Stephanie hadn’t been able to face that.
But she also hadn’t wanted to try fostering or adoption. She wanted the whole deal—pregnancy and a baby, but without any complications.
After a month of fighting, she’d walked out and divorced him on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. Financially, she’d been fair rather than taking him to the cleaners. But Angelo would’ve given anything—everything—to have been able to make things all right again. To have given his wife what she wanted with no complications. To have been enough for her.
Though there was no point in whining for what you couldn’t have.
Since the divorce, he’d concentrated on work. And he knew he’d withdrawn a little from his family. Kept his emotions under lock and key. It had taken Camilla three months to find the words to tell him that he was going to be an uncle. And she’d cried when she told him—not tears of joy for her unborn child, but tears for the pain she thought she’d caused him. He’d hated himself for ruining what should’ve been a moment of sheer joy.
He dragged in a breath. Not now. This wasn’t about the mess of his past. And he wasn’t in love with Stephanie any more. He was at the stage where he could wish his ex-wife happiness—where he could actually be pleased that she’d got what she wanted. A new partner, a new baby.
And he was genuinely pleased for his sister, even though his heart ached for what he wasn’t able to have himself.
But he wasn’t prepared to risk losing his heart to anyone again. To risk being rejected again.
* * *
On Saturday morning, he sent Mariana Thackeray a text from the airport.
Am by the check-in desk.
His phone pinged with an immediate response.
In taxi. About fifteen minutes away.
He busied himself answering emails, and when he looked up Mariana was walking across to him.
‘Thank you for coming, Miss Thackeray,’ he said. ‘My grandfather’s looking forward to meeting you.’
‘I’m looking forward to meeting him,’ she said politely. ‘And I think, in the circumstances, maybe we should use first names. I’m Mariana.’
‘Angelo,’ he responded.
And he was going to ignore the fact that her smile made his heart feel a bit lighter. This wasn’t about him. This was about fixing things for his grandfather.
Once they’d checked in, he bought them coffee and pastries, and they made small talk until their flight was called.
Once they were on the plane, he thought maybe this was a chance to understand her better, work out what made her tick. ‘So how did you get into art history?’ he asked.
‘I always liked paintings, even when I was tiny. My grandfather used to take me to all the galleries—he loved art and museums,’ she said. ‘My mother always says that Tate Britain, the National and the Courtauld are my second homes.’ She smiled again. ‘I guess I do spend a lot of time there.’
‘You never thought about being an artist yourself?’
She laughed. ‘Sadly, I can barely draw a straight line with a ruler, so art school was never an option. But I love history, so a degree in history of art seemed the way to go. I planned to be a curator.’
‘And you did your MA part-time.’
‘Yes.’ She paused. ‘I worked part-time in a gallery, too.’
She looked slightly awkward, and he guessed that it was something to do with her ex. Had he made her feel that she’d never make it in her chosen career? Not that Angelo would be unkind enough to ask.
‘How did you get to present Hidden Treasure?’ he asked instead.
‘One of my tutors—the one who supervises my PhD now—knew Nigel and suggested me for an interview and screen test. I’d never worked in television before, but Nigel was prepared to take a risk. Luckily my interview was all about tracing provenance, so it was something where I had experience and I could talk about. Nigel gave me a chance, and now we’re making the third series. I’m just so lucky to be able to do something I love so much for a living.’
He could tell she really was grateful, not paying lip service or taking it for granted; and her joy in her job shone in her eyes.
‘There’s a lot to be said for that.’ He loved his job, too. And he was so grateful he’d been able to bury himself in work when his marriage collapsed.