His Lost-and-Found Bride

Her legs trembled. Her whole body was shaking.

And something, something from deep inside, was pushing its way out.

This was what she had missed. This was what she’d missed out on. This was what would never be hers. Never be shared between her and her daughter.

Her legs gave way, collapsing beneath her onto the dusty chapel floor as the sobs started to come out.

And twelve years’ worth of suppressed grief started to flow.

* * *

Logan was pacing. He hadn’t even made an attempt to go to bed. He’d heard rustling in the vineyard and had taken a restless walk to investigate. It had been fruitless. He’d found nothing. It had probably only been a fox.

But as he had been crossing back towards his farmhouse, something had caught his eye. At first he’d thought he had finally gone crazy and was imagining it. Then he’d looked again.

Lucia. Dressed in very little with bare legs, bare arms and a pale pink lace-trimmed nightdress fluttering around her in the warm breeze and clinging to every curve of her skin. Was she sleepwalking?

She seemed so focused, so light on her feet, that she almost floated across the courtyard, straight to the chapel entrance. He’d started to move in her direction but his footsteps had faltered as she’d paused at the chapel door, pushing it with her shoulder to lever it open.

Then she disappeared into the darkness.

Logan stopped. His heart was thudding in his chest. Should he follow, or should he leave?

Every part of his rational brain told him to step away. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t pursue a relationship with Lucia. Not like this. Not when they were both in different places.

But the protective element in him couldn’t walk away. Couldn’t leave her like this.

He walked quietly towards the chapel. A little beam of light appeared inside the chapel, cutting across the stained-glass windows. What was she doing?

He held his breath as he reached the doorway. Stepping inside the dark chapel was intimidating—and he was fully dressed. The thin beam of torchlight was focused on the fresco on the faraway wall.

He’d never seen it lit up like this before. He’d only ever really studied it in daylight. It looked entirely different under the concentrated light of a torch beam. The architect-minded part of him wondered how it must have looked hundreds of years ago in flickering candlelight.

Lucia had the beam directly on the Madonna’s face. Under the artificial light her face was brightly illuminated. In a reach-out-and-touch kind of way.

The beam wobbled and he stepped forward. Part of his stomach was curled up in a ball. Lucia had come out to the chapel in the middle of the night. In the light reflected back off the fresco he could see her trembling, shuddering skin. Every muscle, every bone was shaking.

His response was automatic. He stepped forward just as she crumpled to the floor, her sobs cutting through the night air. The torch fell to the floor with a crash, the light sputtering out.

He was stunned. In twelve years he hadn’t heard her cry. There had been a few tears just after the birth of their daughter—but none after that.

He wrapped his arms around her. Her skin was cold, chilled in the coolness of the chapel, so he pulled her against his chest and stroked her hair. He didn’t care about the dust. He didn’t care about the broken torch on the ground.

He just held her.

And she sobbed. Like no one he’d ever heard before. These weren’t quiet, tiny sobs. These were loud and spluttering, echoing around the thick chapel walls. Her body was racked with them and he could feel her pain, feel her anguish. It was as if twelve years’ worth of grief and sorrow had just erupted from her soul.

It was horrible to see the woman he loved like this. But he knew exactly how she felt. Only he could understand. So he waited and he held her, gently stroking her hair and whispering in her ear.

He had no idea how long they stayed that way. Eventually her sobs quietened, turning into little shudders instead of big outbursts. He changed position, pulling her up onto his knees, taking her bare legs away from the cold floor of the chapel.

His hands sneaked around her satin-covered waist and he pulled her against his chest. Her hands snaked up around his neck and her head tucked under his chin. He could feel her ragged breaths against his skin.

‘I know, Lucia,’ he said softly. ‘I know how you feel. I loved her just as much as you did.’

She gave a little whimper and her fingers tightened around his neck. He waited a few seconds then gently lifted her head up. There was only a tiny bit of moonlight streaming through the stained-glass windows but he could see her tear-streaked face and he lifted both hands to caress it.

‘Talk to me,’ he whispered.

She shuddered, then nodded slowly.

It was odd. The strangest feeling in the world, but it was almost as if his body gave a little cry of relief.

‘I miss her,’ she said in shaky breaths. ‘I miss her every day.’

His heart squeezed in his chest. He wanted to wrap his arms around her again and kiss her. But he needed to let her speak.

‘I don’t want to talk about her,’ she said, her voice tinged with regret. ‘If I don’t talk about her, then none of it was real. None of it really happened.’

She shook her head as her voice rose in pain. ‘Why, Logan? Why our baby? Why did we have to lose her? Do you know where we could be right now? Do you know what kind of life we could be leading?’

He nodded his head. ‘Of course I do,’ he whispered.

‘But you were so calm, so controlled,’ she said angrily. ‘I couldn’t be like that, I just couldn’t. You did everything. You organised the flowers, the funeral, the casket. You spoke to the family.’ She shook her head, her voice rising. ‘How could you even do that? How could you even function? Our daughter was dead!’

‘You think I didn’t know that? You think I didn’t hurt every bit as much as you? I hated that, Lucia. I hated every second of that. I hated the fact you wouldn’t eat, you wouldn’t sleep and you wouldn’t talk to me. Organising was the only thing I could do. I wanted the world to know that Ariella Rose had existed. I wanted her to matter. I wanted to bury our daughter with the respect she deserved.’ He hadn’t realised this had been buried inside him. He hadn’t realised he’d wanted to say all this to her.

‘And I didn’t?’ She was crying again. ‘You were so...capable. And I felt useless. I couldn’t be the person I’d been. I couldn’t be your other half. I couldn’t look at you without thinking about her and what had been stolen from me!’

He clasped her head between his hands and leaned his forehead against hers. ‘Stolen from us, Lucia,’ he said quietly.

‘I needed you. I needed you every second of the day. But I couldn’t get to you. You locked yourself away from me and after a few weeks I realised that you needed to grieve differently from me. I didn’t want to let you go. I never wanted to let you go. No matter how sorry I was, no matter how much I hurt, I still wanted you, Lucia. Every second of every day. You’re the only person in this world for me. The only person I want to grow old with.’ He traced a finger down her damp cheek. ‘I just needed to see you cry. I just needed to know that you could acknowledge our daughter.’

She was still shuddering. He ran one hand down her arm and could feel the tiny hairs on her arms standing on end.

‘Why now? What’s changed?’

She met his gaze with tear-filled eyes. ‘You. I’ve avoided you for so long. Seeing you again, being together, remembering everything we’ve shared together, I couldn’t hide away from it any more. It’s just been bubbling underneath the surface the whole time. I couldn’t keep it locked away any more. Not if I want to live.’

He gave his head a shake. ‘But you wouldn’t talk to me in Venice. You said

you couldn’t do it.’

She squeezed her eyes closed for a moment. ‘I know.’ Now she reached up and touched his face, his jaw. ‘I think something just lined up for us, Logan.’ She pointed towards the fresco. ‘If you hadn’t got this job, if this fresco hadn’t been found, we probably wouldn’t have met again.’ She placed her hand over her heart. ‘I needed this. I needed all this to happen.’ She looked up towards the fresco. ‘Hundreds of years ago Burano must have met someone, must have known a new mother, to capture the love and adoration in his painting. Because he’s captured it so beautifully. When I first saw his fresco I wouldn’t let the painting touch me. I wouldn’t let it inside. I was jealous. I couldn’t acknowledge the painting because I wanted to be that person. I wanted to be that mother who looks at her baby with such joy and pleasure, wondering what the world will hold for them.’ The tears were falling freely down her face again.

All he wanted to do was comfort her. All he wanted to do was love her.

He sucked in a deep breath. ‘Lucia, you can be that person. I want you to know that I love you. I want you—just the way you are. But if you want to try and have a family again then I’ll be with you, every step of the way.’ He stroked his thumb across her cheek. ‘Likewise, if you just want to grow old and grey together and wander through the streets of Venice, or Florence, or even the Tuscan hills, I’ll do that with you too. As long as I’m with you, I know I’ll be happy.’

Her hands kept trembling as she wound them around his neck again, pressing her body against his and whispering in his ear. ‘Can I be enough for you, Logan? Enough for you on my own? What if we weren’t meant to have babies? What if that’s never going to happen for us?’

He stood up, pulling her to her feet alongside him but keeping their bodies locked close together. He slid his hands along the satin slip covering her back and anchored her to him. He kissed one cheek and then the other. ‘Then that’s the way things are supposed to be. As long as I’m with you I can take whatever hand life deals us.’

He bent to meet her lips.

It was like the first kiss all over again.

This was the woman he’d fallen in love with all those years ago.

This was the woman he’d had to allow to walk away even though it had broken his heart.

This was the mother of his child.

This was his Lucia.

Her body was pressed against his and she responded to every touch, her fingers threading through his hair. Her rose scent wound around him, pulling him in in every way.