Читать книгу The Last Time I Saw Venice - Vivienne Wallington, Vivienne Wallington - Страница 10

Despite barely sleeping a wink all night, Annabel didn’t sleep in. Instead, she rose early and dived straight into the shower. She both dreaded and longed to see Simon again, fearing how things might turn out, yet hoping desperately that some life still glimmered in the ashes of their marriage.

There was a basket of fresh fruit in her room and she ate a banana and an apple instead of going down to the dining room for breakfast, not wanting to face anyone before spending some time alone with Simon. She felt confused about so many things and wanted answers that only Simon could give her in private.

When she did finally leave her room she avoided the lift and slipped down the stairs to the lobby, pausing only to leave a note in Tessa’s mailbox before hurrying from the hotel.

The crisp air and the silvery early morning sunlight jolted her fully awake as she scurried along the Riva toward St. Mark’s Square. Hordes of tourists were already disembarking from boats and swarming along the promenade in the same direction. She hoped they weren’t all rushing to queue up at the Basilica.

Was Simon already there at the head of the queue, or had a boatload of tourists beaten him to it and already crowded in front of him? She felt a smile twitching her lips. He’d never had much tolerance for crowds. Or for waiting around doing nothing, for that matter.

As she passed the pink marble walls and lace-like arcades of the Doge’s Palace, she saw a long queue snaking from the Basilica, and groaned. That long already? It was barely eight-thirty—an hour before opening time!

And then she saw Simon, standing close to the decorative arched doorway at the very head of the queue. Heavens, he must have been here at dawn!

She felt a twinge of guilt that she hadn’t come even earlier to keep him company. An American tour group had gathered behind him, led by a flag-wielding female who was striding back and forth shouting facts about the Basilica to keep her flock amused. Annabel braved their stares as she strode up to Simon, her cheeks pink with embarrassment.

“I feel as if I’m pushing in,” she whispered, ready to slink away. But Simon’s smile—a real smile for the first time, even reaching his eyes, those incredibly blue eyes—stopped her in her tracks. He’d always been sexy as the devil, with the height and bearing to make him stand out in any crowd. But with that heart-stopping smile, his deeply bronzed skin enhancing the blue of his eyes, his longer hair and the casual denim jacket and jeans that he wore so easily, he was a sight to snatch a girl’s breath away.

“They’ll see we’re together, so don’t even think about running off,” he growled, reaching for her arm and pulling her closer.

She glanced down at the tanned hand circling her arm. It was his right hand…the skilled, sensitive, long-fingered hand that had once held delicate surgical instruments and tackled the most intricate operations… until he’d somehow damaged it.

Simon dropped his hand at once, mistaking her glance for a warning look—no touching—until she looked up and let him see the glistening compassion in her eyes.

“How did you injure your hand?” she asked softly. “Is it still…?”

“No, it’s fine now,” he assured her, and grimaced. “Self-inflicted, I’m afraid. A moment of pure cussedness. I lost it and punched a brick wall.”

Her eyes snapped wide in shock. “Lost it? How? Why? You mean…you were drunk? You didn’t know what you were doing?” Why else would he have done such a crazy, destructive thing? Simon, who’d never drunk heavily, who’d never done anything to jeopardize his finely honed surgical skills. It didn‘t make sense.

“Oh, I knew what I was doing all right.” There was no self-pity in his voice, only irony and self-mockery. “But I didn’t care at the time.”

“You didn’t care about your career?” She stared at him in disbelief.

“I didn’t care about anything. I’d lost my daughter, I’d lost the will to work—hard as I was driving myself at the time—and then I lost you.” He glanced round, as if remembering there were others within earshot who could understand English. She could see him retreating and sensed, with a dip in her spirits, that he was regretting the admissions he’d already made. “Now’s not the time to go into all that,” he muttered.

She nodded, swallowing. Was he intending to tell her more later, when they were alone? Or was he slipping back into his dark, unreadable shell, shutting her out again?

I didn’t care about anything, he’d said. Did that mean he was still too hurt and heartbroken about Lily to care what happened to him? Or had he “lost it” and punched that brick wall because he was hurt and angry that his wife had run out on him? Angry enough to lash out in a blind, self-destructive rage?

She’d thought at the time, with her husband so cold and distant, that he would have been relieved to see the back of her, that he wouldn’t even care. Knowing that he blamed her in his heart for Lily’s accident, she’d felt miserably sure that her presence must be a constant reminder of the baby daughter he’d lost, and that he wouldn’t miss her when she was gone.

And yet…here he was in Venice, seeking her out again. Why? Simply because they’d met again purely by chance and he was curious about her life since she’d left him? Or…was there still some spark left of the love, the bond they’d once shared, enough to make him want to find out if it could flare into life again? She felt a quiver, a yearning deep down in her bruised heart.

She had to keep the lines of communication open. She couldn’t bear it if he froze her out again.

“What’s this about you going sailing for a year?” she asked, assuming the lightest tone she could manage. “In a yacht, you mean? Not by yourself, surely?” She’d never known him to go sailing before, or even to be interested in boats.

It made her realize soberly how little she knew about the man she’d married. They’d both been such high-powered, single-minded workaholics, even after Lily had arrived, that they’d barely had time to talk about the things that had happened to them in the past, before they’d met. Simon’s past in particular—other than the little he’d told her about his mother and his ambitious career path, and the fact that his father had walked out on his family—had always been a closed book.

“Hell, no.” The shutters had lifted, she saw with relief. He seemed amused at the idea that he might have sailed solo around the world. Or maybe he was just relieved at the change of subject. “There were twenty of us—mostly crew, and a handful of passengers. It wasn’t a yacht exactly, it was a three-masted barque. A special round-the-world voyage, stopping off at various islands and foreign ports along the way. I applied for the job of medic.”

A brilliant brain surgeon, taking on the lowly job of medic for a year… She searched his face, amazed there was no bitterness in his voice. He seemed resigned, rather than angry or upset.

Aware of her scrutiny, he gave a rough jerk of his shoulder. “I needed to get away. I needed time to think. To heal, I guess.”

To heal? She gulped. Was he talking about his damaged hand? Or his heart, his soul? The heart she’d broken when she hadn’t been able to react quickly enough on that pedestrian crossing and had failed to save Lily’s pram from the erratic path of that speeding, out-of-control car.

“And…did it help?” she asked tentatively, half expecting to see him withdrawing again, his eyes turning bleak and remote again.

“By the end of the year’s voyage, I felt I was ready to rejoin the human race…yeah,” he said with his slow, crooked smile—the irresistible smile she’d fallen in love with on the first day they’d met, though she hadn’t recognized it as love back then. “And to come looking for you,” he added softly.

She stared at him, shakily aware of the sharp intensity of his blue eyes—no hint of remoteness there now. “You—you knew I was here in Venice?” Her head whirled. Their meeting in St. Mark’s Square yesterday had been no accident? If true, at least it would explain why they’d bumped into each other here in Venice, of all the places in the world they could have chosen to visit. It had seemed such an amazing coincidence that they should both be here at the same time, in the first week of June. “How did you know?” she whispered.

“I called your London office and your secretary told me. No other details,” he was quick to assure her, “except that you’d come here to recuperate after a bout of pneumonia.” He raked a tanned hand through his dark hair, drawing her gaze upward for a mesmerized second. “How the hell did you come down with pneumonia?” he demanded. “I never knew you to have a cold in your life.”

It was hard to tell if he cared or was being critical, blaming her again…for carelessness of a different sort. She gave a shrug. “I guess I was a bit run-down…with London’s cold winter and taking on extra work and…and everything.” He would know what everything meant.

“A lazy day on the beach at the Lido sounds like just the thing you need,” he said out of the blue, surprising her with a tantalizing image of two sunbathing bodies lying side by side on soft warm sand—or, failing soft warm sand, on comfy sun lounges—revelling in the sun’s healing warmth. Assuming he wanted to spend the day with her.

“If the weather stays like this, I might just do that,” she murmured, trying not to show too much enthusiasm for the idea in case he didn’t want to be a part of it.

Simon, noting that she’d said I, not we, decided not to push his luck. Let her get used to having him around again before trying to get too close and personal. He’d pushed too far yesterday and look at what had happened. He’d ended up brawling with her and jumping to all the wrong conclusions.

But damn it, she hadn’t denied…

“How could you let me think you’d had another baby?” The bitter question leapt out.

He saw color flare in her cheeks. When she answered, he had to strain to catch what she said, her voice little more than a hoarse whisper.

“It was the way you just assumed…” She trailed off, then gave an impatient shake of her head. “When you lashed out at me I—I thought it was pointless going on talking to you, even trying to find common ground. You—you didn’t seem to have changed…”

That hurt. She was still holding it against him? Still feeling he’d let her down?

“But you have changed,” she conceded in a softer tone. “We—we’ve both changed.”

“Yes.” He glanced round. Much as he wanted to ask her about her life over the past two years—and knowing she must be equally curious about his wrecked career and what he intended to do in the future—a pressing queue in the busiest piazza in Venice was no place for those kind of confidences. They needed to be alone.

If she would agree to have lunch with him…a quiet, intimate lunch for two, maybe in one of the quieter, less crowded squares or alleys…

“That tour guide’s actually quite informative,” he remarked as the strident voice grew closer again. “If we listen in, we might find out what we missed seeing last time.”

“Good idea,” Annabel agreed, turning away from him to pay more attention to the woman’s tireless spiel.

No more was said about spending a day at the Lido’s famous beach resort or about their time apart. Before too long, the great doors of the Basilica were opened and they and the rest of the queue began to surge forward.

It was worth the wait. Just like four years ago, they found their senses assailed by the magnificence all around them—the dazzling gold mosaics; the exquisite Pala d’Oro, the famous gold, enamel and jewel- encrusted altarpiece; and the Galleria and Museum upstairs, home of the original gilded bronze horses. From there, they had wonderful views of the Basilica’s cavernous interior and the awesome mosaics decorating the huge central dome.

An hour passed, stretching into another. It was only when he saw Annabel lean against a pillar that Simon realized how tired she must be, and remembered that she was still recuperating from an energy-sapping illness.

“Let’s find a quiet place to sit down and grab a bite to eat,” he said, half expecting her to knock back the offer and insist on going back to her hotel to rest. There was still a wariness about her that sounded a warning. Don’t push it. You’ve only just found her again and she’s plainly still upset that your so-called godlike surgical skills failed to save our baby daughter. His heart constricted at the agonizing memory.

It wasn’t going to be easy. Far from it. In her eyes, their marriage was dead, and it was going to take a miracle to change her mind. She’d never wanted to settle down and get married in the first place. Marriage had been forced on her. He’d forced it on her. And now their reason for getting married had tragically gone, leaving her free to concentrate on her soaring legal career, the career she’d worked so hard for and which had always meant more to her than anything else in her life.

“You know of a place?” she asked, and he felt some of the heaviness lift from the black place deep inside him. She hadn’t run away yet. Maybe she was just curious about what he intended to do now that he was back in circulation, or maybe—hopefully—she felt a bit more than that, wanted a bit more than that.

At least she was giving him the chance to find out. And a chance, with luck, to mend some bridges and begin to heal the rift between them. Could she forgive him? Would she ever stop secretly blaming him? He’d blamed her for a black moment when he’d first heard about the accident, but that had changed once he’d learned the true circumstances. Maybe she could change, too, and learn to forgive him.

He sought her lovely green eyes and nodded. “Well, yes, I do, but we’ll need to take a vaporetto ride along the Grand Canal to the Accademia Bridge. The concierge at the hotel recommended a place.”

“Okay.” She didn’t even hesitate. “Lead the way.”

The cooling breeze brushed Annabel’s face as she stood beside Simon on the crowded deck of the slow, grinding water bus, watching the passing boats and elegant mansions along the Grand Canal and the shimmering reflections in the dancing green water. As a gondola carrying a young starry-eyed couple holding hands passed below them, it was suddenly rocked in the wash of the vaporetto and she felt memories of four years ago flood back. She flicked a glance at Simon.

Her eyes clashed with his, and she knew he was thinking of that day, too, remembering how she’d tumbled out of her rocking gondola into the Grand Canal and how he’d jumped in to rescue her. Would they ever recapture the magic of that exciting first meeting in Venice, and the blissful days that had followed?

What better place than magical Venice to recapture it!

* * *

“Well? Reckon this will do?” “It’s perfect.” It was away from the crowds of tourists, in a spacious yet quiet square, with an old church, an imposing central statue, antique and fashion shops, and outdoor restaurants. Ristorante Masaniello was small and the staff friendly. A favorite of Venetians, the restaurant was famous for its fresh fish. The concierge had told them not to order off the tourist menu, and they didn’t regret leaving it up to the expert staff to select their meal. Over one of the best lunches they’d ever enjoyed—a special Sicilian fish dish that was steamed and served with mint—it was Simon who asked the first question of the many that still hovered between them.

“Tell me how your job’s going, Annabel.” She pursed her lips. The question he was really asking was: Are you a partner yet? “They made me an associate a year ago, but remember, this is an old, conservative law firm that still seems to prefer males as partners. Other top firms these days are more enlightened.”

“You’ve never thought of jumping ship to a rival firm?” Simon asked. “I’m sure you’d have no trouble finding one that’d be keen to snap you up.”

“You mean, give up and leave? No!” She was shocked. “It would be admitting defeat, and it wouldn’t be loyal to Mallaby’s. Besides, it’s a very prestigious law firm and being a partner there would mean a lot to me and to my career. I’m determined to persevere and be their first female partner. If only to prove to myself that it’s possible.”

“Is that the only reason?” There was a knowing glint in his eye. “Only to yourself?”

She looked at him and twitched her lip. “Well, okay, maybe also to prove to my father that I can succeed in a male-dominated career and compete with the top guys. To prove to him and my brothers that women have an equally important role in the workplace, and don’t just belong in the bedroom and kitchen.”

“Your father still hasn’t accepted it? Having a daughter who’s chosen a high-powered career rather than the traditional housewife-and-mother role?”

She didn’t answer for a second, wondering for the first time if he had some regrets himself that she hadn’t become a full-time mother to Lily and a stay-at-home wife to him. But she quickly dismissed the notion. Simon had always been totally supportive and encouraging, never criticizing her long hours and agreeing without demur when she’d engaged a nanny to help take care of Lily while she was at work.

They’d been two of a kind…both equally driven, equally determined to reach their grand, high-flying goals. And what a price they’d paid. She shivered, trying to brush off the shadows.

“No. My father will never change,” she said finally, hoping Simon would put her silence down to a daughter’s pain at her father’s inflexible, sexist attitude, not to regrets over their own lives. “Men like him never do. My brothers are just the same. They’re both looking for wives like our mother—women willing to devote their lives to their husbands and children, with no independence or financial control for themselves.”

The men in her family were the reason she’d left Queensland and fled south to Sydney to study law. To escape the stifling influence back home. Her father and two brothers ran a thriving family business, a forklift rental and sales business, Joe Hansen and Sons. And Sons, she reflected sourly. Only sons had any worth in the Hansen men’s eyes.

“Maybe your mother’s happy being a full-time wife and homemaker,” Simon murmured.

“Happy!” She stabbed her fish with her fork. “She’d never admit it if she wasn’t. She keeps up appearances, pretends her life and marriage are perfect, and turns a blind eye to my father’s furtive little flings. Dad’s careful never to go too far. He would never risk his marriage by flaunting his women. He has the life he wants and I guess he does care for my mother in his own selfish way. But she’s trapped.”

“Trapped? In this day and age?” “Dad controls the finances. He keeps her comfortable enough not to rebel and he treats her okay…as long as she toes the line and keeps up the standards. She’s little more than a pampered slave.”

“I’m sure she’d find a way to leave if she really wanted to,” Simon soothed, lifting his glass of wine and taking a long sip.

“She doesn’t want to, and that’s what I can’t understand. I think she enjoys being a martyr, the so-called ideal wife and mother. She’d never break up the family, never disgrace her sons or her husband. The men in my family have her just where they want her.”

“Not all men are like your father and brothers.”

“No,” she agreed, and flicked him a softer look. Simon was nothing like her father or brothers. She and Simon had been equals, neither wanting to outdo or make unreasonable demands on the other. And yet…

Her eyes wavered. He’d imposed his will on her in a different way, after Lily died. Closing up, shutting her out, hardly able even to look at her, except in the dark confines of their bed when he made love to her. Or rather, had sex with her. She stuffed a forkful of fish into her mouth.

“Did you see your parents before you left for London?” Simon asked, thinking she was brooding over them, not him.

“No, I just let them know I’d been transferred there from Sydney.” She hadn’t seen her family since they’d flown down from Brisbane for Lily’s funeral.

That traumatic day…

She shivered. Her mother had been no comfort to her, too devastated at losing the baby granddaughter she’d rarely seen to think of anyone but herself and her own tragic loss. And her father had been his usual insensitive, chauvinistic self, growling, “I told you it’s a mistake for a woman to have a full-time career and a family. Your mind must have been elsewhere when you crossed that road. Even on a pedestrian crossing, on a Sunday, you need to have your wits about you.”

Because of her own feelings of guilt and black despair at the time, she hadn’t flared back at him as she might have in the past. She’d even wondered if he could be right after all…that a woman couldn’t expect to have both a career and a family without suffering dire consequences. She hadn’t been able to face her parents since then, especially after she ran out on Simon and her marriage. She knew she couldn’t expect any sympathy from them. Her father would see it as another failure, blaming her career, as always. And her mother would take his side, as usual.

“Why are we talking about my parents?” she grumbled. “You know it always upsets me. I came to Venice to feel better, not worse.”

“And I’m going to make sure you do feel better,” Simon said without missing a beat. “Assuming you want me to stick around?”

I’ll always want you around, Simon…as long as you don’t shut me out again…as long as you can bring yourself to talk about what happened two years ago and stop silently blaming me, or, at least try to be more understanding and sympathetic.

She raised her glass in a brave salute, wondering if it was already too late to pick up the pieces. He still hadn’t opened up to her…about the things that really mattered. The loss of their daughter…the loss of his career, though that, she hoped, was only temporary…and the cold, hard fact that they both lived on opposite sides of the world now, she in London, he in Sydney. Now that he’d had his healing year off, his old hospital must be clamouring to have him back.

The hospital where Lily died…

Her hand trembled on her wine glass. Simon had tried so hard to save his daughter, but he must have known in his heart, as all the doctors around him had known, that she was beyond saving. He’d had to watch his baby girl slip away beneath his fingers, the expert fingers that were trying so desperately to save her life. With that heartrending memory to haunt him, how could he ever face going back there?

But there were plenty of other Australian hospitals that must be aware of Simon’s outstanding skills and reputation, many surely eager to grab him if they had the chance.

* * *

Simon lifted his own glass and clinked it against hers. She hadn’t answered his question, he noted, but she hadn’t given him the boot, either. Not yet.

“To recovery,” he said. She could take that whichever way she liked. The recovery of her health…the recovery of trust after their horrendous loss…the recovery of their shattered marriage…even, thinking positively, the recovery of romance in their lives.

What better place to rediscover romance than here in romantic Venice, where they’d first found it? Maybe he should think no further than that…romancing her, wooing her all over again, rediscovering the passion they’d lost. Maybe even embarking on a romantic second honeymoon, to revive the old magic, the old chemistry, before they had to leave Venice and face reality again.

He looked deep into the shadowed green of her eyes. Two people in love, damn it, could face anything, overcome any obstacle. They’d managed to do it once before, hadn’t they? As compulsive workaholics with a shared ambition to reach the top of their respective fields and with no thought of marriage or settling down, they’d had to face the fact that they were going to have a baby together.

Yeah…even though they’d allowed their work, rather than their relationship, to consume them, they’d made their marriage work once, for a while, at least. Until the loss of…he felt his throat catch. Until the worst tragedy of their lives had torn them apart.

It’ll be different this time, he vowed, burying the old pain and letting his eyes caress hers as his senses drank in the subtle, familiar fragrance of her. They just needed to change a few things, make more time for each other, avoid the same mistakes, and to talk more, open up more, face their ghosts, something he’d always found difficult.

Damn it, he still did.

Annabel felt a jolt, like an electric charge, zip through her. Something had just changed…something in him…in his eyes, in the way the veiled blue suddenly cleared…in the way he was looking at her.

It was the way he’d looked at her four years ago, when they first met…as if he were seeing her for the first time, and was excited by what he saw. She remembered the way she’d responded back then…and could feel herself responding in a similar way now. It felt…it felt as if they’d gone back in time and were starting all over again.

Was it possible, after the harsh words they’d flung at each other yesterday, and the bitter, painful memories of their last months together?

But that’s just it, you fool. He wants you to forget all that for now, to forget all the bad things, the pain, the hurt, and grab this chance to start again…from scratch.

She felt her heart lift, and looked up, flashing a sudden dazzling smile. “We’re wasting time just sitting here. There’s a lot we’ve yet to explore in Venice. Ready to go?”

“Let me just pay the bill.”

“No, let me pay for you. Please.”

He didn’t argue. They’d always shared costs in the past. Something her father would never have abided in a woman, she mused as she pulled out her purse.

They walked back across the Accademia Bridge and decided, since it was open, to visit the Accademia Gallery. As expected, they found it an absolute treasure-house of magnificent Venetian paintings.

They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering down narrow alleys with flower boxes overflowing with orange and pink geraniums and washing drying overhead, following small winding canals and crossing narrow bridges, discovering other treasures they’d missed four years ago, like the great Franciscan church known as the Frari, where they gazed in awe at the famous Titian and Bellini masterpieces.

Returning to the nearest vaporetto station, Annabel bought a few postcards to send back to her colleagues at work, and one to send back home to Brisbane, just to let her parents know she was still alive. Having a short holiday in Venice, you should both come here sometime. No need to mention Simon, or that she’d been ill. Let them think her new life as an unattached career woman was perfect.

Back at St. Mark’s Square, after a return vaporetto ride down the Grand Canal, they joined a short queue outside the towering Campanile and caught the lift up to the top of the bell tower for spectacular views of sun-drenched Venice and the Lagoon.

“What a sight,” she breathed, darting from one side to the other. “Now I know what they mean by a bird’s eye-view. You can see everything!”

“Not quite everything. Haven’t you noticed something is missing from up here?” Simon was standing so close behind her she could feel his breath spreading the fine hairs on her head.

“What?” she asked, her voice husky. Right now all she could think of was him and how tempted she felt to turn around and…

Cool it, you idiot. A crowded bell tower’s hardly the place for romantic canoodling.

Simon’s voice rumbled back. “You can see the whole of Venice lying below, but you can’t see any canals. Not even the Grand Canal, except where it runs into the Lagoon.”

She stared downward. “Good heavens, you’re right, you can’t. Not a single one. How amazing.” Almost as amazing as it was to be back here in Venice, alone with her estranged husband. If you could call being among crowds of tourists alone.

“Time we were going down,” Simon said, glancing at his watch. “Let’s go.”

“What’s the hurry?” she asked as he ushered her back to the lift. Did he have to meet someone? Tom, maybe?

He grinned. “The bells strike on the hour, and we don’t want to be deafened.”

“Oh.” She glanced up at the five huge bells and felt a twinge of relief that he wasn’t leaving her for someone else.

“Want to head back to the hotel now for a rest?” he asked when they and a dozen or so others spilled out of the crowded lift.

The prospect of putting her feet up for a while made her realize how footsore and weary she was after all the walking they’d done. Her bout of pneumonia had hit her hard and she still tired easily.

“Okay,” she said, glancing up at Simon, wondering if she looked as worn out as she felt.

“You must be tired…not that you look it,” he was quick to assure her, as if he’d read her thoughts. It was something he hadn’t done for a long time, it struck her—bothered to read her mind, or care what she was thinking. “The sunshine and exercise are obviously doing you the world of good,” he said. “You’ve a healthy glow in your cheeks that wasn’t there yesterday.”

She flushed, suspecting it wasn’t just the sunshine and exercise that were making her glow. “My legs are tired,” she admitted, just as bells started chiming in the tower, “and my feet are a bit sore. I can’t remember when I’ve done so much walking. But it’s been fun,” she said, and meant it.

“It’s probably just what you’ve been needing.”

Or maybe I’ve just been needing you, Simon.

Simon squared his shoulders as the dusky rose-colored walls of their hotel appeared. Much as he was determined to be patient and not rush her, he couldn’t resist leading her a little further.

“Want to meet me in the dining room for a spot of dinner later?” he asked. “Or we could find a restaurant nearby if you’d prefer. Your friends have their conference dinner tonight, so we’re not likely to run into them.” He wondered if she was as relieved as he was at the thought. His hands clenched as he saw her hesitate.

“I…actually, I’ve offered to mind their baby daughter Gracie tonight, while they’re at their dinner. I left a note for Tessa this morning. If she leaves a bottle for the baby, she can enjoy herself without worrying about feeds.”

Her tone was faintly defensive and he shot her a speculative look. Was it because she was talking about a baby? Because she was still sore at him for lashing out at her yesterday after seeing her with Tessa’s baby and assuming it was hers?

Or was she challenging him to think of their own baby, he wondered heavily, and to face up to the fact that he hadn’t been able to save her? Hell, as if he hadn’t faced up to it! He’d been living with the guilt and despair for the past two years! Damn it, he’d been living with guilt and regret all his life. His father had made sure of that.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. If his wife still hadn’t forgiven him, if being with him again hadn’t softened her at all, what hope did he have?

A distant, unbearable memory—one he’d long suppressed, unable to face the shameful, gut-wrenching reality—stirred in the depths of his psyche. An image of a small white face with snowy-blond hair appeared. He snapped it from his mind, a silent groan rolling through him. If she knew about that, knew how he’d failed someone else close to him, what hope would he ever have of winning her back?