Page 40 of Bound by Their Christmas Baby

‘Abby?’

His use of the diminutive form of her name did something to her and she flicked her gaze to his, her own vulnerabilities unconsciously displayed in the lines of her beautiful young face. ‘Christmas decorations,’ she said softly. ‘They were perfect.’

He looked towards the dressing table. ‘Where did you get them?’

‘A shop in Fiamatina,’ she hiccoughed.

‘So?’ It was obvious he didn’t comprehend. ‘You can buy another one, tempesta.’

‘No, I can’t,’ she sobbed, shaking her head then dropping it into her palms.

‘Why not? Were there only two in the whole shop?’

‘No, there were quite a few but…’ She clamped her lips together, sucking in a deep breath.

‘But?’ he prompted.

‘They were expensive, okay? I could only afford two. And I loved them. They were special and rare and I was going to put them on the Christmas tree for Raf’s first Christmas and every Christmas after and now it’s all ruined. Everything is ruined.’

CHAPTER NINE

GABE WATCHED THEM from his office, every cell held taut. They hadn’t spoken again since he’d left her room the day before. Her anger had been disproportionate to the perceived crime. No, not crime. It hadn’t been his fault. She’d knocked the decoration herself, and yet she’d blamed him. She’d been so cross with him—he hadn’t known her capable of that anger.

When they’d argued in New York, she’d been passive. She’d taken his remonstration, she’d accepted what he’d laid at her feet and she’d been sad, apologetic. She had known how wrong she’d been. Yes, he had seen shame in her eyes—remorse too—and she’d been reasonable enough not to argue in the face of his anger.

Yesterday, she’d been enraged.

And not about the decoration. Not really. It was more than that. The way he’d treated her, the things he’d said.

Regret perforated the lining of his gut.

He’d been shocked by his weakness—shocked by his very emotional response to seeing her with Hughie. It had been an innocent conversation and he’d acted as though he’d caught them in flagrante. He’d taken her into her bedroom, knowing that if they didn’t have sex he’d be driven almost insane by possessive need.

And then he’d done what he could to turn back time, to remind them both of why they were enemies more than lovers.

An unfamiliar sense of shame flooded him. He hadn’t enjoyed hurting her. He hadn’t liked seeing her shock, feeling her withdraw from him, physically needing to distance herself from him.

He closed his eyes, flashes of their time together running before him. Her passion—a passion that had been unmatched in his experience—the way she’d given herself to him completely. What cruel twist of fate was it that a woman he despised had turned out to be his perfect partner in bed? More than that, she was the mother of his child and he was committed to spending his life with her, to making their child happy.

He couldn’t do that if he spent the whole time berating her for the sins in her past, yet he couldn’t move beyond those sins until he understood her better. He had every reason to be careful with his trust—his childhood had been a baptism of fire and he’d developed the necessary defences. That included being careful who he admitted to his inner sanctum—which so far just included Noah.

Now, there was also Raf.

He opened his eyes and his gaze instantly pinpointed Abby, a bright shape against the white backdrop of snow. He studied her. She was smiling and despite the fact their child, so bundled up he was three times his usual size, couldn’t possibly comprehend her, she was talking as she built an enormous snowman. His cheeks were ruddy from where he sat propped in a stroller.

Gabe watched as Abby pinched a small amount of snow in her fingertips and pressed a tiny bit to Raf’s cheek. Their baby’s eyes flew wide and then the little boy smiled. She smiled back. Something within Gabe squeezed. What must it be like to have that kind of affection?

Maternal love was a foreign concept to him.

Any love, really.

Abby had it to give in spades, apparently.

She turned back to the snowman and kept building, fattening his belly until her arms couldn’t wrap around him. Some time later, when she was happy with the construction, she reached into the bottom of the stroller and pulled out something red and white. A scarf! She wrapped it around the snowman’s neck and tied it in a knot, then she reached for something else. A Santa hat.

She was making a damned Santa snowman on his lawn, with their son. Was this what it would always be like for him? On the periphery of something—a family—and not being able to reach for it? Was this the lasting legacy of his own childhood?

He didn’t believe in love—even as a boy, witnessing the way love had slowly deadened his mother’s soul, he swore he’d never get married, never have children. He hadn’t wanted either. The necessity of loving wasn’t something he’d ever craved.

---