Page 42 of Bound by Their Christmas Baby

‘Be good while I’m gone. And, just to save you some time, there are no Calypso files in the castle, so you don’t need to go looking behind my back.’

She glared at him but he shook his head.

‘It was a joke. A bad one.’ His smile was tight. ‘I’ll see you soon.’

It had been a joke but the words stung, in the way that only the truth could. When she looked back to that night in New York, she could scarcely believe what she’d done. It was as if someone else had temporarily taken over her body.

And now she’d have to face that misstep for the rest of her life. Or for as long as this charade of a marriage continued.

When he was out of sight she picked up her book and continued to read, but without seeing a single word. Less than an hour later, she heard the helicopter take off and moved—as if on autopilot—to the window. It was shiny black; it looked like a huge eagle, all sleek and elegant, as it moved away from her and the castle.

She told herself she was relieved he was gone, that it would give her time to make sense of what was happening between them. But, in truth, relief was nowhere near the top of what she felt.

She dropped her head to her pillow and breathed in deeply. It still smelled of him.

She groaned—she didn’t have to analyse her feelings to know that she had them, and to know that it was inherently dangerous to feel anything for a man like Gabe Arantini. Particularly given that he had made it obvious he didn’t like her and would never trust her.

And yet…

Yes—and yet. Apparently, her heart hadn’t got her brain’s memo, for it was already softening and turning, allowing Gabe more space inside her mind than she knew was wise.

Telling herself she was going to make the most of this opportunity to explore, she didn’t want to acknowledge that she was actually marking time however she could.

She woke early the next morning and, wrapped up in her warmest clothes, went to explore the forest to the side of the house. She found pine cones which she could spray-paint silver and use to decorate the tree, and she counted seven squirrels as she went.

She imagined Raf when he was older. She imagined the way his face would light up at the sight of the bushy-tailed creatures, the way he’d laugh and try to chase them. Her chest heaved.

It was right that she was here in Italy, here with Gabe. She’d hated Gabe for sweeping into her life and expecting her to fall in with all these changes, but when she thought of the tiny apartment in Manhattan with no heating she knew their son would be happier here.

And her? She pushed that question aside.

Reliving the time they’d spent together in Manhattan, she played with Raf, noticing every little detail about him anew. She lay with him on his tummy, she read to him, she watched him sleep and she got to know the nannies who also looked after him.

Gabe had told Abby she wouldn’t need to cook but to distract herself she dug out a recipe book from the castle’s library and made gingerbread dough until the whole kitchen was fragrant with the spiced aroma. And though she’d never attempted anything so grand as a gingerbread house, she figured she was already way outside her comfort zone so what was one more brave attempt?

It was almost dark by the time she was finished, the house hardly a work of art but at least structurally sound. She went back upstairs but instead of returning to her bedroom, she went to his.

He’d asked her to move in. Was that what she wanted?

She padded into his suite, hovering on the threshold as though she were crossing some invisible barrier before pushing deeper inside. His room was larger than hers, with a king-size bed at its heart, two sofas to the side and a

bay window that overlooked the gardens. She wondered what these gardens would be like in summer. It was hard to imagine while they were completely blanketed in snow.

There were no marks of personal possession in this room, besides his clothes in the wardrobe and toiletries in the en suite bathroom. No photos hung on the walls, no artwork to show his aesthetic preference. There was a flat-screen television mounted on the wall. She flicked it to life distractedly—the Italian news was on. She sat on the edge of the bed, watching for a while, wondering if she’d ever comprehend the fast-moving language.

Hours later, she accepted that Gabe wasn’t coming back to the castle.

The wave of disappointment was unwelcome, but she recognised that feeling well.

She showered and dressed in a pair of wintry pyjamas before curling up in her own bed.

She fell asleep dreaming of Gabe and woke with a start some time in the middle of the night, sitting up straight. She was disorientated, as though she might have been in his room after all, as though he might be with her.

A cursory inspection with the light of her lamp showed that not to be the case. She was alone in her own bed.

She dropped back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling until the oblivion of dawn or sleep came first.

In the end, it was dawn. Morning light broke across her room and she was grateful, if somewhat exhausted, to step out of bed, shower and dress.

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