‘There was nothing…offensive?’
‘Not really. I don’t expect a sudden flow of benevolence towards me from your mother. I never was what she wanted for you and I haven’t miraculously changed into the perfect Italian bride. But I honestly felt she was making an effort today not to be disapproving of anything.’
‘There’s nothing to disapprove of,’ he said fiercely, giving Skye the warm reassurance that he truly believed it and would fight to the death anyone who suggested otherwise.
It helped her relax, made her feel safe again. Luc was not being critical of her actions. He was being protective of her, angry that he had not been at her side to handle whatever was coming at her from his family.
‘I don’t like this…my mother visiting you behind my back,’ he went on. ‘Most probably behind my father’s back, too. As if we haven’t had enough deception messing us around!’
And they’d certainly both suffered from it. But giving suffering back did not right the wrong. Skye took a deep breath and tentatively suggested, ‘She might have come as a go-between peace-maker.’
A harsh laugh. ‘God knows! But I’ll sure as hell find out before this goes any further. I’ve booked a four o’clock flight for tomorrow afternoon. Should be with you and Matt in time for dinner.’
‘Do you want us to pick you up at the airport?’
‘No. I’ll catch a taxi, save the hassle. Don’t worry about my mother’s visit, Skye. I’ll sort it out when I get home. Okay?’
She sighed, relieved to have this assurance, too.
‘One thing,’ he added in a determined tone. ‘We are not postponing our wedding for anything so don’t even think about it. We love each other and we’re going to get married on our agreed date.’
‘That’s good to hear,’ she said, smiling over the fervour in his voice, though she was no longer sure it was a good idea to marry before Christmas. Flavia Peretti had raised issues that had made her feel very selfish about maintaining her small safe world with Luc.
‘I’ll let you go and tend to Matt now,’ he said in a softer tone. ‘Be with you soon.’
‘Yes. ’Bye for now.’
‘Love you.’
‘Me, too.’
She did love him. But she was beginning to realise how much Luc’s commitment to her was costing him and how blind she had been to that, only seeing that his family circle could hurt her. And Matt. It still could, but if she believed enough in Luc’s love for her, wasn’t there room for giving some kind of reconciliation a trial?
Watching his mother with Matt this afternoon…it had made her wish her own mother was still alive, taking pleasure in the grandchild she’d only known as a baby. Death was something no one could control—a final parting from which there was no turning back. Flavia Peretti had experienced that with Roberto. But the separation from Luc could be bridged if the prejudice against a non-Italian bride was set aside, and the pride of Luc and his father did not remain an ongoing battle-ground.
Big ifs.
And Skye knew she was right at the centre of them. Moving from her own stance on Luc’s family was absolutely essential if a truce was to be called. The big question was…and her heart quailed at facing it…how was she going to cope if she was continually made to feel not good enough for Luc? Good intentions could be very quickly undermined.
She had a bad night.
The next day wasn’t much better, her tired mind still fretting over what should be done. At least every hour that dragged by was one hour less of being alone with her dilemma. It was a huge relief when Luc finally arrived home and wrapped her in his strong embrace, making her feel warm and secure in his love.
Matt, of course, was still full of his new Nonna over dinner, questioning Luc incessantly about his life as a child, learning that he’d had a younger brother and immediately deciding he’d like a brother, too. Which made Luc smile and cock a quizzical eyebrow at Skye.
‘Maybe in another year or two, Matt,’ she said, knowing Luc wanted at least one more child—one whose life he would be aware of right from the beginning, no missing out on anything. ‘But your Daddy and I can’t guarantee a brother. It might be a sister instead,’ she cautioned.
‘Oh!’ He thought about it. ‘That’s all right, Mummy. I like girls, too.’
And no doubt they liked him, Skye thought. He was like Luc in lots of ways. Which made her feel all the more guilty about depriving Flavia Peretti of her grandchild, as well as her Luciano. She was glad when Matt’s bedtime came and he was finally tucked in for the night, giving her and Luc the privacy needed to discuss the situation.
Luc wanted to sweep her off to bed but her need to talk first was paramount in Skye’s mind, so she insisted they sit over coffee at the kitchen table. Which was not to his liking. His dark frown and suspicious eyes drove an instant flutter of apprehension through her heart.
‘You’re letting my mother’s visit affect what we’d normally do,’ he growled.
She looked at him in eloquent appeal. ‘I can’t discount it, Luc. Please?’
She made coffee and they sat, but the aggressive energy pouring from him made it difficult for Skye to know where to start. She felt Luc was going to pounce on anything she said and tear it apart. Did the harmony in their relationship depend on having no contact with his family? Or was this all her fault for making such a huge issue of it? It was impossible to forget the scars of the past, but weren’t she and Luc strong enough together now to rise above them?
‘My own mother is gone, Luc,’ she began nervously. ‘On my side there’s no family, and no closely connected community forming an extension of family, either. There’s only me and Matt.’
‘And me,’ Luc shot at her grimly.
‘I’m not doubting that, Luc,’ she hastily assured him.
‘You’re drawing lines, Skye.’
It forced her to choose her words more carefully. ‘I just meant…you still have…other people who care about you.’
‘Not so I’ve noticed,’ he snapped, his face growing harder, his eyes angry.
‘Because I haven’t given you the chance to be with them,’ she rushed out. ‘I’ve been a coward, not facing up to your life, wanting to be safe in my own little world.’
‘You have every right to want to feel safe,’ he fiercely argued. ‘As for chances, my father could have chosen any amount of chances to invite us into his home.’