Modern Romance March 2017 Books 1 - 4. Эбби Грин

lifted the glass of beer now and drank it down in a draught, before slowly putting the empty glass back down on the table. ‘I’m going back to London,’ he said and Darcy could hear the bitterness in his tone. ‘Because I can’t bear to be around you right now.’

      ‘Renzo—’

      ‘No, please. Let’s keep this dignified, shall we? Don’t let’s either of us say anything we might later regret, because we’re still going to have to co-parent. We’ll obviously need to come to some sort of formal agreement about that but it isn’t something we need to discuss right now. I think you know me well enough to know that I won’t be unreasonable.’

      She nearly broke then—and what made it worse was the sudden crack in his voice as he said those words. As if he was hurting as much as she was. But he wasn’t, was he? He couldn’t be. Because nobody could possibly share this terrible pain which was searing through her heart and making it feel as if it had exploded into a million little pieces.

      ‘You have the services of the midwife I’ve employed,’ he continued. ‘I spoke to her from the car on the way here and explained the circumstances and she has offered to move into the annex if that would make you feel more secure.’

      ‘No, it would not make me feel more secure!’ Darcy burst out. ‘I don’t want a total stranger living here with me.’

      He gave a short, sarcastic laugh. ‘No. I can’t imagine you do. Living with a stranger isn’t something I’d particularly recommend.’

      And then he turned his back on her and walked out, closing the door with a click behind him. Darcy struggled to her feet to watch him walking down the garden path, past the washing line. The wind was blowing the sleeves of her shirt so that they flapped towards him, as if they were trying to pull him back, and how she wished they could. She considered rushing down the path after him, cumbersome in her late pregnancy, grabbing the sleeve of his handmade Italian suit and begging him to give her another chance. To stay.

      But dignity was the one thing she had—maybe the only thing she had left.

      So she watched him go. Watched him get into the back of the luxury car with the sunlight glinting off dark hair as blue-black as a raven’s wing. His jaw set, he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, not turning round as the powerful vehicle pulled away. There was no last, lingering look. No opportunity for her eyes to silently beseech him to stay.

      The only thing she saw was his forbidding profile as Renzo Sabatini drove out of her life.