Whisked Away by the Italian Tycoon

‘Ten months. He started to crawl a few weeks ago.’ The baby gurgled and then tilted forward, arms outstretched towards Emily. ‘He likes you.’ Shamini held the baby out and Emily could feel her body temperature plunge. Her skin felt clammy with a sudden sheen of panic and the reek of sadness, all the worse because it was so unexpected, had pelted in out of nowhere and struck.

Would her baby have started to crawl yet, weighed the same as this little one, would he too have had a shock of black hair or would his head have been downy with little wisps? The baby regarded her with immense solemnity and then grabbed her finger and started to chew it. A tsunami of grief swept through her as she held this warm, living miracle of existence in her arms. Sorrow underlaid with anger. Why had it happened to her? And guilt. What had she done wrong?

A part of her wanted to hold onto this baby and turn and run, go somewhere where the baby was hers, where the world had been different, where she could simply have the future she’d envisioned, with her child.

Then all of a sudden Luca was by her side; his sheer strength and bulk, full of reassurance, pulled her back to reality. His gaze rested on her, concern and care evident.

For one brief moment she allowed herself to breathe in the baby smell and then she gathered a smile together as she carefully handed Amitabh back to his mum, then turned away, pushed down the grief into the expanse of ache inside her.

‘Right.’ Picking up her camera, she said, ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’

And soon she looked through the lens at the grouped ensemble, this family standing together, a family who lived together clearly in harmony and friendship and love.

The knowledge that this couldn’t happen for her clogged her throat, and she focused on the welcome familiarity of the camera’s cold touch in her hand, channelled her everything into this. Perhaps she couldn’t have it but she wouldn’t grudge it to this family and she would do her best to provide them with a picture they could cherish, a picture that showed their bond, their connection and their love. In the way the grandmother held her granddaughter’s hand, in the pride of a father in his children, in a wife’s look of love to her husband and the respect and affection to her mother-in-law.

Once done, she found it in herself to mingle, chat to everyone, play with the children, all with a smile on her face. And through it all she was aware of Luca’s gaze on her, the question and concern in his eyes, aware too that he was making this easier for her, just through his presence, the way he deflected conversation, the knowledge that she could lean against his strength if need be.

Whoa. No leaning, remember? No clinginess or emotional need. That was the deal—Luca had no wish to be exposed to another’s pain or vulnerabilities. However understanding he’d already proven to be, this all ended in a few days. So she mustn’t let herself get close on any other level.

Finally it was time to leave, to start their trek to the summit of a local mountain to see the sunset, check out the place as a possible photo shoot. Goodbyes said, they left the house, turned to wave at the family grouped outside and headed for the car.

* * *

‘What’s wrong?’ Once they were in the cool of the air-conditioned car Luca turned to face Emily, scooted across the seat to take her hands in his. He knew something was wrong, had seen such intense pain in her eyes that his own soul had shrivelled slightly and all he’d wanted was to shield her. ‘Would you prefer to go back to the resort?’

Emily shook her head. ‘I’m fine.’ For a moment he almost believed her. Almost but not quite; her voice was too tight and he knew what he’d seen. ‘And I have high hopes of this as a good location.’ Her voice held a brightness stark in its falsity and the contrast to the dull shadows, the ache in her brown eyes.

He hesitated, wondered if he should push it, but Emily launched a flow of bright inconsequential chatter as they climbed, interspersed with the constant click of her camera. Not that he could blame her for taking photos; the trek showcased scenery so lushly beautiful it took his breath away.

At one point they made their way through a cardamom plantation. The scent of the spice pervaded the air, supplanted by the waft of tea as they walked through fields of tea. As they got higher a haze of mist added extra atmosphere to the undulating rise and fall of the surrounding hills and valleys.

Once at the peak they sank down, breathless from the walk, and gazed out over the spectacular panoramic view that encompassed so many of Nature’s wonders. The flashing blue of a wide river, dense forests that lined the mountain slopes, and the immensity of the sky.

‘This is stunning. The sky feels so close that I feel like if I reach up, I can touch it.’

He studied her expression, saw appreciation in her gaze but sadness still shimmered through.

‘Emily, tell me what’s wrong—I know something has caused you sadness.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s OK, Luca. I know you don’t like to get involved in the emotional side of things. And I want to play by your rulebook, want a fun, carefree, magical bubble of time. Turns out it’s not that easy to escape reality. What with Ava and now this. But I’ll be OK.’ She smiled a smile that tore his heartstrings. ‘Being up here, the w

alk, this vista, all seem to bring a tranquillity.’

Luca stilled, listened to her quote his own criteria back at him and castigated himself for being a selfish schmuck. Was that what he wanted from life, to protect himself from another’s vulnerability? ‘It’s not OK,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t want to play by the rulebook. We have already agreed you are an anomaly. An anomaly in a bubble. So, if you wish to, if I can help, please tell me what has happened.’

There was a silence and as she looked out he knew she was coming to some sort of inner decision.

‘Thank you. I would like to tell you; I haven’t talked to anyone and up here it feels right to remember what happened.’

Shifting slightly, she leant against him, faced the view, as if she were also sharing her story with the universe. ‘I lost my baby,’ she said. ‘I had a late miscarriage. I was six months pregnant. I thought I was safe, I’d felt him kick, talked to him, played him music. But then I lost him. If I’d gone to term he would have been ten months now, the same age as Amitabh. That’s what set me off.’

‘I am so sorry.’ The words were so inadequate and he pulled her closer, tried to convey his sympathy through the warmth of his body, through closeness. ‘I cannot imagine how you must have felt. How you are still feeling.’ A year wasn’t long enough to get over something like that, if you ever did. ‘I am so sorry. For you and for Howard.’ The man was a bully, but he didn’t deserve to lose a child.

‘Howard didn’t care—he didn’t even want the baby.’ Now her face looked pinched, white with remembered strain. ‘The baby was an accident but for me he was a happy one. Sure, I had planned to wait a few years, we’d only just got married, but I was still ecstatic. Howard wasn’t. He wasn’t happy at all. Said it was too early, that a baby would interfere with our happiness. I think he wanted me to consider a termination, but he knew there was no way I would do it. But he resented the baby, hated me being pregnant. The put-downs became more barbed and he kept finding fault with my appearance. Particularly my weight, my skin; the morning sickness disgusted him; he hated that I was tired. He didn’t even want anyone to know, said he had an upcoming book release and he didn’t want anything to detract from that. So I had to hide the pregnancy.’ Now she turned wide eyes onto him. ‘And now I keep thinking did I do something wrong? Did I cause the miscarriage by pushing myself when I was tired? By hiding the pregnancy? By dressing wrong—there was a time a few weeks before when I wore high heels. What if that was part of it? If I did something wrong?’

His heart turned in his chest and for a moment anger consumed him, anger at the callous selfishness of her ex-husband. An anger he pushed aside as he heard the torment of guilt in her voice, the fear that it had somehow been her fault.

‘Emily, I wasn’t there but I know you. You would never put your baby at risk. I bet you did everything right, didn’t touch alcohol, ate all the right food, did everything. When my mother was pregnant with Jodi she was exhausted all the time and she pushed and pushed herself.’