A Shameful Consequence(39)

‘Sorry?’

‘This is your box.’ He had no idea what she talking about. All he could see as she walked over to the table were long brown legs, all he could think of as he walked over to where she stood was the scent of her close up—a feminine scent, a summer scent of oil and woman. She waved at the French windows and he had to force himself to turn his head towards them rather than towards her mouth. ‘It’s the view from here.’

She was right. He looked at the jigsaw and she had been busy. There was the frame of the windows and a dash of red geranium. There was the azure of the pool, the white of the balcony and the red of the flowers. He looked at the jumble of loose pieces, her fingers selecting one and slotting it in as she spoke.

‘Paulo was trimming the bush,’ Constantine explained, ‘and I could see it. Someone has painted the view and then made it into a jigsaw.’

‘Shame,’ Nico said. ‘It would surely be better hung on the wall.’

‘I think it’s fun,’ Constantine said, and that admission surprised even her, for that word hadn’t been in her vocabulary for a very long time. ‘Oh!’ She saw another piece, and her hand moved and collected it. ‘It’s a baby,’ she said, slotting it into its place. He did not care for jigsaws but he was starting to care more for her. He looked at the concentration on her face, the shimmer of her skin, and his next question came from a place he did not know, a place he should not go, but it was a place within that wanted to know.

‘How is Leo?’

‘Wonderful!’ Deliberately she didn’t look up, tried not to seem as if she’d noticed, but her heart tripped faster, for it was the first time he had asked about his baby. Another piece of jigsaw caught her eye and, as nonchalantly as she could, she told him some more. ‘Bathed and fed and fast asleep. I took him in the pool for a little while. Despina said it was too soon, but he laughed and loved it …’

He wished he had seen it.

‘Here’s another one.’ He picked up another piece of the puzzle and slotted it in. ‘Another baby, they must be twins.’ He looked at where she stood, saw her rapid blink and her face redden, and he mistook the reason. He thought she must be suddenly aware of how little she had on, or knew perhaps how much he wanted her.

And he didn’t want to want her.

‘I’m going to get changed.’ His voice was gruffer than intended and Constantine glanced up and frowned.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Fine.’

He was far from fine.

Nico was uncomfortable, unsettled, because that walk up the beach, to the stairs, the conversation, for the first time he had felt as if he was coming home—that feeling he had got as he had seen the view of his house had been, Nico now realised, relief.

But it did not soothe him now.

There could be no getting used to it.

He heard a murmur from her room as he walked past, a small wail of distress, and he ignored it. Constantine would get him if he awoke, would soothe him if he cried.

And then it came again and Nico stopped in the hallway.

He closed his eyes and tried to force himself to walk away, yet his feet moved toward her room, to the scent of her, layered with another scent, that sweet, milky, baby scent that was becoming familiar. He had never really looked at the infant, had deliberately tried to separate himself from him.

Because if he was his, what then?

And if he wasn’t?

He moved towards the crib and peered in, with no intention of doing anything, for Nico had never so much as held a baby. But on sight instinctively he knew what was wrong. Leo had lost his thumb. His little hand was caught in the cotton and with heart racing Nico took the baby’s hand and moved it back to his mouth. He smiled at Leo’s relief as he popped his thumb in. His finger pushed up his nose to a snub, his eyelashes so long that they met the curve of his cheek, and Nico’s heart stilled as Leo opened his eyes to his saviour. Huge black eyes stared at Nico, and a smile flitted across the baby’s face. Then, soothed by what he saw, Leo closed his eyes again.

Nico’s heart did beat again but with something that felt like fear, for he recognised him.

Of course he did, Nico told himself, for he was his.

He walked to the bathroom, his breathing hard as if he had been running, sweat beading on his forehead. He felt ill, dizzy, that perhaps he, all six feet two of him, might fall to the floor in a faint.

‘Ridiculous.’

He moved to the sink, ran the taps hard and splashed water on his grey face.