It was their time. Surely a reward that she had earned?
Her breath escaped in a long, contented sigh as Ella’s eyes flickered shut and then snapped open again in determination to stay awake. She wasn’t the only one who treasured this time together. She wished she’d been there for the consultants’ ward round today but she could imagine the looks and smiles that had been exchanged. Being with Ella did brighten everyone’s day. The heaviness around her own heart was finally lifting, too.
The bottle was almost finished and the dead weight of the baby in her arms suggested that sleep had arrived when the door opened softly. Had the sudden tension of seeing Rafael transferred itself to Ella? The baby stirred and whimpered but then settled again, her mouth now slack around the teat of the bottle.
‘Ohh...’ Rafael quietly shifted the small upright chair and seated himself by Ella’s head. ‘I’m too late.’
‘She was hungry.’ The prickle of guilt came back again and this time it was intensified by the emotional turmoil Abbie had been in ever since she’d rejected Rafael sexually in the changing room yesterday. ‘Would you like to hold her for a bit before she goes to bed?’
The question was clearly redundant. Big hands slid over her arms and beneath Ella to transfer the weight. Again, Ella stirred and whimpered but soft Italian words of love soothed her within seconds and then Rafael just sat, his head bowed over his daughter, his arms cradling her as if she were the most precious thing on earth.
Abbie was caught. Half lying in the reclining chair, it would take a huge effort to get up and leave father and daughter alone and it would only disturb the moment. Or maybe that was just an excuse. Maybe what had really captured her was the acute awareness of this man beside her.
The...longing.
He must have come straight from a shower because his dark curls were damp and she could actually feel the warmth coming from his skin. Could smell the fresh scent of soap and maleness. Abbie’s gaze was locked on Rafael’s hands as he held Ella. Such strong hands with those long, long fingers and the dusting of dark hair on the top. It had been his hands that had first stirred her attraction to him, hadn’t it? When he’d been waving them in the air to illustrate something he had been telling her about a case. Or had it been his eyes? The way they could hold her like a physical caress?
What would happen if she reached out and touched one of those hands now? If, when he looked up at her, she gave him the silent message that she’d been wrong. That being together again in the most intimate way possible could be the answer to dissolving the barrier between them?
It had always worked in the past to solve an argument, hadn’t it?
‘Do you remember the couch?’ The soft words seemed to come from nowhere and Abbie was as surprised as Rafael as his head jerked up.
‘Scusi?’
‘The couch. The white one.’
The supremely comfortable, feather-stuffed, totally impractical and ridiculously expensive white couch. It had been the week before their wedding and they’d been out shopping for furniture in the euphoria that had followed a successful offer on their new apartment. The same euphoria that had made them view Abbie’s unexpected pregnancy as nothing more than a sign that they were meant to be together. For ever.
‘Of course I remember. I sit on it every day.’
‘Do you remember what happened when we found it in the shop?’
Rafael seemed to be ignoring her. He rocked Ella and pressed a gentle kiss to her head. And then he sighed and gave one of those eloquent shrugs.
‘So it was our first fight. What of it? What is the point of remembering it now?
‘Because...’
Because it was important, even though Abbie wasn’t quite sure why.
‘Do you remember what you told me? About your parents? About them never arguing?’
‘It was true. They didn’t.’
‘Because your mother did whatever your father ordered to keep the peace. You said it was the Italian way and the husband was the head of the household and his word was law and arguing was a sign of disrespect. And I said it was the Victorian way and it wasn’t going to work for us because I deserved just as much respect, and if it dented your Italian pride then you’d have to suck it up and get over it.’
A snort escaped Rafael. ‘I remember. How could I forget?’
‘And what did you do then?’
Something rueful tugged at one corner of his mouth. ‘I gave you an order.’
‘Mmm.’
He had ‘ordered’ her into bed. It had been a joke, accompanied by a kiss that had demonstrated the kind of passion Abbie knew would take her straight to paradise. The argument about the couch had suddenly become irrelevant and Rafael’s pride had been soothed.
And they’d bought the damned couch. A week after it had been installed in the apartment Rafael had spilt a glass of red wine on it and the ugly stain was irreparable. Abbie had gone out and purchased a large, blue throw to cover it. A throw in the colour of the couch she had wanted to buy in the first place.
‘It was a couch,’ Rafael growled. ‘A stupid piece of furniture. We could buy another one tomorrow if it mattered.’
‘It’s not the couch that matters.’
Abbie suddenly realised why she’d dredged up such an ancient disagreement. The reason they’d fought in the first place had just been a practice run for the fight they would have over Ella’s treatment. Rafael’s pride getting in the way of any kind of compromise had led to the awful ultimatum about the future of their marriage. ‘It’s the way we resolved the fight we had about the couch.’
Rafael’s glare told Abbie just how much she had hurt him yesterday. But there was something else there, too. Confusion? That was understandable.
‘The stain’s still there, Rafe,’ Abbie said softly. ‘It just got covered up.’
He shook his head and muttered something incomprehensible in Italian.
‘The reason we fought is still there, too. We never talked about it again, did we? We never tried to resolve anything by talking about it. We just...went to bed.’
‘And it worked,’ Rafael said fiercely. ‘It was where we could show each other how much we loved each other.’
‘It didn’t work when it was really important. When it was about Ella.’
Rafael was silent. He looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms. Abbie could only watch and wait. And hope, desperately, that she had managed to convey at least a part of how important this seemed to her.
But maybe she hadn’t.
‘It’s time Fiorella was in her bed.’ Rafael stood up, careful not to disturb Ella. He carried her to the cot and put her down, checking that her IV line and the pump attached to it was still intact and functioning. He tucked Ears in the crook of one arm and then drew the blanket over the small body. Then he reached to pick up the oversized bear at the foot of the cot.
‘Don’t take it out,’ Abbie said. ‘She’ll cry if it’s not there when she wakes up.’
Rafael looked over at her, his eyebrows raised.
‘She adores it. Especially the sparkles.’
Abbie smiled. Rafael smiled back at her.
‘Thank you,’ she said then.
‘What for?’
‘Talking