His Lost-and-Found Bride

She smiled and closed her eyes again, pushing her naked body closer to his. Her fingers started tracing circles on his chest. ‘Good morning, handsome,’ she said sleepily.

Some of his tension dissipated. He could leave this. Say nothing. Stroke his fingers across her skin and pull her beneath the covers. It was the biggest temptation in the world right now.

And while it might offer some temporary sanctuary and pleasure it wouldn’t take him to the place he ultimately wanted to be.

Somehow he knew it didn’t matter how he phrased the question—he already knew how she would react.

It was horrible—knowing that the path they would have to tread would be a painful one. But he was ready for it. He’d been ready for it for the past twelve years.

‘How are you feeling?’

She pushed her head up onto one hand as she lay facing him. Her face still had that relaxed, sleepy, dreamy quality about it. It was the most chilled he’d ever seen her.

‘I’m fine.’ She smiled. ‘How are you?’ There was a teasing tone to her voice—as if she wanted to take this to a whole other place.

His fingers wanted to reach out and touch her soft skin. It took all his will power not to move and instead to clench the purple sheet in his fist.

‘We need to talk, Lucia. You know we need to talk.’

The muscles around her neck tensed. She turned her head away from him. ‘No, we don’t.’

It was an immediate, instinctual reaction. He knew that. He pushed himself further up the bed. The sheet moved with him, pulling from Lucia’s skin. She made a grab for it. It was amazing how a few words could make you feel naked all over again.

He sighed. ‘We have to work together, Lucia. We’re going to be in Tuscany together. I don’t want things to be awkward between us.’

Her head shot around. ‘And this is how you stop it?’ It was an accusatory tone. And he got that. He did. Lucia would much rather they never spoke about this at all.

He moved to the edge of the bed and picked up his discarded shirt from the floor, pulling it over his head. He shook his head. ‘No, Lucia. This is how I start things. This is how we should start things. By talking.’ He stood up. ‘Now get dressed. We’re going to go for breakfast together.’

He moved across the floor, finding his underwear, crumpled trousers and shoes. If he were a young man, concerned about his appearance, he might be cringing right now at the thought of going out in Venice in last night’s clothes.

But he was a grown-up. An adult. And he had so much more to worry about.

Lucia was scowling at him. The beautiful red dress he’d bought her was bunched up in a little ball. He doubted it would ever look the same. ‘I’m not coming.’

‘Yes, you are.’ He opened the door of her wardrobe, his eyes running rapidly over the colours, and pulled out a flowered dress, throwing it on the bed. ‘Would you like me to select your underwear too?’ He didn’t mean to be cruel. But he wasn’t prepared to take no for an answer. Not after all this time.

She pulled the sheet up under her chin. ‘Stop it, Logan. You can’t bully me into doing what you want. I’m not a child.’

He bent down next to her. ‘I have never bullied you, Lucia. I never will. And you’re right, you’re not a child. You’re a mother—just like I’m a father. Just because our child isn’t here any more it doesn’t change that.’

Her eyes widened. She was shocked. It was the last thing she’d obviously expected to hear. And he wasn’t quite sure where it had come from.

After a few seconds her fingers released on the sheet a little. He sensed the moment and opened the drawer next to her bed, pulling out matching white underwear. ‘I’ll give you a few minutes to get dressed,’ he said, walking to the door and standing in the corridor.

Every part of him was on edge. He had no idea right now if he’d handled this right. He’d spent so long tiptoeing around Lucia that now it felt as if he’d just leapt in wearing a pair of clown-size shoes.

He held his breath, listening for any sign of movement. Any tiny noise.

After a few seconds he heard something. The gentle movement of a sheet. He leaned back against the wall. It didn’t matter that she hated him right now. All that mattered was that they talk. That they really talked.

He walked through to the guest bedroom and quickly washed his face and hands, running his fingers through his hair and brushing his teeth. He had another shirt in his bag but it would probably be equally as rumpled. He hadn’t planned on staying in Venice so clothes were definitely scarce.

It was too warm for a jacket so he walked through to the main room and waited for Lucia to appear.

It only took a few moments. She hadn’t bothered with make-up and her hair was pulled back in a clasp. The yellow and pink flowered dress made her look much younger.

His heartbeat turned up a little notch. It was almost like turning back time. She had a white canvas bag in her hand and some flat sandals on her feet. But she’d never looked so beautiful.

He walked over to the main door and held it open. ‘Let’s go.’

There was a sinking feeling in his stomach. Almost as if he knew how this could turn out.

Lucia didn’t even glance at him as she walked past. She had that determined edge to her chin.

But he could be equally determined. It was time to show her how much.

* * *

Talk about an awkward morning after. She couldn’t believe she’d allowed herself to get into this position.

She knew so much better than this.

She was an adult and knew exactly what going for dinner and wine with Logan could lead to. The sexual chemistry between them had always been off the chart, but add into that the dress-buying and dancing and, well...what chance had she really had?

She held her head up proudly as she walked down the street towards her favourite café. This wasn’t like doing a walk of shame the next day after a night-time encounter.

Logan had been the man she’d lived with. He’d been the man who’d cherished and treasured her. He’d been the man she’d loved with her whole heart.

She still did.

Her feet stumbled on the uneven street. Logan caught her elbow and she tugged it away. Where had that thought come from?

She squeezed her eyes closed for a second. This was because of last night. Memories of what had been and how good they had been together. She was being sentimental, nothing more. So why was her stomach permanently in knots?

She stopped at the tables on the street at her favourite café. Logan pulled out a chair for her. The waiter gave her a wave. ‘Usual?’

She nodded. Logan caught his eye ‘Make it two.’

Little parts of he

r were starting to unravel, even at those innocuous words. Logan knew that her usual would be coffee with steamed milk and a heated croissant with raspberry jam. He knew her that well and was happy to eat the same as her.

It was almost as if he were chipping away at the barriers she’d erected around herself all those years ago. The ones that had protected her. Stopped her from getting too close to anyone else and kept her safe from being hurt.

Logan folded his arms across his chest. He was sitting directly opposite her, his eyes watching her carefully.

He waited until the coffee appeared on the table and the waft of buttery croissants filled the air around them.

‘It’s been too long, Lucia,’ he said quietly. ‘I never wanted you to leave, but I understood you needed time and space.’ He picked up his spoon and stirred his coffee. ‘But it was never my intention to leave things this long.’

He had no idea what those few words could do to her.

The rest of Venice seemed completely at ease. People were laughing and strolling in the early Sunday morning light. Shopkeepers were just starting to roll up their shutters and open their doors. A street vendor wandered past, clutching buckets filled with beautiful flowers. The assorted scents started to mix with that of the breakfast croissants. It could be a beautiful day. So why did it feel like the worst?

Logan hadn’t finished talking. ‘I always hoped things would be different. I thought you would be married. I thought you would be a mother.’

He paused. ‘I always hoped you would be.’

She felt tears spring to her eyes. It was almost as if he were twisting the knife that was currently piercing her heart. She knew that wasn’t his intention. She knew he was trying his best to move things forward.

But Lucia had never moved forward. She could remember everything about Ariella Rose as if it had just happened yesterday. She could remember the sudden unexpected pain, the cramps, the awkward delivery. She could remember the tiny fragile bundle. Ariella had been so small she could fit in one hand, wrapped in a pink blanket made by Nonna.