Too late she realised she had strayed into a carefully constructed trap.
‘Different!’ exclaimed Amy. ‘Dreamy. And yet you were definitely…upset. Yes, upset,’ she added, her dramatic expression giving way to a worried look. ‘What’s happened, Flo? Or rather, did something happen between you and Signor Moneybags?’
‘Will you please stop calling him that!’ howled Flora.
‘Just leave it, Amy,’ said Brett sternly. ‘It’s none of our business.’
With a monumental effort Flora managed to snap out of her gloomy mood to dutifully play her part in the upcoming festivities. She put in a brief appearance at the New Year’s party being held by one of Amy’s doctor colleagues near the hospital where Amy and Brett had worked, and the following day she attended their small but exquisite wedding.
And somehow she didn’t cry.
Even when clouds of confetti fluttered into the icy air in a blur of dried rose petals, not a single tear had leaked from her eye.
She’d even managed to keep a cheerful countenance when she returned to Heathrow Airport to wave the newly-weds off on their new life together, though once the massive airbus had taken to the skies, she had broken down completely—gulping convulsively into a paper hankie as she stood beside the vast, plate glass windows.
‘You okay, love?’
Glancing up at the concerned face of a security guard, Flora had nodded. ‘I’m fine!’ she trilled, before noisily blowing her nose.
Except that she wasn’t. She wasn’t fine at all, not by anyone’s measure, though it took a while before she was prepared to admit it.
At first she was too busy to think much about it, welcoming Dante Antonelli into the office as the new CEO and making sure that everything ran smoothly. If anything, the former racing car driver was even better looking than Vito, but, unlike every other woman in the building, Flora barely noticed him.
She started keeping her head down, just like in the old days. She had vowed to seek out a different career path in the New Year and find something which suited her better, but suddenly she didn’t have the energy. What hadhappenedto her energy levels? Why had the lightest shower of rain started deterring her from cycling in to work, so that she would slouch onto the bus instead?
She knew why, no matter how much she tried to deny it.
She tried telling herself that even if she was pregnant—even if shewas—then no way could she have known about it so early on.
But the truth was that she’d felt completely different from day one.
Would it be fanciful to conclude that she’d felt a tiny burst of something bright and fierce, just after Vito had made love to her—as if he had put brand new life in her? Maybe it would, but then she started feeling exceptionally tired in the afternoons and—controversially—she had gone right off lime marmalade. In fact, she couldn’t face breakfast at all and it was usually her favourite meal of the day.
Eventually she was forced to face the incontrovertible evidence of two positive pregnancy tests done in quick succession in the cramped bathroom of her Ealing flat. Sitting back on her heels on the chilly lino, Flora stared in horror at the two blue lines which appeared on the tester. She thought back to the very last time they’d made love, all early morning sleepiness and fumbling fingers…had they failed to ensure the condom was properly in place before they started having sex?
Her heart was pounding and her mouth was dry.
She was going to have a baby.
The thought raced round and round inside her head, like a cyclist in a velodrome.
She was going to be a mother.
More than that, Vito Monticello was going to be a father.
Afather.
It was worse than she could have thought possible. The Italian billionaire didn’t want children. He’dtoldher that. Quite coldly and clearly.
Flora’s fingers were shaking so much that she had to put the test down. If only she could have wound the clock back and behaved differently on that snowy night. She wouldn’t have told Vito she fancied him—she would have kept that nugget of useless information to herself. She would have remained cool and aloof and ignored all the hot sexual chemistry which had been pulsing between them. And then he wouldn’t have softly challenged her. Nor pushed her down on the rug and taken her panties off so that her thighs had parted eagerly, greedy for his thrust. He would have chivalrously slept on the sofa as he’d offered, while she would have been alone in that big brass bed. The worst thing that would have happened would have been having to endure a long and sleepless night while she thought longingly about the man downstairs.
And wouldn’t that have been for the best? It might have kept her dreams manageable, which currently they were not. Because she couldn’t deny a splinter of hope which had lodged itself in her foolish heart as she’d wondered whether Vito would change his mind about never wanting to see her again. Whether he would have second thoughts and ring her up, even if it was to carelessly enquire how she was doing. Or send a casual email, mentioning he was planning a trip to London and then maybe the conversation would have naturally worked its way to a suggested meet-up. At least she could have told him about the baby in a civilised way, if he invited her out to dinner. But he hadn’t. There hadn’t been a whisper from him and Flora had made herself accept the bitter truth. Not only did Vito Monticello not want any children, it seemed he didn’t want a girlfriend either. Or at least, he didn’t want her.
Had she really thought he would?
Hugging her arms around her chest, she rocked forwards and back, closing her eyes as troubled thoughts invaded her head. In a way she was glad Amy had left the country, because she didn’t want anybody else’s advice, no matter how well-meaning.
This had to be her decision and she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was going to love this baby with all her heart. Because she knew about motherhood. She’d stepped in to raise her little sister when their mother had died and had loved doing it. Whatever fate threw at her, she would deal with. She wouldmanage.
