‘I forgot it was this opera,’ he muttered gruffly. ‘That clarinet solo at the start of that aria…’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘It reminds me of him.’
It took her a second to understand. ‘Of Dante?’
‘My mother was a music teacher…did I ever tell you?’ He rubbed his forehead and grimaced ruefully. ‘No, I know I didn’t. She was a musician before she married Dad. Dante inherited her gift. She taught him several instruments but the clarinet was his love. He was extraordinary. The aria reminded me of him.’
But—given that reaction—he didn’t want to be reminded. Phoebe’s heart ached. ‘He played that piece?’
‘Beautifully.’ He bowed his head. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘You don’t need to apologise.’
‘You’re missing the end of the opera.’ He forced a smile. ‘Spoiler alert. Everyone dies.’
‘I know.’ She nodded. ‘Big drama. Maybe we should leave before the rest of the audience comes out.’
He sighed. ‘You don’t mind?’
‘Of course not.’
The doors were opened by those silent men who kept a distance even as they formed a protective ring around him—and, for now, her. They kept people away. Kept him isolated. Because he insisted on it. He didn’t want comfort or support from anyone. Yet the irony was he gave it so well. He wascaring—he had been with her the afternoon they’d met, and since. He had been to George by taking over his business. He just didn’twantto be.
Deep pain like this didn’t magically get better. So Phoebe couldn’t let herself be confused by his generous actions today. She couldn’t let herself think that he wanted anything more with her beyond this temporary marriage. Hewasn’ttrying to convince her to stay. He’d explicitly told her he didn’t want her close—not long term. He couldn’t even look at the sonogram picture of their baby. He wanted them safe but ultimately far from him because he wanted to remain alone.
He thought he’d let his brother down. He’d lost pretty much all his family and he didn’t want to build a new one. All of which broke Phoebe’s heart. Heshouldhave more. And yes, she wanted him to have that more withher. But she had to stop thinking in that direction. She had to protect herself and her baby and couldn’t let herself fall any further than she already had. She had to keep her distance too, right? Because she’d also been hurt. And she couldn’t trust her own feelings—she’d believed in someone’s kind gestures before and had been wrong to.
* * *
As soon as they were back in his apartment, Edo poured himself a drink. Phoebe watched him splash the whisky and mutter beneath his breath, and couldn’t remain silent.
‘What was he like?’ she asked softly.
She caught sight of his crumbling expression as he abandoned the glass and turned away. Instinctively she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist. She pressed her head against his back. He didn’t have to answer, but in this moment there was no way she could leave him alone with this agony.
Edo held her arms around him so she couldn’t pull away. Her warmth at his back was about the only thing keeping him standing. And he didn’t want her to move to be in front of him. He couldn’t bear to see the compassion he knew would be in her eyes right now. He thought about Dante daily but he hadn’t talked about him properly inyears. ‘It’s painful to think about him,’ he muttered.
‘But you can’t stop, right? You loved him,’ she said softly. ‘He deserves your thoughts of him. He was yourbrother.’
That clarinet echoed in his head, and he needed to mute that sad melody, so he talked to cover it. ‘He was two years younger than me,’ he muttered. ‘Totally different. He was music. I was maths. He daydreamed and was always late. I was school captain and on time.’
‘But you were close.’
He nodded. ‘We fought each other but teamed up against everyone else. I carried our grandfather’s expectations, while he carried our mother’s. We both knew pressure,’ he interrupted. ‘We both wanted fun. He wanted a Vespa. I wanted a Ferrari. The nearest either of us got to either were the die-cast models we had as kids.’ God, he hadn’t thought about those in for ever. ‘They were red, of course.’
‘So the Vespa you took me on that afternoon…’
‘I bought it for him,’ he said tightly. ‘Years too late.’
Phoebe’s arms tightened and Edo couldn’t stop speaking—admitting things he’d never told anyone.
‘Our mother died a year after Dante was kidnapped,’ he whispered. ‘She was just broken. Her death traumatised Dante even more and I…’
‘None of it was your fault, Edo.’
Oh, but itwas. He stiffened, pulling back, trying to compress the feelings that spilled out regardless. What was he doing? He couldn’t spoil more of her night with his selfishness.
‘I’m sorry, this is your birthday.’ He loosened her arms and turned to face her. Tried to step up. ‘And you’re tired.’
She looked so beautiful. ‘You miss him,’ she ignored his diversion.
