Her Forgotten Lover's Heir. Annie West

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СКАЧАТЬ was a daunting prospect but she stilled the whisper of unease sidling along her nerves and tried to project a confidence she didn’t feel. Fake it till you make it—wasn’t that what they said? Molly had a disturbing feeling it would take a long time to feel comfortable in such surroundings.

      Pietro introduced her to a smiling housekeeper, Marta, explaining that she spent the days here, leaving each evening.

      Molly nodded and said something suitable, surprised by how daunted she felt at the prospect of having staff to cook and clean for her. It felt...odd. As if she wasn’t accustomed to employing someone to do what she could easily do herself.

      Except, exploring the prestigious residence at Pietro’s side, she realised it was probably a full-time job keeping the place in such pristine condition. Everything gleamed spotlessly, from the antique mirrors to the long lap pool on the roof garden. Even the lush potted plants flowered in profusion with not a single dying leaf.

      If it had been left to her, half the plants out there would be sick. Her only gardening talent was to kill the plants she tried to nurture.

      Molly froze mid-step, halfway across the terrace.

       How did she know that? Did she know it or just imagine it? Was her mind filling in the vast gaps of her life with stories that weren’t real? What about her self-consciousness at having a housekeeper? Surely she was used to having staff, since it was how she and Pietro lived?

      ‘Molly? What is it?’

      Instantly Pietro was there, his gaze concerned, his mouth tight. ‘Come, sit down.’ He gripped her elbow and ushered her towards a shady pergola and a stylish iron chair with a cream cushioned seat.

      Ecru, Molly thought hazily as she sank onto it. Like everything else in the apartment, the outdoor furniture featured shades of white. Yet she’d bet the posh designer who’d created this showpiece wouldn’t call the cushions anything as ordinary as creamy white.

      A broad palm covered her forehead, as if checking for a fever, and Molly knew a momentary urge to lean into Pietro’s touch, seeking comfort in his physical presence. But he dropped his hand and hunkered before her, eyes searching.

      ‘What is it, Molly? A headache? I’ll carry you to bed.’

      Pietro reached out to her but she stopped him.

      She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. For her instant response to the idea of him carrying her was yes, please. Not because she needed to lie down but because she wanted the comfort of Pietro’s arms about her, holding her close.

      The one sure thing she’d discovered since meeting him was that she felt better when he touched her.

      Molly craved that comfort so much she was afraid it made her weak when she needed to be strong to get through this difficult time.

      She cleared her throat. ‘No need. I’m okay, truly.’

      He sat back on his heels and she curled her fingers into the thick seat cushion so as not to give in to temptation and reach for him. He really was the most amazing looking man. Particularly when he stared at her with such intensity, such concern, in those stunning eyes.

      ‘It’s just that I remembered something.’

      To her surprise, instead of evoking a smile her news made his dark, straight eyebrows draw together.

      ‘You did? Something important?’

      ‘Anything’s important, surely?’ She cocked her head, trying to read his still features, then gave up. A smile tugged her mouth wide. ‘I remembered gardening!’

      ‘Gardening?’ Pietro looked confused.

      ‘Silly, isn’t it? You’d think I’d remember the big things first, like you. Or our wedding. Or coming to Italy.’ Molly shrugged and sank further into the comfortable seat, revelling in the sun’s warmth out here on the terrace after her time cooped up in hospital.

      Slowly he nodded. ‘You don’t remember any of that?’ His voice sounded strained, making her abruptly aware that Pietro had also been through an enormously tough time. Think of having someone you loved disappear without a trace. And then to have her turn up and not remember you!

      No wonder he was tense. He’d been through the mill too.

      If she’d known him better she’d have reached out and covered his hand with hers. Or smoothed out the faint frown on his wide forehead.

      A tremor passed through her, a surge of longing. She wanted so badly to connect with Pietro, to smash through the invisible barrier between them. But she didn’t have the nerve. He was still a stranger after all.

      Her smile faded. ‘I’m sorry. I probably raised your hopes. It’s nothing really, not even a clear picture in my head. Just the knowledge that I’m a dreadful gardener. I used to joke and say I had a black thumb, not a green one, because of all the plants I’d inadvertently killed off.’

      Excitement raced through her. She hadn’t remembered that last bit at first. The knowledge had come to her as she’d spoken the words. It was like being on a ribbon of road unfolding before her in real time but not knowing what was coming up around the next curve.

      Eagerly she concentrated on the idea of tending plants. She tried to conjure a mental picture to go with the words that had popped into her head and the certainty that this really was a memory.

      But there was nothing. No matter how hard she tried.

      ‘That’s marvellous!’ Pietro’s belated enthusiasm almost made up for her failure to form a concrete picture of the past. ‘Didn’t they say your memory would start returning?’ His mouth curved as he stood. It must be a trick of the light that gave his smile a cool edge, as if it didn’t reach up to his eyes.

      ‘Now, sit here and I’ll get you a cool drink. I don’t want you to overdo it.’

      Molly shook her head. ‘No need.’ Tempted as she was to stay, sunning herself in the open air, she had other priorities. ‘What I’d really like is a long, hot shower or maybe a bath.’

      At the hospital they’d removed the last bandage and she’d had a quick shower before changing into the clothes Pietro had brought. Yet she felt as if she still smelled of institutional cleanser and the indefinable scent of hospital that had filled her nostrils too long.

      ‘If you’re sure.’ He stood back so she could rise. ‘But then have a rest, and later we can talk. You need to build up your strength gradually.’

      Molly was about to reassure him that she was healthy and that she’d had more rest than she’d liked. But she did feel fatigued. Just from the stress of leaving hospital! The realisation dampened her excitement. How long before she was back to normal?

      ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

      Besides, Pietro wanted to look after her. She shouldn’t throw his concern back in his face.

      His solicitousness warmed her. How foolish she’d been when he’d arrived at the hospital, thinking there was something darkly brooding and dangerous about him. He’d just been worried about her.

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