His Pregnant Christmas Princess. Leah Ashton

must be wonderful here, Mr North,’ she said.

      ‘Christmas?’ he asked, thrown by the change of subject.

      She clasped her hands primly in front of her. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Christmas. I believe Castelrotto is famous for how beautiful it is at Christmas time. I couldn’t sleep last night, so did a bit of research about where I’m staying, and Christmas is clearly a big thing here. There’s a Christmas market that starts in a few weeks—during Advent. Is it as enchanting as all the tourist websites say?’

      Rhys stepped off the treadmill and headed to the kitchen for a drink of water.

      ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said, quite stiffly.

      She followed him. ‘Really? I’d imagine you’d need to go to quite a bit of effort to avoid it, given how small the town is.’

      He filled a tall glass with water. ‘I don’t avoid the market,’ Rhys said. ‘I just don’t pay much attention to anything to do with Christmas.’

      She was looking at him, curiosity wrinkling her forehead. She’d kept her hair down today, and it hung in heavy waves over her shoulders. It would be much easier to answer with a white lie—Ana would have neither known nor cared if he’d just agreed that the market was, in fact, enchanting.

      ‘I adore Christmas,’ Ana said. ‘I always have.’ She paused, then said carefully, ‘Do you not have a family to celebrate with?’

      He downed the water in a series of long swallows, really hoping that Ana would walk away. But of course she didn’t.

      Here was another opportunity to lie—as Ana had pointed out, it wasn’t his role to play counsellor or psychologist. Equally, it wasn’t his role to spill his guts.

      ‘I have a big family back in Australia,’ he said. ‘A sister, a brother, great parents and a wonderful extended family. Christmas was incredible when I was growing up—my parents have a huge pool in the backyard and we’d host a barbecue for the whole family and anyone who had no one else to celebrate with. It was great. I loved it.’

      So he didn’t lie.

      What was it about this woman?

      He knew the question she was going to ask next.

      ‘What happened?’ she said.

      The sympathy in her eyes almost made him leave the room. He’d never wanted this—never wanted people to feel sorry for him. To pity him. Yet to this woman who’d exposed her own vulnerability to him last night he found he could be nothing but honest.

      ‘My wife died,’ he said simply. ‘And everything changed.’