abby needed to remember that it wasn’t, in fact, a fairy tale. Being here with Gabe might have been the answer to many of her problems but she was pretty sure it would bring with it a whole raft of new worries. She just couldn’t bring herself to deal with them yet.

The crunching of tyres called her attention back to earth and the present moment. She spun, the jacket warm around her, to see a mini-van arrive. Monique stepped out first, Raf nestled in her arms.

He was awake, but looking perfectly calm in the face of all these changes. He was still so tiny, just a very wrapped-up little bundle with a tiny face poking out the top.

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bsp; Monique smiled at Abby, crossing to her. ‘He did very well on the flight, Abigail. Barely a peep, except when we landed, and a pacifier soothed him right back.’

Abby nodded, though she couldn’t help feeling like the worst mother ever for not even hearing her child’s distress. Raf hadn’t been interested in pacifiers before, though she’d tried to introduce them, to buy peace and quiet when he was at his most inconsolable. A niggling doubt that maybe she hadn’t tried hard enough, or simply hadn’t known enough, spread like wildfire.

She reached out a finger, touching her little one’s forehead, and, though it was absurd and made no sense, she didn’t try to take him from the nanny. For some strange reason, she almost felt as if she didn’t have any right.

Perhaps sensing her ambivalence, Monique smiled kindly. ‘I will take him inside and bathe him. Would you like me to give him his bottle or…?’

‘No.’ Abby shook her head, grateful that the other woman seemed to understand that she was generally a very hands-on mother. ‘I’ll do that.’

Monique nodded and moved back to the others; they went as a group towards the castle but Abby held back a little, watching as they disappeared through the enormous timber doors.

She felt balanced on a precipice, one foot in her old life and this new existence beckoning her. It was a reality that shimmered like a reflection in a pond; she could see it and fathom it, but its edges were rippled and the exact nature of it was too hard to properly understand.

If she took a step, and then another, would she disappear for ever beneath the surface? Would she be a part of this world only?

She swallowed, thinking of Manhattan. The father who’d disowned her years ago. Oh, he’d made it official only recently, but his heart had turned cold to Abby much earlier than that.

She thought of her apartment, the tiny space and life she had tried to carve out for herself. She thought of the fridge that was full of bills and emptied of food, and the heating that was too costly to use, and the difficulties of juggling the need to work with trying to make everything good for Raf, and she swept her eyes shut, as if she could dissolve the image of America so easily.

‘Come.’ His voice was gravel. ‘I’ll show you around.’

Snow was thick on the ground everywhere except for the driveway that led to the front entrance; someone must have cleared it very recently because it was already beginning to fall again. Abby paused at the door, turning around to survey the setting once more. The village twinkled in the distance, the pine trees loomed large, fragrant with their alpine scent, and the air was so clear and bright that Abby would swear she could make out the shape of the stars. It was a place that seemed almost to have been carved from heaven.

‘Well?’ His impatient word cut through the serenity of the moment. ‘I know you’ve been living in an ice box but perhaps we could move inside before freezing to death.’

‘I’m sorry I’m not moving fast enough for you.’ The words were laced with tart acidity. ‘I just wanted to get my bearings.’

He ground his teeth.

‘That is Fiamatina, a small village that formed around this castle. The closest city is Turin, about two hours that way. The alps, obviously—’ and he nodded to his right. When she turned, she gasped again. They were obvious and yet she hadn’t yet noticed them, so awestruck had she been by the castle. If she’d thought the sky glistening, she had been ill prepared for the sight of the Italian alps, snow-covered, on a bright moonlit night. They looked to have been cast from silver and diamond dust, yet, for all their beauty, there was something simultaneously frightening about their dramatic, looming presence. They were hard and defined, sharp against the night sky. Abby ran her gaze across them, as far as the eye could see in one direction; her shiver was involuntary.

‘Do you have your bearings now, Abigail?’

‘Yes,’ she responded sharply, though she would have liked to stand out there for longer.

Gabe was right to chivvy her along; Raf would be hungry and she was desperate to hold her little boy, to cuddle him and reassure them both that, for all the changes, life was still normal; they were still together.

A family.

Just like Gabe had said.

He walked into the castle as though it were completely normal, and yet Abby needed another moment to take stock, this time of the interior. The entranceway was high, with vaulted ceilings, and all of it mosaic—the floors a cream and white swirling pattern and the walls with an emphasis on black and grey. There were armchairs to one side, creating a sort of lounge foyer that wouldn’t have been out of place in an exclusive hotel. At some point the building had obviously been heavily modernised. The lighting was like an art gallery, all concealed and elegant, and the heating was excellent. She shrugged out of her coat, surrendering to the cosy warmth of a building that was so utterly enormous. The staircase in the middle of the entrance hall, though made of old terracotta tiles, looked to have been remodelled at some point in recent years.

‘There is a kitchen here, though you will not need to cook, of course. I have a team of domestics who take care of castle operations.’

Her father had never believed in servants. They’d only had a nanny when she’d been younger, and a cleaner as she’d got older. He’d said he didn’t like the way it felt to have people hovering around his home, touching his things, watching him breathe. She wondered if she’d ever get used to the omnipresence of an invisible brigade of helpers.

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