as she did everything—with grace.
It was the work of a moment. Skye was collapsing, then she was dropping over the edge of the railing into the murky, germ-infested waters of Venice. Had he stayed still a little longer, he would have seen the moment her head cracked against the side of a gondola.
But he didn’t.
Adrenalin galvanised him.
Matteo ran from his office faster than he’d known was possible, tearing through the foyer and bursting onto the footpath just as a gondola operator in his distinctive black-and-white-striped shirt dived into the water. The dress made her easy to spot. Though Matteo could see the boatswain had wrapped an arm around her waist, he couldn’t stand idly by. Instincts alone drove his actions. A gentle ribbon of blood swirled through the water; he dove through it.
‘Is she breathing?’ Matteo pulled Skye to him, holding her as he swam to the edge of the canal. A crowd had formed and someone held their hands down, urging Matteo to lift her out. He passed her body up, then climbed out himself.
She was so peaceful. As though she were asleep.
More blood.
It seeped onto the pavement beneath her head and he gently fingered her scalp, a grim line on his mouth. ‘Call a water ambulance,’ he demanded, used to being obeyed and not doubting for one second that someone would do as he’d commanded.
‘One is on its way,’ someone replied.
Thank God. He crouched down beside her, running a hand over her face. ‘You’re okay, cara. You’re going to be fine.’
He had the vague impression of the gondola operator being helped out of the water, but his entire focus was on Skye. He spoke to her softly in his own language, urging her to wake up, not to worry, to trust him, knowing that if she’d been awake she’d have thrown that invitation back in his face.
It was only minutes before the scream of a water ambulance heralded its arrival, but it felt like a lot longer as Matteo stared down at her ashen face and wondered just what the hell had happened to make her fall into the filthy waters of Venice. The water ambulance pulled to a hasty stop beside them and two men began to call orders to the crowd. They climbed up nearby steps and ran to Skye, lifting her onto a flimsy backboard.
‘You’re with her?’ one of them asked Matteo.
He nodded. ‘I’m her...husband.’
‘You can come, then.’
He could have laughed at the medic’s apparent belief that he had any say in Matteo Vin Santo’s actions. Matteo paused for the briefest moment, just long enough to toss a thick pile of soggy bank notes at the gondola operator with a quick word of thanks, and then he followed behind.
The speedboat, bright yellow and sleek, accommodated Skye on a bed, and he watched her as the boat made its way speedily through Venice.
Only twice during the trip did her eyes open, and both times she looked at him with a mixture of confusion and non-comprehension.
The boat pulled up at the ospedale dock and there was a medical team waiting.
It all happened so quickly. She was admitted after a cursory examination, and there was enough concern on the nurse’s face to make Matteo wonder if she was gravely ill.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked, once she was ensconced in her own room.
No one answered. They were all busy working, checking her vital signs, rolling her onto her side and inspecting her head, checking for the damage that was causing the bleeding. A nurse drew several vials of blood and raced them from the room.
And then he was waiting, standing beside her bed, wondering what had happened, wondering if she’d be okay.
After an interminable time, a woman in a white coat entered the room and moved towards Matteo, her smile reassuring. ‘She is your wife?’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’ The word was hardened by years of being in command. Of calling the shots and asking the questions. ‘How is she?’
‘She’s had a bump to the head, but it doesn’t look too serious. Unfortunately, the tests we’d usually run to be sure are obviously impossible at the moment. She may be a little groggy when she wakes, possibly for a day or so. I don’t anticipate any other complications, though.’
None of her words eased Matteo’s concern. ‘What happened to her?’
‘My guess would be that she passed out. It’s not unusual, in her condition. The heat of the day wouldn’t have helped—’
‘Wait a moment,’ he said, lifting a hand to stop her. ‘What condition?’
The doctor pulled a face. ‘You don’t know?’
‘Know what, dottore?’
‘About the baby?’
The world stopped spinning. No. It lurched catastrophically off its axis, sucking Matteo with it. He was in freefall as the doctor’s words filtered through his mind. ‘What baby?’ he asked, the question gravelled.
‘Your wife is pregnant. It’s very early stages—it’s quite by accident that the nurse even tested for it. Does she know?’
Hell.
Matteo’s eyes were dragged to Skye, still so peaceful-looking. Despite the fact her dark hair was matted around her, her eyes were shut and she looked serene. Had she known?
I never want to see you, ever again.
A muscle clenched in his jaw. Had she really been planning to divorce him and keep their child from him?
An ache spread through him, an ache of misery and disbelief. Of anger and rage. Skye wasn’t capable of that deception, surely?
She couldn’t have known.
‘She hadn’t mentioned it,’ he said with a hint of the ruthless determination that had seen him rebuild a once-great empire from its ashes and ruins. But his mind was reeling. Shock was seeping through him.
Skye was pregnant? And she’d come to him, seeking a divorce? A divorce he’d agreed to because he’d known he owed her that much; because he’d wanted her to be happy. And he’d thought he was done making stupid, emotion-driven decisions!
Would Skye have insisted on a divorce if she’d known about the baby? He couldn’t believe it of his wife. And yet, she was the daughter of that bastard Johnson. Did he really have any idea what she was capable of?
His brow was fevered as he replayed every detail of their meeting, looking for signs that she knew her condition. Had she touched her stomach at all? What else would a pregnant woman do? He had no clue.
Hell.
The idea of a baby had never even really occurred to him; foolish, given how often they’d come together.
‘Perhaps she has not been symptomatic.’ The doctor shrugged, as though it didn’t matter. As though it weren’t the most important news Matteo had received in his life. As though Skye’s knowledge or lack thereof wouldn’t change everything.
How could he forgive her if she’d planned to keep it from him?
His nod was distracted. ‘Is the baby okay?’
‘So far as I can tell.’ The doctor smiled reassuringly.
They’d only ever talked about children briefly. Skye was too young to have been thinking of having babies and Matteo hadn’t entered into the marriage with procreation on his mind. But still! She must have known how much this child would mean to him.
And she’d been intending to take the Vin Santo heir away from him. To raise his child as a Johnson!
Fury whipped at the soles of his feet, spurring him forward. ‘Did my wife’s