Happy Mother's Day! - By Sharon Kendrick Page 0,97

you should have. Erin, the things I said.’ he began, his manner uncharacteristically awkward as he met her eyes. ‘I should not have shouted at you … The thing is it is difficult for me to speak of my feelings. Rafe used to say that my aura—he was very into that sort of stuff—must have so many “keep out” signs that it would take a very brave person to get close to me.’

His dark eyes flickered across her face before his chin dropped to his chest. ‘Someone who goes where angels fear to tread,’ had been Rafe’s exact words.

‘Or a really stupid one,’ she muttered under her breath as she drew back the fingers that hovered just above his dark hair. Her heart ached to see him so vulnerable. ‘It must have been a terrible time for you and your family,’ she said huskily.

‘It was not good.’ He gave a twisted smile. ‘But at the time there were things to do … arrangements … no time to think. Later it was harder and my parents took it very badly.’

And everyone expected Francesco to cope, Erin thought, looking at his broad shoulders and thinking of the problems people offloaded on them.

‘My mother especially.’ He lifted his head, dragging a hand through his tousled dark hair before revealing, ‘There was always a special bond between her and Rafe.’ Nothing in his expression or manner suggested he had in any way resented this special relationship. ‘She hasn’t been the same since.’

‘She still has you!’ The indignant protest died on Erin’s tongue when, without warning, he reached across and took her face between his hands.

‘You had me, too, cara, but you didn’t want me.’

Didn’t want him? God, if only that were true. If she had ever fooled herself into believing she didn’t love him the last few minutes had destroyed that illusion. Seeing the depth of pain in his eyes had torn at her heart. She had felt his grief and loss as though it had been her own … and had felt helpless.

If she could have she would have taken his pain on herself. And yet she was about to add to it by taking away his chance to be a full-time father.

She just couldn’t do that to him; Francesco had lost enough without losing his child.

‘I alwayswanted you, Francesco.’ And I’ll always love you!

Francesco’s eyes darkened and a muscle in his lean cheek clenched as he sucked in a deep breath. ‘Erin …’ His hands slid to her shoulders as he said something thick in his own language. As he bent his head towards hers Erin closed her eyes, her eyelashes fluttering like butterfly wings against her flushed cheeks.

‘Perhaps we could make a go of it?’

Francesco’s hands fell away and his head came up with a jerk. His dark eyes raked her face with an intensity she found hard to endure. ‘You are agreeing to come back to Italy with me?’

My God, is that what I’m doing? Do I really want to be pregnant in a foreign country loving a man who only wants me back because of the child I’m carrying?

‘I’m prepared to give it a go, for the sake of the baby.’ You are crazy, Erin. ‘But the secrets have to stop. And don’t say there were no secrets, because our marriage was based on a tissue of lies and omissions from day one. You never once mentioned your twin.’

‘I suppose it was a relief to be with someone who didn’t know about Rafe, to escape the interminable sympathy. The conversations that stopped when I walked into a room. Death is one of the last taboo subjects in our society. It makes people uncomfortable to be around someone who is bereaved. They either gush or cross the street to avoid you.’

‘When did he … when did Rafe die?’ She could actually see how a man like Francesco, a man who was fiercely private and self-contained, might find well-wishers intrusive.

‘Six months ago.’

‘Six months!’ No wonder Francesco’s feelings were so raw. ‘That’s no time at all.’ she began, then stopped, the colour seeping from her face.

That meant that when she had met Francesco his brother had only been dead for three months.

Their meeting. The whirlwind romance, the reckless dash into marriage—all suddenly made a horrible kind of sense.

The behaviour she had attributed to a man in love could equally be attributed to a man unwilling to confront his feelings.

Some men in similar circumstances might have turned to drink or relied on prescription