And that’s what she kept reminding herself as she tugged on an old T-shirt and slid beneath the covers of her bed. She and her baby didn’t need anyone or anything else. Ever. And certainly not Draco Sandrelli.
The next few days dragged out interminably for Blair. Draco was cool and distant, and on those rare occasions they crossed paths, it was painfully clear that every last vestige of the camaraderie they’d tentatively shared was wiped from their existence.
Blair threw herself into her lessons with new enthusiasm; she needed something—anything—to keep her focused on her future. The time she spent in the kitchen and scouring the markets with Cristiano became a salve to her wounded soul, so much so that, when she sensed a tiny flutter of movement in the pit of her stomach one morning, it took her completely by surprise. At only fifteen weeks pregnant, she knew it was early by most standards to sense any movement of the baby, and initially she shrugged the bubbling sensation off as something else. But when it happened again she couldn’t be so sure.
She pressed a hand to her belly and waited for the sensation again, yet nothing happened. But later that night, as she settled into bed, she became aware of the sensation again. Tears pricked at her eyes as she stroked her hand against her belly again—suddenly, irrevocably, connecting with her baby in a way she’d never thought she’d experience. How different things could have been if only she could share this with Draco, she thought, as she let hot tears glide down her cheeks.
The next morning, she was surprised to see Draco in the kitchen waiting for her. They’d barely spoken more than a half dozen words to one another since the night his parents had come to dinner.
“I will be leaving for London as soon as the jet is ready,” he informed her. “But I will be back in time to take you to the doctor for your sixteen-week checkup.”
“It doesn’t matter if you’re not back yet. I can go on my own,” Blair stated baldly. In fact, she’d prefer it if he didn’t come, so strained had they been around one another lately.
“I said I will be back in time, and I will. I keep to my word, Blair. You’d do well to remember that.”
Blair flung a look at Cristiano, who had his back to them as he sprinkled sage into the omelet he was preparing for her breakfast, and blushed. She hated that Draco felt he could speak to her like this in front of one of his staff.
“Whatever.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me either way.”
It was petty and childish, she knew, to have answered him back like that, but his stiff, overbearing manner with her made her feel like a child. She sat at the table and pushed her eggs around on her plate, tension drawing a tight line across the back of her shoulders until she felt him move away and out the room.
She heard the revving engine of his car as he sped away from the palazzo and down the private road that led to the airfield, and deep inside of her a part of her wept that they had come to this.
By the end of the week, Blair was becoming used to the occasional tiny flutter that signaled the baby’s movement. Granted, the sensations were still slight, but for the first time in ages she didn’t feel so alone. She’d heard nothing from Draco in the time he’d been gone. Given her parting comment to him, it was no great surprise. She’d expected to feel more relaxed at the palazzo without him here, but instead she felt like an intruder. As if she didn’t belong. And she didn’t, not really. As he’d so succinctly put it that awful night, she was here to deliver. And once she did, she’d be heading back home.
Blair had been in the kitchen garden, picking a little flat-leaf parsley to add to the potato croquettes she was experimenting with, when she heard the distant peal of the telephone. Since Draco had left, the phone had hardly rung at all, and for a moment she felt her heart leap with anticipation that he might be calling her. As she entered the kitchen, she eschewed the idea. He was no more likely to call her than he was about to drop on bended knee and ask her to stay.
She shook her head slightly, castigating herself for being a fool. But to be honest with herself, she was missing him terribly. It was hard to admit that she wanted him here, with her. She, who needed no one, apparently needed him a whole lot more than she’d ever realized.
“Signorina! The telephone. It is for you,” one of the maids came rushing through to the kitchen, gesturing to the wall phone.
“Thank you.” Blair smiled.
Butterflies took flight in her stomach. Was she wrong? Could it be Draco?
The voice at the other end of the phone soon put that thought out of her head.
“Ms. Carson, my name is Doctor Featherstone, from Auckland City Hospital. Your father has been admitted with a heart attack. He’s stable at present, and we will need to operate. But he appears to be more concerned about his restaurant than his health. He refuses to consent to the surgery. Quite frankly, if we don’t operate he won’t be so lucky the next time around.”