“No.” Simon puffed out a sigh. “And marriage is still not a priority with you…obviously.” He glanced again at the sleeping baby nestled against her. “But having another child is?” This time he didn’t hide the bitterness, the raw pain in his voice. “Or was this one a mistake, too? Where is the father, by the way? Did he hang around? Or have you had to manage on your own this time?”
The baby started making whimpering sounds, and Annabel, losing her nerve, seized her chance to make a run for it. Let him think what he liked…it was over between them. Nothing could ever change what had happened or repair the damage from the past. Or make him love her again. “I must go. What I do is no longer any of your business.”
“You’re still my wife.” His hand caught her arm again, his fingers scalding her bare skin, his intense blue eyes far too close, burning into hers.
She felt another surge of panic. “We’re separated. I’m free to see any man I please.”
“Separated!” He made a sound that was almost a snarl. “We never even discussed it. You just walked out. No warning, no discussion, nothing.”
She turned on him. “You’re pretending to care now?”
He flinched. “And you did? It didn’t seem that way when you left without a word, except for a brief Dear John letter saying our marriage was over and you were leaving Australia to work in London. You couldn’t even face me. You didn’t explain…or ask for any help…for a settlement…for anything. You just cut me out of your life.”
She steeled her heart, holding herself together with an effort. “I didn’t need anything from you. We were both financially independent. Our marriage was dead. What was the point in going on?”
His hand slid away. “No…you never needed anything from me, did you? Not after…” His voice cracked.
He still couldn’t say Lily’s name. Since the day their baby had died, he hadn’t even been able to talk about her, let alone discuss what had happened. Annabel felt the old anguish, the deep, suffocating hurt of two years ago, swell in her throat. He was still suffering from what she had done. Still blaming her. What hope did they have? Blinking, she swung away, plunging into the crowd, scattering pigeons as she left him standing.
Chapter Two
Good grief, what have I done to her? Scowling at the fluttering pigeons, Simon trudged back across the crowded square, his heart twisting with guilt and self-loathing.
Oh, Annabel… Still as beautiful, as desirable as ever, but so thin and pale, the lovely green eyes smudged and clouded with pain, her cheekbones too stark, a shadow of her old vibrant self. Even at the time she’d walked out on him, she hadn’t looked as frail as this.
Of course, she’d been sick. She’d had pneumonia, her secretary had told him last week when he’d finally taken the bit between his teeth and called Annabel’s London office to inquire about her. But he’d started her on her downward slide, crushing her last desperate hope, breaking her heart and spirit. He’d wrecked her life, as he’d wrecked…their child’s. As well as his own, for what it was worth.
Damn damn damn. He’d thought that after this long healing break away from each other, and by taking the plunge finally and pursuing her to Venice, where they’d first fallen for each other, she might have been prepared to thaw a little and feel more forgiving, maybe even give him another chance. But he’d come back for her too late. She’d found someone else. She’d even had another man’s child!
He groaned aloud. How the hell had she been managing, working long demanding hours in a strange city, and having to care for a baby? The guy must still be with her. Some wealthy, high-powered legal hotshot, no doubt, who was supporting not only her and their baby, but her dream of a partnership in her prestigious law firm. A man who could give her everything she’d ever wanted.
Not a broken-down brain surgeon like himself.
He swore. What a humiliating comedown! From a stunningly successful neurosurgeon, brimming with self-confidence and his own lofty importance, treated almost like a god who could do no wrong, he’d sunk to this. A failure—despite what others might have tried to tell him. His pride and his confidence had taken a beating, but that was nothing compared to what else he’d lost. His child, his wife, his marriage.
He shouldered his way through a Japanese tour group clustered round a guide with a yellow umbrella, barely seeing them, only knowing they were in his way. He could only see Annabel. His wife. The thought of her making love to another man was like a knife twisting in his gut.
Who was he, this jerk who’d come between them? A close colleague at her London law firm, as likely as not, knowing how hard she worked and how determined she was to reach her longed-for goal. Maybe even a senior partner at Mallaby’s. What better, quicker way to achieve her coveted ambition?
Unless they’d made her a partner already. The legal secretary he’d spoken to had not been communicative. It had taken all his charm and persuasion just to find out that Annabel had been ill and was recuperating in Venice.
“Well! Simon Pacino! I don’t believe it!”
The tormenting images in his mind disintegrated as a vaguely familiar face materialized out of the crowd. The sandy hair…the cocky grin…the short, stout body…
“Remember me, mate? Tom Robson. We were at med school together in Melbourne. Many moons ago, before you moved to Sydney and we lost touch.”
The years rolled back. “Tom! Of course I remember. You planned to specialize in orthopedics.”
“And you in neurosurgery.”
They both gave a laugh, a chopped-off laugh, eyeing each other as if wary of asking if the other had achieved his goal.
“You didn’t change your mind?” Simon asked finally, getting in first as he prepared his own answer in his mind. The fewer details, the better. It was no one’s business but…Annabel’s. If she wanted to hear. And if he had the chance to open up to her…finally. And could open up, spill his guts, lay himself bare. Hell! Why was exposing his darkest feelings and private hells always so damned difficult for him?
“No way,” said Tom. “I’m considered a top orthopedic surgeon these days.” False modesty had never been Tom’s way. “I work in Chicago now, by the way. I’m here in Venice to give a presentation at an orthopedics convention.” He glanced at his watch. “Look, I have to rush off now, but how about joining us for dinner? My wife’s here with me and we’ve a free night. We could catch up on everything then.”
Everything? I don’t think so. Simon hesitated, searching for an excuse. He wanted—needed—to be at a particular hotel tonight…to look out for Annabel. Annabel and her…lover.
“We’re staying at the Gabrielli Sandwirth, on the Lagoon.” Tom was already backing away. “Say you’ll join us. Seven-thirty in the dining-room? Hope that’s not too early? We’ve a new baby and my wife prefers early nights.”
Another baby? Simon groaned inwardly. Just what he needed. More reminders of…
“Congratulations, Tom.” He mouthed the platitude while his mind was racing off at a tangent, having seized on the name of the hotel. The Gabrielli Sandwirth…the very hotel where Annabel was staying! He’d spent all morning checking out the hotels until he found out. Annabel’s secretary wouldn’t divulge that information when he’d called London, only relenting enough to mention that she was in Venice. Learning she’d already left the hotel for the day, he’d hung around St. Mark’s Square in the hope of finding her. And by some miracle, she’d shown up there. With a baby. He grimaced.
“I’ll be there,” he promised, his mind on his wife, not on