Modern Romance March 2017 Books 5 -8. Natalie Anderson
so deeply asleep, he couldn’t do it.
He thought about how quiet she’d been earlier, his instincts telling him something was still off. He was so scared of missing something again, of not seeing what he should see.
Inhaling her scent, he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, her back nestled to his chest. She murmured something in her sleep and cuddled closer.
A smile on his lips, he pressed his mouth to the sweet curve of her neck. To the silky soft skin of her cheek. The salt that flavored his lips caught him off guard. Levering himself up on his elbow, he studied her beautiful face in the moonlight. She had been crying.
His fingers curled, the urge to shake her awake and make her tell him what was wrong a furious current that sizzled his blood. They had promised to be open books with each other and still she was keeping things from him.
He forced himself to resist waking her, drawing her back against his side. Tomorrow in Portofino would be soon enough to discover what was eating his wife.
PORTOFINO WAS AS lovely and picturesque as Angie remembered, with its narrow, cobblestone streets, pastel-hued houses dotting the Italian Riviera and bustling shops, restaurants and luxury hotels lining its half-moon-shaped harbor.
Lorenzo had taken her to their favorite seaside restaurant following his meetings in Mallorca and their short plane ride over from Spain. He had come down from his volatile mood of the night before, his attention focused solely on her. Too much so, she thought nervously, fidgeting with her water glass as he slid her another of those long looks he’d been giving her. The secret she carried was burning a hole inside of her.
She had been waiting for the right time to tell him her news, but it just hadn’t seemed to come. Lorenzo had been working the entire plane ride and something about “Could you pass me the tartar sauce, and, oh, by the way, I’m pregnant” wasn’t working for her.
Her stomach did a slow curl. So here she was, making every attempt to look like she was enjoying herself and hoping her husband bought the performance.
Lorenzo snapped the spirit menu closed and handed it to the hovering waiter. “I think we’ll take the check,” he said in Italian.
Angie’s heart skipped a beat. “I thought you said you wanted a brandy.”
“I’ll make an espresso at home.”
The deliberate look on his face made her heart beat faster. She had the feeling he hadn’t bought her act for a minute. Blood throbbed at her temples as he settled the bill, wrapped his fingers firmly around hers and they walked up the hill toward the villa.
Embraced by fuchsia-and-coral-colored bougainvillea that climbed its whitewashed walls, Octavia’s retreat from her busy city life was paradise personified. Although, Angelina allowed, as Lorenzo slid the key in the door and ushered her in, her mother-in-law’s description of it as her “simple abode” hardly seemed apt. The dark-wood, sleek little villa with its cheery, colorful accents that matched its vibrant surroundings, was hardly simple.
She walked out onto the terrace while her husband made an espresso. Hands resting on the railing, she drank in the spectacular view as a breeze lifted her hair in a gentle caress. Paradise. If only she could just get the damn words out.
Lorenzo returned, settled himself into one of the comfortable chairs arranged for an optimum view of the sea and deposited the coffee cup in his hand on the table. Her heart lurched in her chest at the stare he leveled at her. “You going to tell me what’s wrong?”
His neutral tone did nothing to lessen the intensity of his expression. Heat stained her cheeks.
“Lorenzo—”
“Dannazione, Angelina.” His fury broke through his icy control. “How many times do we have to have this discussion? I can’t help you, we can’t do this, unless you talk to me. I have spent the entire dinner waiting for you to tell me whatever it is that’s eating you. Do you think I can’t read you well enough to know that something is?”
Her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. “You weren’t in the right state of mind last night and it wasn’t a discussion for a restaurant.”
“How about before dinner in the very private suite at the Belmont?” Fire flared in his eyes. “I asked you if something was wrong. You said no. Then I come to bed only to discover you’ve been crying.”
She blinked. “How do you know?”
“I checked on you when I came to bed. You had tearstains on your face.”
Oh. She wrapped her arms around herself. Took a deep breath. “I couldn’t understand why I was so tired yesterday. Jet lag always gets me, yes, but I hadn’t felt like that since my pregnancy. I went to check I’d taken my pills after my nap and found the antibiotics I’ve been on in my purse. It made me put two and two together.”
His face went utterly still. “To equal what?”
“Antibiotics can interfere with birth control,” she said quietly. “I’m pregnant, Lorenzo.”
A behavioral psychologist could have scoured his face and found nothing it was so blank. It was in his eyes that she saw his reaction—deep, dark, raw emotion that made the knots inside her tie themselves tighter.
“How do you know?”
“Penny drove me to the pharmacy.”
He was silent for so long she couldn’t stand it. “What are you thinking?”
“I’m trying to absorb it,” he said huskily. “In my mind, we were waiting.”
Not so much.
“You’re scared?”
She nodded. Her chin wobbled, the emotion welling up inside of her threatening to bubble over. “I know I should recognize this as a wonderful thing and I do, but all I can feel is the fear right now. I hate that I feel that way, but I do.”
His gaze softened. “Come here.”
She moved to him on unsteady legs. He pulled her onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her. “You’re allowed to be scared,” he murmured against her hair. “We lost our baby. It was scary, it was unexpected. It wasn’t supposed to happen.”
She closed her eyes and burrowed into his warmth. Waking up to those severe abdominal cramps, the spotting, knowing something was wrong had been so scary. The loss of something so special like losing a piece of herself. But it was the fear she had somehow precipitated it that haunted her the most. Her mixed emotions, her worry she wasn’t ready to be a mother, that she wouldn’t be a good mother. It was a fear she’d never shared with Lorenzo because she had been too ashamed to even think it, let alone admit it to him.
She curled her fingers around a handful of his T-shirt, tugged at the soft material. “I worry about what this is going to do to us. We’re in a good place right now. What’s going to happen when the stress of this kicks in?”
“We’re going to manage it,” he said quietly. “Just like we’ve managed everything else. Life isn’t going to stop throwing curveballs at us, Angelina. That’s the way it works.”
“I know.” She bit her lip. “But what about my career? I have worked so hard for what I’ve achieved. I can barely keep up with the demand as it is. How am I going to handle it with a child?”
“Keep your assistants on a full-time basis. Do what you need to do. We’re lucky money is no object for us.”
“And if I want to get a nanny?”
His face stilled. “We can talk about it.”
She read his reluctant expression. “You want me home raising our child just like your mother was.”
“I