Rocco looked at her. Was it his imagination or could he already see the shutters coming down? Her soul was turning to ice, sealing him off, because that was what happened when love was turned on its head.
He gazed down when she reached across to cover his hand with hers.
‘We can still sign the documents and I will never, ever get in the way of you having access to your own flesh and blood. And, yes, I can see that this legacy belongs to your offspring.’
‘Yes.’
‘I realise that one day you’ll meet someone, and I will as well, because we both deserve that. I’ll meet someone who loves me, who would never lie to me, who appreciates me for who I am, for all the right reasons. And you’ll meet someone…who makes sense, I guess. And, when that happens, it’ll be a bridge we’ll just have to cross. In the meantime… I don’t want to stay here a minute longer. You’re a billionaire, Rocco. You can do anything with the click of a finger. Could you maybe take me away from here by clicking your fingers? I just want this whole thing to be over now.’
Ella gazed out at a landscape of softly falling snow. She was back at home. She had been for nearly a week, ever since she had fled Rocco’s palatial mansion and ran away from the love she’d set her heart on which would never materialise.
She’d told him that she couldn’t stay a minute longer and he’d arranged everything with the ease of a man who could dial two numbers and get whatever he wanted. He’d begged her to staythe night—it was late and she would be mentally and physically exhausted. He would ensure she left first thing in the morning, unnoticed and without the trauma of having to socialise with his parents. He would explain the situation to them. They would accept it because they would have no choice. Just as she had left him with none.
Every single decent word that had passed his beautiful mouth had reminded her of all the foolish reasons she had seen more in their relationship than really existed. He didn’t love her. He was just a fair-minded, honourable guy who would never give his heart to her, or maybe nevercould. What he had seen as a foregone conclusion—about which he had made assumptions about a future in which the concept of her not marrying him had never crossed his radar—she had seen as betrayal. And those were fundamental differences between them that could never be breached.
The reach of his privilege, of growing up with such immense wealth, had made him imperious, and it didn’t matter whether he was honourable or not. He would always presume that his way was the best. He would, and never could, be the vulnerable man who would be able to meet her halfway.
Maybe he could only really fall in love with someone from his own class. She’d met his parents and it was easy to understand that he’d been raised to accept a certain type of woman as the ideal match. Nothing else was ever really going to do. He said he didn’t believe in love but he probably just hadn’t met the right woman who ticked all the boxes. When it came to anything emotional, Rocco would always view the world in black and white. But life wasn’t black and white; the time would come when he would find that out but not with her.
Having a baby ticked an important box for him but he would come to thank her for walking away because, just as for her, allthose other boxes also needed to be ticked beyond the one that came under the heading of ‘duty’.
A driver had whisked her away from his family palace before half-past eight the following morning, and she had avoided seeing his parents, so had been spared any follow-up accusations.
And since then…
Her poor dad, silent, awkward and bursting with love and sympathy, had had to deal with her long face and bouts of tears. He handed her tissues and patted her on the back, trying hard to find the right words to comfort her, but there was part of her that was inconsolable.
Now, he was in the kitchen cooking dinner for them. She gazed around her at the wonderful, warm Christmas scene that had been filled with such hope and joy when, little more than two weeks ago, she and Rocco together had put up the Christmas tree and hung all the decorations.
Since she’d returned, she’d done her best to banish negative thoughts by going all out on the decorations, reminding herself that there was a lot to be grateful for, not least the little baby growing and kicking, having fun inside her. Above the stone fireplace, with its roaring fire keeping the winter cold at bay, evergreen garlands were threaded with red berries and pinecones, which she herself had fetched from the garden. She had hung the stocking she’d had since she’d been a kid and a new one for the baby inside her, which she would fill with little soft play treats.
Outside the snow was falling, as it had done for the past three days, lightly but persistently, blanketing the countryside and turning everything magical. She had put Christmas carols on the CD player her dad insisted on keeping, even though she’d tried to introduce him to some more advanced technology for listening to music. He’d had none of it. The background musicwas soothing and, staring out through the windows, stretched out on the large, comfy sofa with a soft throw over her, she almost felt at peace.
The sharp bang on the front door made her jolt upright.
‘Dad?’ she called out. ‘Are you expecting anyone?’
Her dad bustled out of the kitchen, apron still round his waist, and looked between her and the door. ‘Not in this weather, and not on Christmas Eve, love. Don’t budge. I’ll get the door.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Ella smiled at him and stifled a yawn. It wasn’t yet seven in the evening, but she could have slept for England. ‘It’s much more important for you to make sure the cooking gets done and all the prep for tomorrow. This pregnant lady needs to be spoiled, and I’m just quoting you on that. I’ll get it.’
She slipped off the sofa, pleased to see her dad grin, a happy sort of ‘my girl’s back’ grin. She pulled open the door, because in this part of the world that was what people did, and there he was—the guy whose image had haunted her every waking moment and most of the sleeping ones.
Ella was so shocked that for a few seconds she couldn’t breathe. Yes, he’d contacted her, made sure she was okay. Just the dark timbre of his voice down the end of the phone had made her grit her teeth in frustration because he’d sounded sonormal, while she was breaking up inside. He’d steered clear of conversation that might release any more emotional outpourings. One lot had clearly been quite enough, thank you very much. So she’d been left nursing her broken heart, not quite knowing what to do with it.
He’d set up an account for her and had transferred so much money that she’d protested.
‘A house,’ he’d said without bothering to allow her a protest vote. ‘A car, living expenses… Accept it, Ella. There will be a lot more where that came from.’
He’d transferred her enough money to buy whatever house she wanted and the sort of ridiculously high-end car he was accustomed to owning. What had been the point of being coy?
She hadn’t asked him how his parents had taken the marriage being called off. She’d taken her cue from him and not mentioned anything at all that wasn’t purely practical. It had been agony. He’d been so…nice. The nicer he’d been, the more she’d wanted him to showsomething. Anything.
Now, he stood in front of her in all his glory, and she couldn’t manage to get a word out. The snow was settling on his dark, woollen coat and patent leather shoes. He had his hands shoved in his pockets as he stared at her. She felt a whoosh of pure love because she could recall every line and groove in his beautiful face.
‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to see you.’
