Читать книгу From Venice with Love - Алисон Робертс - Страница 9

OH…NO.

As if she could cope with her day getting even worse!

Of all the people to discover her at her lowest point in so many years, it had to be Nico Moretti.

Charlotte did her utmost to stem the tide of her tears. She turned her back on Nico and leant on the balustrade of the balcony, gripping the roughened concrete so hard she could feel tendrils of pain in her fingers that flickered into her arms. She fixed her gaze on the canal beneath and blinked again and again, trying to clear the wetness that didn’t want to stop. Why couldn’t it go back where it had come from, instead of continuing to roll down her face in these humiliating tears?

He didn’t say anything. He just came to stand beside her. He, too, seemed to be gazing at the view and he spread his hands on the balustrade as if the only reason he was there was to admire their surroundings.

Charlotte’s panic ebbed a little as he just stood there, a silent presence.

She’d never had company during the most unhappy periods in her life. Her first instinct, even as a young child so bereft at the loss of her parents, had been to hide. To cry alone. And feel alone. To accept that life was a terribly lonely business and you just had to deal with that.

There was comfort to be found in simply being close to another person. To feel the presence of another living, breathing human.

The fact that Nico wasn’t saying anything made it easy to accept his presence. She didn’t have to try and find excuses or explain anything, and to have someone there who was clearly prepared to accept the state she was in made it feel as if it was okay not to be coping. As if she had support.