The Last Time I Saw Venice

She flushed, suspecting it wasn’t just the sunshine and exercise that were making her glow. “My legs are tired,” she admitted, just as bells started chiming in the tower, “and my feet are a bit sore. I can’t remember when I’ve done so much walking. But it’s been fun,” she said, and meant it.

“It’s probably just what you’ve been needing.”

Or maybe I’ve just been needing you, Simon.

Simon squared his shoulders as the dusky rose-colored walls of their hotel appeared. Much as he was determined to be patient and not rush her, he couldn’t resist leading her a little further.

“Want to meet me in the dining room for a spot of dinner later?” he asked. “Or we could find a restaurant nearby if you’d prefer. Your friends have their conference dinner tonight, so we’re not likely to run into them.” He wondered if she was as relieved as he was at the thought. His hands clenched as he saw her hesitate.

“I…actually, I’ve offered to mind their baby daughter Gracie tonight, while they’re at their dinner. I left a note for Tessa this morning. If she leaves a bottle for the baby, she can enjoy herself without worrying about feeds.”

Her tone was faintly defensive and he shot her a speculative look. Was it because she was talking about a baby? Because she was still sore at him for lashing out at her yesterday after seeing her with Tessa’s baby and assuming it was hers?

Or was she challenging him to think of their own baby, he wondered heavily, and to face up to the fact that he hadn’t been able to save her? Hell, as if he hadn’t faced up to it! He’d been living with the guilt and despair for the past two years! Damn it, he’d been living with guilt and regret all his life. His father had made sure of that.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. If his wife still hadn’t forgiven him, if being with him again hadn’t softened her at all, what hope did he have?

A distant, unbearable memory—one he’d long suppressed, unable to face the shameful, gut-wrenching reality—stirred in the depths of his psyche. An image of a small white face with snowy-blond hair appeared. He snapped it from his mind, a silent groan rolling through him. If she knew about that, knew how he’d failed someone else close to him, what hope would he ever have of winning her back?