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Morgan remained silent while regarding her with such knowing intensity she almost ran from the kitchen. But she forced herself to stand her ground, to stay controlled, careful, guarded.
‘Jess.’ His eyes were filled with sympathy, and worry creased his brow. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’
What a fool she was, to think he couldn’t see through the cracks in her armour. This man knew her, sometimes better than she knew herself. The emotion lodged in her throat gripped tighter, making it impossible to reply. But she had to tell him something. Maybe not the whole truth. Maybe half of it would suffice. Enough to make him understand why she couldn’t stay, why she couldn’t do this with him. Or maybe she should just come out right now and tell him everything? Even though she didn’t have a definitive answer yet. For a heartbeat, and then another, they just stared at each other. She wanted to tell him what she was hiding. With all of her heart. But then she blinked, and her voice of reason stormed to the forefront like an infantry soldier ready for battle.
‘I can’t do this, Morgan.’
‘But, Jess, I’m sorry, please don’t walk away.’
By some miracle she managed to hold her tears in until she was out of sight. Wrapping her arms around herself, she drew in a shuddering breath as she climbed the stairs. Morgan called out after her, begging her to stop. But she couldn’t. Bile burned the back of her throat as she kept striding away. Hurrying towards the bedroom, with her mind in an absolute spin, she closed and locked the door behind her, then began stuffing her things into her suitcase.
‘Jess, please open the door.’ Morgan’s concerned voice carried as he knocked.
‘Please, just leave me be.’
‘Jess?’
‘Morgan, please.’
There was a moment of silence, then she thought she heard him walk away.
And that’s when she took a breath and tried to calm down. What in the hell was she doing? She couldn’t do her usual trick and run. She’d made a promise to the two people in this world who’d never, ever, let her down, and she was sticking to it. She had to push through, for Roberto and Shanti’s sakes. Defeated, annoyed with herself, ashamed of her over-the-top reaction to a question she could have easily answered in another way, a much better way, she sat on the edge of the bed, her hands trembling. She knew she couldn’t keep pretending everything was okay. She had to tell Morgan the truth about not knowing who Chiara’s father was, him or Salvatore, even if it meant hurting him. But she wasn’t about to open that can of worms right before the wedding. It would have to wait.
Taking a deep breath, she stood up and walked over to the door, her heart pounding in her chest. As she opened it, she found Morgan standing on the other side, his eyes filled with concern. ‘I heard you packing,’ he said, his voice wavering. ‘You’re leaving, aren’t you?’
Jess felt tears welling up in her eyes as she nodded. ‘I panicked, but I’m not leaving, not yet anyway,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘I’m sorry, Morgan, but I’m not who you think I am.’
‘We’re both different people now, Jess.’ Morgan stepped forward, his hands reaching out to cup her cheeks. ‘But essentially, our cores are still the same.’
Her hands coming to gently cover his, she nodded as she held his gaze. ‘Let’s just focus on the wedding, and after that we can talk about whatever we feel we need to, okay?’
He nodded. ‘Okay.’
Then, pulling her to him, he held her close, and she held him too, like she never, ever wanted to let him go.
CHAPTER
19
It was the day before the wedding, and with so much still to do, along with the roiling emotions she was feeling when it came to her and Morgan, Jess felt overwhelmed. With a wave of dizziness overcoming her, she safely pulled the VW onto the side of the road, killed the engine and rolled down her window. Salty sea air stirred her hair, sweeping tickling locks of it against her cheek. She tucked it behind her ear, sighing. For nine long years she’d missed the sparkling ocean of Silverton Shores. But she hadn’t realised just how much. This seaside town had given her so many happy memories, but she’d also suffered her deepest grief here. She’d give almost anything to go back to the days of being a toddler then, in the blink of an eye, a teenager, happily living life, carefree, hopeful and naive, with two parents who loved her dearly. But she couldn’t ever go back. She had to find a way to move forward, so she could provide the same sort of secure, loving, happy childhood she’d had to her darling Chiara.
It was bittersweet, being back here. Nothing had changed and yet everything had. It was a paradox if ever she’d felt one. Tears slipped as she remembered the days that she used to spend on the golden shores with Annie, Roberto and their mum and dad. It had been so much fun, playing in the waves and building sandcastles that would eventually be swallowed up by the rising tide. Then, contentedly exhausted, she’d enjoy a bubble bath and some dinner before her father would carry her to bed and tuck her in, reminding her just how loved she was by him and her mum. Her present situation was such a stark contrast to those days. Florence was breathtakingly beautiful, but it wasn’t here. It wasn’t home. God, how she wished she could bring Chiara back here, so she could raise her in the footsteps of where she’d been. Somehow, some way, she believed it would help heal the last of her anguish and give her the closure she needed over her parents’ untimely deaths.
Needing to get a move on, she straightened and swallowed down her yearnings – it would provide no comfort, obsessing over it. She had maid of honour duties to fulfil, and fulfil them she would. With one last lingering look at the ebb and flow of the ocean, she started the engine and turned back towards Morgan’s. It was getting harder and harder to act normal around him after she’d had the chance to tell him everything, but couldn’t, and now she loathed herself for it. But there was no going back. She’d made her bed – or dug her own grave, depending on how she wanted to look at it – and now she had to sleep in it. In the end, it was probably better for him to only know the outcome of the paternity test – that there had even been one – if he needed to.
A few hours later, after completing her errands in town and now feeling hot and bothered, Jess pulled up beneath the big old gum tree. She sat in her mum’s restored car for a moment, gathering her thoughts and her courage. She knew what waited for her inside, and it was a feat, but she had to face it. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out of the car, grabbed the bags from the back seat, and walked towards the front door of the homestead. An hour later, unpacked and rehydrated, she looked at the eighty-five cannoli shells that stared back at her from the kitchen bench. In the interest of her sanity, she pretended to be fine and dandy with the humungous task ahead of her.
Music, I need music …
She turned on the stereo and her phone’s Bluetooth, and searched her Spotify list. She decided on some Frank Sinatra … cool, calm, composed, that’s what she needed to be. Then, and only then, did the epic piping session begin. After strapping the apron around her waist, she got to work. Carefully, she opened, poured and then stirred the entire jar of pistachio paste she’d brought over from Italy into the mixture of cream and ricotta. And as the smooth voice of Frank Sinatra filled the homestead kitchen, she felt herself relax into it. Baking always had that effect on her. It was therapeutic, allowing her to forget about the stresses of daily life and get lost in the process of creating something delicious. Then, as she piped the creamy mixture into the crispy shells, she contemplated the way food could transport her to a different place and time, and she felt grateful for the escape it provided her.
Totally engrossed in her task, and swaying her hips in time to the music, she jumped when the flyscreen door of the kitchen smacked shut. She spun around, still holding the piping bag, to see Morgan standing in the doorway, his eyes fixed on her. She could feel her cheeks turning red as she hurriedly wiped her hands on the tea towel beside her.
‘Hey,’ she said, trying to sound casual.
‘Hey,’ he replied, his gaze lingering on her. ‘What’s happening?’
‘I’m making the cannoli for the wedding reception,’ she said, holding up the piping bag as if to prove it.
