His Pregnant Christmas Princess. Leah Ashton

that the market was, in fact, enchanting.

      ‘I adore Christmas,’ Ana said. ‘I always have.’ She paused, then said carefully, ‘Do you not have a family to celebrate with?’

      He downed the water in a series of long swallows, really hoping that Ana would walk away. But of course she didn’t.

      Here was another opportunity to lie—as Ana had pointed out, it wasn’t his role to play counsellor or psychologist. Equally, it wasn’t his role to spill his guts.

      ‘I have a big family back in Australia,’ he said. ‘A sister, a brother, great parents and a wonderful extended family. Christmas was incredible when I was growing up—my parents have a huge pool in the backyard and we’d host a barbecue for the whole family and anyone who had no one else to celebrate with. It was great. I loved it.’

      So he didn’t lie.

      What was it about this woman?

      He knew the question she was going to ask next.

      ‘What happened?’ she said.

      The sympathy in her eyes almost made him leave the room. He’d never wanted this—never wanted people to feel sorry for him. To pity him. Yet to this woman who’d exposed her own vulnerability to him last night he found he could be nothing but honest.

      ‘My wife died,’ he said simply. ‘And everything changed.’

       CHAPTER FIVE

      ‘I’LL JUST GO take a shower,’ Rhys said into the stunned silence, as Ana struggled to work out what to say. What could she say?

      But she didn’t need to work it out, because only moments later she was alone.

       ‘My wife died.’

      Ana had not expected Rhys to say that. Although, on reflection, it had been stupid to ask him what had changed: he’d clearly had an idyllic childhood, so something had to have gone catastrophically wrong for his view of Christmas to change so dramatically.

       ‘My wife died.’

      Ana walked into the kitchen and searched through the overhead cupboards for a mug and in the large walk-in pantry for some coffee. Then she stared out at the view as the kettle boiled.

       ‘My wife died.’

      She would never have guessed Rhys had ever been married—he had the cocky confidence of a handsome perennial bachelor, in no hurry to settle down. And, besides, he lived alone in a two-bedroom home in the middle of nowhere—albeit a spectacularly picturesque middle of nowhere.

      But not the type of place that screamed wife and family, or even kids.

      The water had boiled, so Ana poured herself a strong coffee, with only a dash of milk from the fridge, and took a seat at the breakfast bar, angling her stool so she still faced the view.

      Immediately outside the house the ground sloped away in a rolling curve of thick grass, liberally sprinkled with tiny yellow flowers. It undulated for a while, before merging with a dense forest, and then beyond the forest sat the angular, brutal shapes of the surrounding mountains—the tallest with a mantle of snow.

      From here, Ana couldn’t see another building—certainly not another person. It was the perfect place to hide for a runaway bride.

      Or for a grieving husband.

      Her throat was tight and prickly, her coffee forgotten in her hand, when Rhys strode back into the room.

      She met his gaze, and Rhys’s eyes immediately narrowed in response. ‘Please don’t,’ he said.

      ‘Don’t what?’ she asked.

      ‘Feel sorry for me.’

      ‘I can’t even begin to imagine—’ Ana said.

      He shook his head, silencing her. ‘Please,’ he repeated. ‘Don’t.’

      Ana nodded.

      He caught her gaze again. ‘Her name was Jessica. It was five years ago,’ he said in clipped tones. ‘Sudden. Brain aneurysm.’ A pause, then a shrug of his broad shoulders. ‘People tend to want to know the headlines.’

      He was right, she had been curious. She started to open her mouth to say something—but he silenced her again with only a look.

      He was right to do so. She had been about to say something empty—albeit heartfelt—and sympathetic.

      But what to say instead?

      Ana noticed for the first time that he had a small backpack slung over one shoulder, and as she watched he headed for his coat rack and retrieved a pair of boots from its base.

      ‘I’m going for a walk,’ he said.

      ‘Can I come?’ Ana asked.

      * * *

      Rhys hadn’t expected Ana to want to join him and he very nearly said no.

      But instead he shrugged. ‘If you want.’

      He’d spent a lot of time hiking through the mountains of Seiser Alm after he left the regiment. He’d hiked alone, and as he’d walked he’d spent time in his own thoughts, in his own grief.

      But then one day, a few months after he’d moved to Castelrotto, he’d arrived home from his hike, his brain buzzing with an idea he’d had about starting his own security business—about transferring his military expertise to private security systems and consulting. And he’d realised he hadn’t thought of Jess the entire time.

      At the time, his guilt had made him cry. Cry with his head in his hands on the steps of this house he’d bought that was nothing like the home he’d had with Jess back in Melbourne. Cry as he hadn’t since the day Jess had died.

      But later he’d realised it had been a turning point. And now it was his new normal—he still loved Jess, he still grieved for Jess and sometimes all he could think of was her. But at other times he thought of other things.