Happy Mother's Day!

And by then she was past caring about anything, other than following what they were telling her to do—or, rather, telling her not to do. Like push. Or bearing down. And she, who hated control being taken from her, found that she wanted so badly to relieve these tightening bands of pain that she almost welcomed the bossy orders they were hurling at her. She might have laughed at the irony of it all if she hadn’t been so exhausted.

The room was crowded for it seemed that the royal obstetrician had been rushed in from his nearby private clinic, following a directive from Gianluca’s doctor in Rome.

‘Please!'Aisling begged. ‘I just want to have this baby!’

Gianluca shot an anxious glance at the doctor, but for once in his life he was forced to relinquish control. He wanted to help Aisling, but he could do nothing for her physically—or emotionally—because when he went to grip her hand, she pulled it away, refusing to look at him.

It was only when he sensed that the labour was close to the end, when her desperate cries echoed on the air, that she reached for him, biting her lip with pain as her fingernails pierced his skin.

‘Help me,’ she whispered. ‘Gianluca—please help me.’

Never in his life had he felt so completely powerless. ‘It’s going to be all right, cara,’ he soothed, but his voice sounded harsh.

She turned her sweat-sheened face away. He lied. For how could it ever be right?

‘Gianluca, do you want to see your baby being born?’

He turned to Aisling and the moment their eyes met she knew that she could not deny him this. And as she nodded her head with mute permission, she so wished that it could have all been different. Normal. That they could have been like other couples in this situation. But you aren’t a couple, came the painful reminder, before another, vastly superior pain eclipsed it.

Gianluca was dazed as he watched the physical process of childbirth, which seemed light years away from the desire which had brought them all to this point. One last cry from Aisling split the air. He saw a shock of jet-dark hair emerging and heard a lusty squawk and he shook his head, as if denying the evidence of his own eyes. This miracle.

But when a slimy and wriggling bundle was swathed and placed in his arms, Gianluca looked down, and his heart turned over with love.

CHAPTER TEN

‘YOUR partner is waiting to collect you, Aisling.’

‘Thanks.’ With hands which were trembling slightly, Aisling picked up the baby.

It was pointless correcting the midwife. Let her believe that she and Gianluca were cosy partners if it fitted the happy-ever-after version. The sad truth was that they said very little of any consequence to each other. His soft, murmured words were for his son alone—and his brilliant, charismatic smiles for the nursing and medical staff to whom he was so grateful.

‘Fancy him trying to keep that donation to the special care baby unit quiet!’ cooed the midwife. ‘And theatre tickets for the entire department, too! You’re one lucky woman, Aisling.’

Lucky? Aisling’s face didn’t betray a thing as she adjusted her son’s cashmere blanket for the eighth time since she’d draped it around him—wondering where the self-possession on which she prided herself had fled to.

Did other new mothers feel like this? Scared witless that they were going to do something wrong. Worried about dropping the baby—or making him too hot, or too cold. This beautiful little baby who so resembled his father and was so far unnamed, because neither of them could agree on anything they liked.

She felt all over the place—as if the ground had turned into slippery ice since she gave birth a little over twentyfour hours ago—and everyone knew how to skate on it except her. The midwives had told her that it was early days and part of Aisling had wanted to ask to stay longer—knowing that at least while she was in hospital she didn’t have to make any big and troublesome decisions.

But that was not the way that childbirth was conducted any more. New mothers were encouraged to take their babies home as soon as the baby was feeding well so that the family could all ‘bond'. Well, she couldn’t see that happening in her case.

‘Aisling?’

She heard the sound of Gianluca’s velvety voice and inside she prayed for some sort of guidance on how best to handle this situation—surely the most bizarre state of affairs imaginable? To maintain some kind of emotional balance and make sure she knew the difference between fact and reality.

She turned round to see his eyes sweep over the sleeping bundle she cradled in her arms—his expression all bright and shine.And then his features became shuttered as he met her gaze. Was he inwardly cursing her for trapping him, des

pite his obvious joy at the birth of his son? she wondered.

‘Are you ready?’ he questioned.

She nodded. ‘Sure.’

‘Shall I carry him?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Aisling tried to tell herself that it was only fair he should—and she carefully handed the baby over, hoping that her face did not betray her inner panic. Because, unlike her, Gianluca seemed to be a natural at this. The baby looked like a swaddled white blob—almost lost in those powerful arms, which could be so strangely gentle with the infant.

He ran a questing fingertip over the baby’s cheek and murmured something soft in Italian before lifting his head to look at Aisling and switching to English. ‘The car is outside. Are you okay to walk?’