SOPHIE HAD NO excuse for not sleeping well.
The supper had been delicious, her bath relaxing and the bed, when she had finally lain down on it, had felt like a cloud.
It was Bastiano who had unnerved her, though in the nicest of ways.
It had never entered her head that this far into pregnancy, and with so much to sort out, there would be such fierce attraction between them.
Sophie swung her feet to the floor and instead of cheap lino she felt the warmth of a thick rug. His home was so warm that there was no need to pull on a robe.
It was early, just before six, and she decided to go and get some milk and bring it back to bed.
She didn’t expect to find him in the kitchen, dressed only in trousers and waiting for the percolator to fill.
‘I thought you’d have your coffee brought to you in bed.’
‘Not when I am here,’ Bastiano said. ‘I hate conversation in the morning.’
Sophie helped herself to some milk.
‘How much prenatal care have you had?’
Always he surprised her. Sophie hadn’t thought it the type of question he would ask so casually.
‘I thought you didn’t like conversation in the morning?’
‘Some things have to be checked.’
‘Not much,’ she admitted.
‘We have a doctor that visits daily. I’ll get him to call in on you, though I think you should have the baby in Rome.’
‘Rome?’ Sophie gave an incredulous smile at his suggestion. ‘Isn’t there a hospital here?’
‘Yes but you’re not having the baby in Casta.’ Bastiano shook his head.
‘I’ll decide where I’m having my baby.’
‘Our baby,’ he countered, but then he halted. He did not want to descend into a row but there was no way she was having the baby here. ‘I’ll have the doctor visit.’
‘Well, let me know when,’ Sophie said. ‘I want to go into Casta. I need a few things for me as well as the baby. I was thinking of going to the market today.’
‘In Casta?’ He gave her an appalled look but Sophie just shrugged.
‘You’re turning into a snob, Bastiano.’
‘I turned into one long ago,’ Bastiano said. ‘You are not dressing my baby from the Casta market. We’ll speak tonight.’
He really didn’t like conversation in the morning, Sophie thought, because without another word he took his cup and left her alone in the huge kitchen. Sophie headed back to bed and lay there watching the morning arrive over the ocean.
Yesterday’s rain had gone, revealing a mild Sicilian winter’s day.
Her favourite kind.
It didn’t matter that she had hardly anything to wear because the morning was spent wrapped in a thick white robe.
The doctor came and he put her at ease straight away.
‘It is busy over there!’ He gave an eye-roll in the direction of the main building as he examined her. ‘It is nice to have a straightforward pregnancy to take care of.’
‘It doesn’t feel very straightforward.’
‘There is one baby, a healthy mother and a nice-sized baby. That’s good news to me.’
She was thrilled to find out that the baby was a good size given her meals had been somewhat sparse.
‘What do you deal with over there?’ Sophie asked as he took blood to test. Since Karmela had mentioned a confidentiality clause, she had been dying to know what went on over at the Old Convent, but the doctor wasn’t about to reveal anything.
‘That would be telling tales. Believe me, young Sophie, you don’t want to know.’
‘But I do.’
After he had taken some blood, they discussed her having an ultrasound.
‘Bastiano asked me to refer you to a colleague in Rome.’
‘I haven’t decided where I’m having the baby yet.’
‘Well, without stating the obvious, I suggest you both work it out because babies keep to their own schedules. You could go into labour tonight and then the choice will be out of both your hands.’ He gave her a lovely smile. ‘Don’t worry if you do, though, I’ve delivered a lot of babies.’
‘It would be you who would deliver me?’
‘It would be my privilege to.’
Sophie liked him.
He had salt-and-pepper hair and was patient with her endless questions; he didn’t make her feel stupid or small.
And he was the first person who seemed genuinely pleased about the baby.
The rest of the morning was spent being pummelled by the resident masseuses, after which she sat on a lounger by the pool, so warm in her robe it was no surprise that she dozed off.
‘Hey.’
She woke to his voice and looked up to a suited Bastiano.
‘Is there no such thing as privacy?’ Sophie asked.
‘Privacy is not going to get us very far,’ Bastiano said. ‘I’m not going to be back until late tonight; work has piled up. What did the doctor say?’
‘That everything is going very well.’
‘What else?’
‘He took some blood.’
‘And?’
Sophie knew exactly what he was there for. Bastiano wanted to ensure that his instructions had been carried out.
Well, two could play at that game.
‘He said that I am to go for an ultrasound in Casta tomorrow and that he would be thrilled to deliver me.’
She was surprised that he laughed.
So was he.
‘You are such a liar.’ Bastiano said.
He idly picked up the tie of her robe and as he did, the back of his hand brushed the baby bump beneath and then he turned so that his palm rested on the thick fabric.
‘Sophie, please don’t have the baby here. I couldn’t stand it if anything went wrong.’ He could feel the swell beneath his palm and then he looked up at Sophie and knew he simply could not bear it if something happened to either of them. ‘If I can wrap things up here we can move into a hotel for a few weeks. Get married there…’
‘In a hotel?’
‘It’s just a formality.’ Even Bastiano knew he had said the wrong thing and he cursed himself as she removed his hand. The closeness that had almost appeared slipped back like the tide. ‘Okay, we can get married in a church, I’m sure there are a few to choose from in Rome! I just don’t want it to be born a bastard.’
‘It’s the twenty-first—’
‘I’m aware of the century,’ Bastiano interrupted. ‘I want us married before the baby arrives.’
‘I don’t want to marry you,’ Sophie said. ‘I don’t want a husband who doesn’t love me.’
And she loathed that she fished, that she actually threw him a line, one that she hoped would see him pull her into his arms and tell her that of course that wasn’t the case.
But Bastiano had long ago decided that his love was a dangerous gift and so he was rather caustic in his reply. ‘It stopped being about you when you forgot to take your Pill.’
‘Why couldn’t I get pregnant by some bastard who just wrote me a cheque?’
‘Do you really see us co-parenting, Sophie?’ he asked. ‘Do you think I am going to smile and nod at your new lover when I pick my child up for an access visit?’
‘You could try.’
‘If you wanted that then you should have found some new-age guy. I’m traditional. I’m Sicilian, for goodness’ sake!’
‘I want our child to grow up in a loving—’
‘I can be loving.’
‘I’m not talking about sex,’ Sophie said.
Bastiano was.
He wanted to break the embargo and peel off her robe. Quite simply he was certain this was a dispute best settled in bed.
It was black-and-white to him.
‘I want more from marriage,’ Sophie said. ‘I ran away because it wasn’t love…’
‘You ran away from a man who relied on your mother to cook for him,’ Bastiano said, ‘and now you have to settle for a virile billionaire. Boo-hoo.’
He stood and she lay there staring out at the ocean rather than look at him.
They were getting nowhere, Bastiano knew.
He had tried reason, he had tried religion, now he decided it was time to fall back on ways of old.
‘How about we go out for dinner tonight?’
‘I thought you had work.’
‘I’ll cancel it. We’re going to go out tonight.’
‘Are you asking me or telling me?’ Sophie checked, and she saw the tightening of his jaw.
She was acting like a sulking princess, Sophie knew.
‘We never did have our night out.’
‘No,’ Sophie said, ‘I was too busy stealing your ring…’
‘Sophie…’ He halted but then he pushed himself to speak on. ‘I know you didn’t steal it.’
‘Do you, now? And how’s that?’ She desperately wanted him to reply that it was because he knew she would never do that kind of thing. But he didn’t.
‘We’ll speak tonight at dinner. I have a lot of work to get through but I should be through by five so be ready.’
‘Five?’ Sophie frowned. ‘So early?’
‘If I could have my PA reschedule the sun I would,’ Bastiano said.
‘Meaning?’
‘I’ll see you at five,’ he told her. ‘And please,’ he added, ‘do not buy anything from the market to wear! Your regular rags will do!’
He left her smiling.
In her worst mood, somehow he had made her smile.
And, he made her skin prickle.
Oh, the attraction had not faded for her, not a fraction, yet surely it must have for him.
It didn’t feel as though it had.
A car drove her down the hill and it was indeed market day, for Casta was busy and it was nice to wander around.
There were signposts for the infirmary, where Bastiano was adamant that their baby would not be born. She passed a school and smiled at the sound of children’s laughter.
There was the old courthouse, where Bastiano had told her Maria’s will had been read.
It really was gorgeous, with an old hotel that had seen better days and a street lined with shops and cafés.
And it was exciting too because there were a couple of famous faces behind dark glasses in the café that Sophie went into, no doubt on day release from the Old Convent.
The owner greeted her warmly. ‘Passing through?’
‘No, I’m staying at the Old Convent.’ Sophie smiled.
‘Ah, a guest of Signor Conti.’ The owner smiled. ‘Then we need to find you a nice seat.’
He called to a waitress and she was guided to a table near the back. ‘For you,’ the owner said, and he brought her a large glass of hot blackcurrant without Sophie even looking at the menu. ‘It is our house special and good for you,’ he told her. ‘And don’t worry, no one will trouble you here, we’ll keep an eye open.’
It took a moment or two to register that they thought she must be a client.
Bastiano really had done wonders, Sophie thought, for, unlike home, the town was a buzzing and happy place to be.
Sophie headed over to the church that had caught her eye when she had first passed through town.
It must be here that he had fought with Raul, Sophie guessed, and she slipped around the back to the graveyard and read the inscriptions on the tombstones.
Gino Di Savo.
Raul’s father, Sophie knew, and saw that he had died some ten years ago.
Next to him lay Maria, and Sophie wondered about the mind of a woman who would seduce a seventeen-year-old.
And then she turned and Sophie found what she was looking for. There she found out Bastiano’s mother’s name.
Philomena Conti.
Sophie felt her nostrils tighten when she saw the simple grave.
And then she saw the date of her death and Sophie did not even try to hold back the tears.
Philomena had died on the day that Bastiano was born.
Had Karmela not let on that it was his birthday yesterday, she might never have known. She understood the man a little more, and he was kinder than even she had given him credit for—even in their rows about their baby he had not scared her by telling her that his mother had died giving birth.
It was a sobering thought indeed.
And it was time, Sophie knew, to stop fighting.
* * *
She did have something to wear.
One thing.
Sophie stood in the little silver knickers she had purchased on the day Rosa had persuaded her try on the dress.
The over-dress she could not even get over her bust, but the silver-grey underdress slid on.
It clung to every curve, yet somehow it revealed little, for it fell to just on her knee and there was barely even a glimpse of cleavage.
It was incredibly seductive, though.
For the first time in months Sophie added heels and though she had very little make-up to work with, she melted her mascara under a hot tap in order to reach the last dregs and used a pen to dig out some lipstick.
Soon she saw his car approaching and Sophie was suddenly nervous. She felt overdressed for Casta and the small restaurants there.
Hell, she felt overdressed for five o’clock in Rome.
‘Sophie!’ Bastiano called out.
He wondered if she’d plead a headache to avoid dinner, but instead she stepped out confidently.
Bastiano had thought her like the sun on the day they’d met.
Now a silver star emerged before the sky had even darkened.
Her dress clung tightly to the baby they had made and her legs seemed too fragile.
‘Where are we going?’ Sophie asked when he bypassed the car.
‘We’re walking.’
Along the cobbled path on very high heels there was little choice but to take his arm.
It was nice to walk.
‘Am I overdressed?’ she asked as they approached the convent.
‘Perhaps,’ he said, ‘but only because I prefer you in nothing.’
It was nice to flirt, but as they headed towards the restaurant nerves caught up.
‘Will there be a lot of people?’
‘I have twenty guests in residence,’ Bastiano said as they walked in. ‘And on my instruction, all are dining in their rooms tonight.’
Oh, it was heaven.
The tables were all candlelit and each candle had been lit for her. Even the stone walls were softened with thick white pillar candles but Bastiano steered her to the balcony. It had been dressed with care and a single table had been set up just for them.
‘It is cool,’ Bastiano said, ‘even with heaters…’
‘You’re not eight months pregnant,’ Sophie countered as she took a seat. ‘I’ve forgotten what it is to be cool.’
‘There’s no wine list,’ Bastiano said as he ordered bitter lemon for them both. ‘My regular guests have no restraint.’
He made her laugh.
And then he made her want to cry.
‘I owe you an apology,’ Bastiano said, and he was suddenly serious. ‘I was wrong to accuse you of taking my ring. I overreacted that morning. It was my mother’s ring, it meant everything to me, and I had only just got it back from Raul.’
‘From Raul?’ Sophie frowned. ‘Why did he have it?’
‘I gave it to Maria.’ He felt uncomfortable admitting it. ‘She was wearing it when she died and all her jewellery was left to Raul. I don’t think he even knew it was mine.’
‘How did he find out?’
‘When he asked for Lydia’s address I said I would only give it to him if he returned the ring.’
Now she better understood his reaction that morning.
It must have been hell to get it back, only to lose it.
‘It was Inga who put the ring in your uniform.’
‘Inga?’ Sophie frowned. ‘Did she confess?’
‘Please,’ Bastiano sneered, ‘she has no conscience, she was still blaming you as they escorted her out.’
And he told her how Inga had shouted and sworn as she’d been walked out, remembering Sophie’s quiet dignity in the same situation.
‘I had Dario and Benita go over the CCTV footage. Inga must have…’ He hesitated. He didn’t want to embarrass her because he had realised that Inga would have heard them making love so he softened it a touch. ‘She would have seen your uniform on the floor.’
It was cool outside; despite the heaters there was a chill from the ocean but the air suddenly seemed to blow warm on her skin as she recalled that morning and met his eyes.
‘Do you think she heard us?’
‘Who cares?’
‘I do,’ Sophie said, completely appalled. ‘Though I shouldn’t—she sleeps with guests.’
‘That’s shocking.’ Bastiano pretended to shudder and then laughed. ‘Thank God for the Ingas of the world.’
‘You’re terrible, Bastiano!’
‘Oh, indeed I was.’
And instead of being cross, Sophie smiled and then she laughed because her name had been cleared, and it was the best feeling in the world.
Or amongst the best of feelings, because he was looking at her in that way again, a way that made her feel warm, a way that made the tiredness disappear and her body feel sensual and alive.
A waiter came out with a loaf of mafalda, which they tore and dipped in oil.
‘The Contis and the Di Savos should have focused on making oil rather than feuding over wine,’ Bastiano told her as they dipped their bread. ‘They would have made their fortune.’
‘The Contis and the Di Savos need to stop feuding, period,’ Sophie said, referring to him and Raul.
‘I agree.’
He was tired of it.
‘Lydia is expecting too,’ Bastiano told her.
‘Your almost wife.’
She looked at him and knew that unrequited love was such a curse.
‘The bread is fantastic,’ Sophie said, to change the subject. She wondered if this would be her life, moving from topics to avoid hurt. Discussing the weather and the food on the table, rather than the hole he had shot through her heart.
‘You can’t get better than here,’ Bastiano responded.
‘Not true,’ Sophie said. ‘The chef at the Grande Lucia made the best…’
‘Can I tell you something?’ Bastiano said, and leant closer. She met his eyes and she knew she was in the path of a seducer, for his mouth had that smile and his eyes made her burn, and instead of fighting him Sophie let herself be played, for there were worse things she could think of than being seduced by Bastiano.
‘Tell me,’ she said, and tore another strip of bread.
‘I stole the chef from the Grande Lucia. He is the one cooking for us tonight.’
‘You stole Alim’s chef?’ She started to laugh.
A real laugh, because so skilled was she that at times she forgot his game.
‘Of course. When I withdrew my offer I had my PA contact your chef with an offer he could not refuse. Now, instead of feeding the hordes in Rome, he has a maximum guest list of twenty-two to cater for. Staff too…’
‘Your staff get meals?’
‘Of course.’
‘Five-star meals?’ Sophie asked, as in front of her was placed a dish of busciate, Sicily’s finest pasta dressed in a light almond sauce.
‘Everyone deserves to be looked after,’ Bastiano said. ‘Not just the guests. That is why my retreats work so well.’
‘It’s amazing,’ Sophie said. ‘You should be very proud.’
‘I am,’ Bastiano said. ‘People accuse me of bulldozing treasures but that is because I don’t allow the interiors to be photographed—I don’t need the publicity. The retreats I offer are for the guests to enjoy.’
And tonight that pleasure was exclusive to Sophie.
Tiny lights started to dance as dusk fell and she found out what he had meant about not being able to reschedule the sun, for it had turned to fire and was mirrored in the ocean.
‘Dance?’ Bastiano said as soft music came on.
It had been months since they had been in each other’s arms, and so much had changed, yet they melded together like they had never been apart. Sophie wrapped her arms around his neck, swaying in his arms.
He looked right into her eyes and then she closed her eyes to his kiss.
She had forgotten the taste of perfection.
How with that mouth he made magic.
How the heat from his palm in the small of her back made her fingers press into the back of his head. And how the feel of him aroused her and could make her forget her cares.
She felt feverish, being held by him, dancing with him, being seduced by him.
His kiss was perfection.
It made her crave him and it made her feel weak.
‘Why do you resist us?’ Bastiano asked.
In his arms, she didn’t know the answer to that.
‘Come on,’ he told her. ‘I’m taking you home.’