CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘ARE YOU SURE you’re okay?’ Pepe asked for the third time since they’d left the house. Cara seemed to have lost much of her colour and was much too quiet for his liking.
‘I guess I’m a little apprehensive about this exhibition.’
Reaching for her hand, he pulled it over to rest on his thigh. ‘I won’t leave you alone for a second when we’re there, I promise.’
She smiled wanly. ‘I know you won’t.’
‘How did you cope when you worked at the auction house? You had to deal with new people on a daily basis.’
‘That was different. It was work and so I could put my professional head on.’
‘Maybe you should try that tonight,’ he mused. ‘If you see all the rich guests as potential clients for when you go back to work—if you go back to work—you might find it easier to cope.’
‘It’s worth a try,’ she agreed non-committally.
Shifting gear, he drove into a street that was officially the beginning of Montmartre. Knowing how much Cara loved to hear about the arrondissement, he began pointing out places of interest, making a mental note to actually take her to them and not just drive past.
She looked so beautiful this evening. But then, she always looked beautiful. Tonight, she’d left her hair down, the red locks spread out over her shoulders like a fan. She was wearing a simple, high-necked, long-sleeved black dress with a wide red belt hanging loosely around the middle, resting on the base of her swollen belly. In the week he’d been away, her bump had grown. For the first time she actually looked pregnant. In his eyes she’d never looked more beautiful.
‘Who’s the artist exhibiting tonight?’ she asked when he turned into the small car park at the back of the exhibition room.
‘Sabine Collard. Have you heard of her?’
She shook her head. ‘Sabine Collard,’ she repeated. He loved the way she tried to pronounce her Rs the French way. It sounded so adorable coming from her Irish lilt.
The gallery was already packed.
Keeping a firm hold on Cara’s hand, he guided her through the throng and towards the star of the evening.
When Sabine, a young, angry-looking young lady, spotted Pepe, she embraced him and planted kisses on his cheek.
‘Let’s stick to English,’ Pepe said when Sabine began jabbering in French. He didn’t want Cara unable to join in with the conversation.
Sabine gave a Gallic shrug. ‘D’accord. It is very good to see you. I have missed you at the studio.’
Had it been very long? With a jolt, he realised he hadn’t visited the studio since Cara had moved in.
‘Sabine shares a studio with a few other artists,’ Pepe explained to Cara, whose grip on his hand had become vice-like. Casually he rubbed his thumb over her wrist in a wordless show of support.
‘So modest!’ Sabine exclaimed before addressing Cara directly. ‘Your lover owns the studio. It is a huge building that was once a hotel. And it is not a “few” artists working and living there—we number fifteen! All living and working rent-free because your lover is one of the few patrons of the art who truly is a patron in all senses of the word.’
‘It’s not completely selfless,’ Pepe hastily explained when Cara’s eyes widened. ‘I allow them to live and work there rent-free in exchange for a cut of any money they make when they sell their pieces.’
‘Five per cent,’ Sabine snorted. ‘Hardly a big cut, especially when the most of us don’t sell anything.’
‘I can always raise it,’ he warned with a grin.
A beatific expression came over her face. ‘Oh, look, there is Sebastien LeGarde. I must socialise.’
Cara watched the chic Frenchwoman sashay away in the direction of a rotund man with the shiniest bald spot she’d ever seen.
Even if she’d been born French she would never have that certain élan Sabine carried off so effortlessly.
‘No.’
She looked back at Pepe. ‘No what?’
‘No, I haven’t slept with her.’
‘I didn’t say you had,’ she pointed out primly.
‘You were thinking it.’ He reached out and gently stroked her cheek. ‘There is a chance a couple of my exes will be here though.’
‘There’s always a chance we’ll bump into your exes whenever we step out of the front door,’ she said, more tartly than she would have liked.
She had no right to feel jealous. Ever since they’d agreed to make a go of some sort of semblance of a relationship, Pepe had treated her with nothing but respect. Whenever they went out he stuck to her side, his unspoken support worth more than all the money in the world.
He really was nothing like her father and she knew with as deep a certainty as she’d ever known anything that he would never cheat on her.
All the same, she couldn’t help the cloying sickness that unfurled inside her whenever she met his ex-lovers or even made the mistake of thinking about them.
There was a reason jealousy was oft referred to as the green-eyed monster. Thinking of Pepe with anyone else made her go green inside and made the monster within her want to scratch eyes out.
One day soon she would have to find a way to live with it.
She had no idea how she would be able to.
Pepe wanted them to part as friends?
She didn’t think she’d even be able to cope with fleeting glances at him. How could anyone be strong enough to endure that, to love someone with all their heart and know the recipient would never feel the same way?
All she could do was hold on and hope for a miracle.
Miracles happened. Didn’t they?
But even if they didn’t, one thing she did know was that she would not behave as her mother had with her father. Whatever happened, Cara was confident her child would never witness the selfish behaviour that Cara had witnessed from her parents. Both she and Pepe were committed to that.
Any devastation would take place internally.
‘I didn’t know you owned a studio,’ she said, quickly changing the subject away from something that could easily make her vomit. As she spoke, a sharp stab of pain ran down the side of her belly.
‘Are you okay?’ Pepe asked, noticing her reflexive wince.
Sucking in a quick blast of air, she nodded.
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’ As she reassured him that all was well, it suddenly occurred to her that her back had ached all day. She’d been so excited about Pepe coming home after a week away that she hadn’t thought much about it.
‘I bought an old hotel a few years back,’ Pepe said. ‘I had it turned into a home for artists, a place where they could live and work. As you know from Grace, artists often work strange hours. The majority live in poverty.’
‘What made you want to do it?’ she asked, glad of the conversation to take her mind off irrational thoughts. Besides, she loved hearing anything that helped unlock the mystery that was Pepe Mastrangelo.
His mouth tightened a fraction before he answered. ‘There is something incredibly free within the art world which I have always felt an affinity with. Growing up in Sicily...it was like living within a straightjacket. It’s probably the reason I enjoy flying so much—it gives me a real sense of freedom. Many artists pursue their craft in defiance of their parents’ wishes. I wanted to create a space for them to pursue their dream without having to worry about where the rent money was going to come from. Only artists who have been cut off financially from their families are eligible to live there. The only other stipulation is that the artist must have a genuine talent.’
‘That’s an amazing thing to do,’ she said, genuinely touched.
‘Not really,’ he dismissed. ‘It’s an investment for me.’
She raised a brow. ‘Five per cent?’
He suddenly grinned. ‘Georges Ramirez started off in that studio.’
‘Really?’
He nodded. ‘He was only there for six months before a gallery owner I introduced him to gave him an exhibition and...the rest is history.’
‘And does he pay full market rate on the loft?’ she asked slyly.
‘Near enough,’ he said, grinning.
‘You never cease to amaze me,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘You’re always trotting off from country to country on family business, yet you still invest your time as well as your money in the art community.’ She gave him a crafty wink. ‘How many of your artists have you dropped your kecks for in the name of art?’
His lips twitched. ‘Half a dozen. Can I help it if I’m prime model material?’
She sniggered and reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. ‘Do your family know what you do for the art world?’ Somehow, she thought not. Grace would certainly have mentioned it.
He began scanning the room. ‘I don’t think they would be that interested. My life has never been that much of an interest to them before.’ Suddenly he looked back at her with a grin. ‘Saying that, they were always interested whenever I got into trouble.’
‘Were you a very naughty boy?’ she asked, matching his light tone, although she had caught a definite shadow in his eyes.
A gleam now shone in those same eyes. ‘Sì. I was a very naughty boy.’ He leaned down to whisper into her ear. ‘When we get home I’ll show you what a naughty boy I can still be.’
Heat filled her from the tips of her toes to the long strands of hair on her head. ‘I look forward to it.’
Suddenly filled with the urge to jump onto him and kiss his face off, which, given they were in full view of dozens of people, wouldn’t do at all, she brought their conversation back to a less suggestive level. ‘How come you joined the family business when your heart is clearly elsewhere?’
He shrugged. ‘My father died. Luca had been groomed from birth to take over the business but none of us expected my dad to die so young. Luca held the fort on his own while I completed university but I knew he needed me. It wasn’t fair for him to shoulder all the burden and pressure on his own. I’d spent my childhood playing the joker and it was time to grow up. Plus it was a good distraction from losing my father and from what Luisa had done to me.’
Her stomach contorted again, although whether this was because he’d mentioned Luisa’s name or because of something physical, she didn’t know, but it quickly passed.
‘I think your father would be very proud if he could see you now, Pepe Mastrangelo.’
His eyes widened a fraction and glistened with something she couldn’t discern.
‘I’m very proud of you. And I know our child will be too.’
Before Pepe could respond, Georges Ramirez joined them, his pretty wife, Belinda, in tow.
Another, sharper pain cut through Cara’s stomach.
Blocking out everything around her, she concentrated on breathing through the pain. This was definitely physical.
Cold fear gripped her.
‘Not drinking?’ Georges asked, looking pointedly at the orange juice in Pepe’s hand.
‘I’m driving.’ Pepe could have used his driver tonight but he enjoyed driving Cara around, especially now she seemed over the worst of her travel sickness. He always made sure to drive her in the car with the sturdiest stabilisers and keep his speed at a steady level—too much heavy braking and up she would chuck. As good as his driver was, Pepe preferred to trust in his own driving ability to keep Cara free from nausea. In any case, it hardly seemed fair for him to be quaffing champagne when she had to stick to soft drinks. If she could make the minor sacrifice of forsaking alcohol for nine months, then he could do his bit too.
‘Good—you can drive me and Belinda home. Stay for drinks...’
But Pepe had tuned Georges out.
Cara was proud of him?
Such a simple word but one that filled his chest with something so light and wonderful he couldn’t begin to find the words to describe it.
Like a thunderbolt came the realisation that Cara had the capacity to bring him more joy than anyone else in the world.
Holding tight to her hand, he scanned the room, looking at some of the women who had once shared his bed and the women who, if Cara hadn’t come into his life, he would have considered bedding.
There was no comparison, and it was nothing to do with the physical, although that certainly played its part.
Bedding all these women...
He’d been hiding. Tied up with his feelings of being second best to his brother and after everything Luisa had put him through, he’d sworn never again. Never again would he put himself in a position where he could be hurt. Those women had been nothing but a temporary affirmation that he was worth something, a good time, a boost to his ego.
Cara made him feel like a king, as if everything he did was worth something, if only to her.
At some point he’d stopped hiding the essence of himself from her—he didn’t know where or when, it had been a gradual process born of their enforced intimacy over the past few months—and, even after seeing the real man behind the mask, she could still stand there and declare her pride in him.
And it came from her. The one woman in the world whose opinion actually mattered.
Because she mattered.
She mattered more than he had ever dreamt possible.
‘Pepe?’
Even though he’d successfully tuned Georges out, Cara’s whispered call of his name brought him back to sharp focus...and with it came the realisation that something was wrong.
Her hand, still clasped in his with a grip tight enough to cut off his circulation, had gone clammy. In the blink of an eye she had gone from being pale to totally devoid of colour.
He placed a hand to her forehead. It was cold. And damp.
‘Cara?’
He’d hardly got her name out when she doubled over with an anguished cry and fell to the floor.
* * *
Rancid fear clung to Pepe like a cloak. For the first time in his life he felt helpless. Totally helpless.
The ambulance sped through the streets of Montmartre and he had to stop himself from demanding the driver go faster. The sirens blared but it rang like a dim distant noise, drowned out by the drumming in his head.
Cara’s huge eyes, so full of pain and terror, didn’t leave his. An oxygen mask had been strapped to her face. He wished he could take her hand but the paramedic had ordered him to keep his distance so she could do her work.
Dio.
Under his breath he said a prayer. A long prayer. He prayed for their child. But mostly he prayed for Cara. For the sweetest, most beautiful woman on the planet, who had brought such meaning and happiness to his life.
Caro Dio, please let him have the chance to tell her how much she meant to him.
When she’d collapsed he’d known immediately something bad was happening. And she had known it too. While they’d waited for the ambulance to arrive, she’d clung to him. He hadn’t realised he’d been clinging to her too until the paramedic had prised him off her.
And now it was all out of his hands. Cara’s fate and their baby’s fate were in the hands of someone else. If anything should happen to her...
Caro Dio, but it didn’t bear thinking about.
* * *
Cara didn’t want to open her eyes. Didn’t want to face the reality that opening them would bring.
Soft voices surrounded her then a door shut.
Silence.
She knew exactly where she was. In a hospital. The smell was too distinctive to be anywhere else.
She also knew why she was there.
‘Cara?’ A tender finger wiped away the single tear that had leaked out.
This time she did open her eyes and found Grace sitting beside her, her face drawn.
‘Where’s Pepe?’
‘He’s talking to the doctor. He’ll be back soon.’
‘I want Pepe.’ It came out as a whimper.
Grace clasped Cara’s hands. ‘He won’t be long, I promise.’
‘I want Pepe.’ This time it came out as an anguished howl.
Although it went against all regulations, Grace climbed onto the bed and wrapped her arms tightly around her, letting Cara sob as if there were no tears left to cry.
* * *
Pepe staggered along the corridor, the coffee his brother had given him hours ago still clutched in his hand, cold.
When he got to Cara’s room, Grace and Luca came out before he could go in.
‘Is she awake?’
‘She was. She’s sleeping again. Probably the best thing for her.’
He nodded mutely, Grace’s words sounding distant and tinny to his ears.
Dimly he was aware of them exchanging glances.
Grace took his hand and clasped it in hers.
When he looked he could see she’d been crying.
‘Luca and I have been talking and we think Cara should come home with us.’
‘No.’ He snatched his hand away.
They exchanged another significant glance.
Luca put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and drew him away. ‘Pepe, I know you’re hurting but Cara needs to be with someone who loves her and that person is Grace. You told me yourself you were only together because of the baby.’
Pepe couldn’t even find the strength to punch him.
You were only together because of the baby...
Was that really true? Had that ever been true?
He didn’t know. His brain hurt too much to think.
Everything hurt.
It had all been so sudden.
One minute, everything had been fine. The next...
‘Listen to me,’ Luca said in a gentle tone he’d never heard him use before. ‘It is at times like this a woman needs to be surrounded with love and compassion. Your relationship was only ever temporary. Cara and Grace are closer than sisters. Grace will take care of her. I guarantee it.’
‘She’s got to stay in hospital for a few more days,’ Pepe said dully. ‘She’s had major surgery. She shouldn’t travel.’ The obstetricians had delivered their baby via a caesarean section. Cara had been knocked out for it.
He wished he had been knocked out for it too.
‘We need to arrange the funeral. She won’t want to travel anywhere until we’ve said goodbye.’
Luca winced at the mention of a funeral.
‘What?’ Pepe snarled, suddenly springing to life. ‘You think I’m not going to give my baby girl a proper goodbye because she was stillborn? You think Cara will not want to say goodbye to Charlotte? You think we’ll want to forget she ever existed, is that it?’
‘No...’
Whatever Luca, who had gone white, was going to say was pushed aside when Grace stepped between them.
‘Pepe, please, forgive us. All we want is what’s best for Cara, and for you. Nothing more. And you’re right—she won’t want to go anywhere until after the funeral. When she’s ready, she can come to Rome with me. Luca will go back to Sicily to be with Lily.’
‘It’s what’s best for Cara,’ Luca added quietly.
Pepe knew his brother was right. Although it ripped his insides to shreds, he knew it.
Cara would want to be with Grace. She wouldn’t want to be with him.
He finally jerked a nod. ‘Okay,’ he said heavily. ‘But only if that’s what Cara wants. If she wants to stay with me then neither of you are to say anything to change her mind.’
Without waiting for a reply, he strolled into the private room and took the seat by Cara.
She was pale enough to merge into the white sheets.
He was glad she was asleep. At least if she slept she wouldn’t have to remember, or, worse, feel.
He would gladly give up every organ in his body if it would take away her pain.
* * *
The next time Cara awoke, Pepe was sitting on the private room’s windowsill, looking out.
‘Hi,’ she whispered.
His head snapped round and in a trice he was by her side.
He looked dreadful. Still in the same tuxedo he’d worn to the gallery; what had been an impeccably pressed suit was now rumpled. He looked rumpled.
He didn’t say anything, just took her hands in his and pressed a kiss to them.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she croaked.
His brow furrowed, but he didn’t speak.
‘I keep thinking I should have known something was wrong...’
He placed a gentle finger to her lips and shook his head, his face contorted. ‘No,’ he croaked vehemently. ‘Not your fault. It was a severe placental abruption. Nothing could have been done to prevent it. Nothing.’
She swallowed and turned her head away. Everything inside her felt dry, and so, so heavy, as if a weight were crushing her.
Time passed. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. She had lost all sense of it.
‘Has Grace spoken to you about going back to Rome with her?’ Pepe asked quietly.
She looked back at him and mouthed a silent ‘no’.
His lips compressed together. ‘Grace wants to take care of you. She thinks you will want to be with her.’
More time passed as she looked into his bloodshot eyes. He really did look wretched, and no wonder. Pepe had lost his child too. He was suffering too.
‘What about you?’ she finally said, dragging the words out. ‘What do you think?’
He shrugged, an almost desperate gesture. ‘This isn’t about me. It’s about what’s best for you.’
Oh.
Somewhere in the fog that was her brain was the remembrance that their relationship had only ever been temporary.
Nothing lasted for ever, she thought dully. Nothing.
She had no doubt Pepe would allow her to return home with him if she asked. He’d take care of her as best he could.
But he wasn’t asking her to go home with him, was he? He was giving her—them—a way out.
And she knew why.
Every time he looked at her he would be reminded of the loss of yet another child.
And every time she looked at him her loss would double.
He’d loved their baby, not her.
She’d loved them both.
‘I need to sleep,’ she whispered, disentangling her hand and carefully turning onto her side, not quite turning her back to him.
She could hear his breaths. They sounded heavy. Raspy.
‘So you’re going to go with Grace?’
She nodded, utterly unable to speak.
It was only when she heard the door shut that the dryness inside her welled to a peak and the tears fell, saturating the pillow.
Incoherent with grief, she was unaware of the needle that was inserted into her arm to sedate her.