Valentino nodded but his heart sat like a stone in his chest as Erica left. He’d been so excited about the baby – his son. About becoming a father. About the things they’d do together. So wrapped up in being in love with her and their pie-in-the-sky future, he truly hadn’t considered the mental implications for Peyton. She’d tried to tell him she couldn’t cope with another poor outcome and he’d swept all her objections aside, promising her hearts and rainbows.
He’d been so fucking arrogant.
Even today, striding into her office earlier, straight off the plane expecting some kind of hero’s welcome. Sure, the way they’d left things had been wobbly, but he’d hoped she’d missed him a little. He hoped there might be warmth, maybe even pleasure lighting those expressive grey eyes.
Not polite coolness. Not her teeth-aching formality.
He’d wanted – expected – to sweep her up, take her home, lay her down. Put his hands on her belly, see how much it had grown in the interminable two weeks he’d been away. Kiss it. Kissher. Tell her how much he loved her…
So, her anger over him not keeping in close contact had been a surprise. A good thing, he’d hoped, because it meant she’d been thinking about him – that she cared.
But she hadn’t been willing to give him an inch as she’d glared at him across her desk, her anger so damn potent.
Not that he could blame her because the fact was, hehadn’tcalled. Deliberately. Because he’d known that the minute he heard her voice, he would have blurted it out and he hadn’t wanted to confess something so huge on the phone.
He’d wanted to say the words face to face.
Also, he’d had to consider the flip side. If he’d told her he loved her and she’d rejected him or, worse – panicked and ran – he would have been a half a world away, unable to do anything about it. At least face to face she couldn’t run or hide.
So, no, he hadn’t rung. But he’d dialled her number a hundred times and listened to her messages over and over again, wishing she was by his side. And that’s what he’d been about to explain before she’d doubled over and everything had gone to hell.
Valentino fought another tidal wave of emotions at the events of the day – one of the longest of his life – still in disbelief over what was happening. The very thing he’d assured Peyton wouldnothappen.
Her distress… her anguish… her pain – both physical and mental – had been hard to watch. Her face red and blotchy, her nose and eyes streaming. Her accusation, her woundedI told you this would happenandyou made me want himhad been hard to hear, landing with the power of a heavy weight punch square to the chin.
And his baby, hisson,possibly also in distress, possibly too young to survive.
All because in his arrogance he’d been certain everythingwouldbe okay. Because he was Valentino Lombardi and things always worked out okay. Completely dismissing her concernsandher obstetric history, making assurances he never should have made.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered at her sleeping profile, looking still and pale in her white hospital gown against the white sheets.
But he couldn’t afford to let the wave sweep him up and carry him out to sea. She needed him. So did his son. Because her state of defeat at the end had been the worst of all. This wasn’t a battle he could fight on his own; neither could their baby.
Peyton had to believe it was going to be okay too…
Peyton’s arm slipped off the bed and she jolted awake, momentarily disorientated.
‘What is it? Are you okay?’ Valentino woke suddenly, lifting his head, blinking blearily as he hauled himself to his feet.
Ignoring him, Peyton took in the room and the drip and tried to remember what had happened. Her mouth was dry and she had a headache. Then she remembered. ‘The baby?’ Had they taken the baby?
Her hand slipped to her belly, expecting flatness and to feel pain from an incision, but there was none.
‘It’s okay,’ he soothed, placing his hand on top of hers. ‘He’s still there. Feel him.’ He moved her palm around her bump, slightly hampered by the straps of the CTG machine. ‘The contractions stopped.’
She watched as he reached out to the graph paper still spilling from the machine and tore some off, briefly inspecting the squiggles. ‘Nothing,’ he said, holding the piece up. ‘Not one single contraction.’
Peyton’s heart banged in her chest. ‘None?’ A bubble of hope floated in her chest. Could that really be true?
He smiled. ‘None.’
‘So… it’s going to be okay?’
‘Erica’s encouraged by your uterus’s rapid response to the medication. You’ll need to stay on it but…’
Peyton couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The last thing she remembered was preparing herself for the worst. ‘I’ll take a truckload of it if necessary.’
His chuckle soothed all her raw, ragged edges. ‘Two a day should be enough.’
