If she could have she would have taken his pain on herself. And yet she was about to add to it by taking away his chance to be a full-time father.
She just couldn’t do that to him; Francesco had lost enough without losing his child.
‘I alwayswanted you, Francesco.’ And I’ll always love you!
Francesco’s eyes darkened and a muscle in his lean cheek clenched as he sucked in a deep breath. ‘Erin …’ His hands slid to her shoulders as he said something thick in his own language. As he bent his head towards hers Erin closed her eyes, her eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings against her flushed cheeks.
‘Perhaps we could make a go of it?’
Francesco’s hands fell away and his head came up with a jerk. His dark eyes raked her face with an intensity she found hard to endure. ‘You are agreeing to come back to Italy with me?’
My God, is that what I’m doing? Do I really want to be pregnant in a foreign country loving a man who only wants me back because of the child I’m carrying?
‘I’m prepared to give it a go, for the sake of the baby.’ You are crazy, Erin. ‘But the secrets have to stop. And don’t say there were no secrets, because our marriage was based on a tissue of lies and omissions from day one. You never once mentioned your twin.’
‘I suppose it was a relief to be with someone who didn’t know about Rafe, to escape the interminable sympathy. The conversations that stopped when I walked into a room. Dea
th is one of the last taboo subjects in our society. It makes people uncomfortable to be around someone who is bereaved. They either gush or cross the street to avoid you.’
‘When did he … when did Rafe die?’ She could actually see how a man like Francesco, a man who was fiercely private and self-contained, might find well-wishers intrusive.
‘Six months ago.’
‘Six months!’ No wonder Francesco’s feelings were so raw. ‘That’s no time at all.’ she began, then stopped, the colour seeping from her face.
That meant that when she had met Francesco his brother had only been dead for three months.
Their meeting. The whirlwind romance, the reckless dash into marriage—all suddenly made a horrible kind of sense.
The behaviour she had attributed to a man in love could equally be attributed to a man unwilling to confront his feelings.
Some men in similar circumstances might have turned to drink or relied on prescription drugs.
In Francesco’s case he had turned to her!
It all made perfect horrible sense!
Francesco, half out of his head with grief and unwilling to acknowledge his feelings of anger and guilt, had used anything to distract himself. She had been the ultimate distraction and he had used her to ease the pain he was going through. Not consciously—she did not believe he was capable of being that callous.
Had he already begun to realise that he didn’t really love her the night of the ball? It would explain why he had not done more to stop her going. Sure, his pride had been hurt that it had been her who had walked away, but maybe deep down he had been secretly relieved? Until he had found out about the baby.
‘You’re cold,’ Francesco said as she shivered.
She gave a forced smile and stood up, clutching the robe tight around her. ‘A little.’
‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine. I think I’ll go change.’
‘You can keep the shirt.’
My heart for your shirt. The exchange hardly seemed fair. Repressing the hysterical laugh that was lodged in her throat, she nodded tightly and left the room.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ERIN managed to maintain a shaky illusion of composure until she was safely in her own room. Once there she sank onto the bed with her head in her hands.
Her face was tear-stained when a few minutes later she lifted her head and exclaimed out loud, ‘Oh, my God, I really said I’d go back to Italy with him.’