From Italy With Love. Jules Wake

already home. Actually, I thought I’d take you out to dinner.’ Robert sounded very pleased with himself.

      ‘Why, have you had a promotion or something?’

      ‘Does there have to be reason? I just thought you might like to be spoilt for a change.’

      ‘That would be lovely. Thank you. I’m on my way.’ If she got a wiggle on she could just catch the next bus.

      See, she was just being a miserable old harpy. She had nothing to moan about. Her life was pretty good.

      It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Not that she did know how it was supposed to happen but this felt pedestrian, as if she’d been short-changed.

      The candle on the table danced, casting shadows on the red damask tablecloth as Robert pushed the box across the table towards her.

      Her heart sank, leaden to the very pit of her stomach. The waiter loitering with a bottle of champagne looked on expectant.

      ‘I know we said that we were fine as we are but …’ he shrugged, ‘we don’t have to have a big wedding. That would be a waste of money. I thought we could be spontaneous … just book the registry office next week. They’ve got a slot on Monday at lunch time. How romantic would that be? Spur of the moment!’

      Robert’s face lit up with the thought. With a quiver of disappointment, she realised he felt genuinely excited by the idea.

      Smiling took effort – she could feel the tautness of every muscle in her face. Robert had pushed the box right across the table, to sit centre stage in her place-setting like a dainty dish she needed to tuck into.

      It sat there like an unexploded bomb that she was expected to diffuse. She didn’t dare look at him, but she could tell, as he leant forward, his body language shouting eagerly, that he wanted her to open the box.

      Her hands shook as she lifted them above the table.

      ‘Aw … you don’t need to be nervous. It’s not the Rockefeller. Just a token really. We don’t need to waste our money on symbols. We know what’s important.’

      Of course he was right. Having values. Being loyal. Maintaining integrity. Honesty. Unselfishness. They were the important things. Real love was based on friendship, stability and trust, not giddy emotion. She pushed away the thought of her mother, currently madly in love with husband number three.

      Her fingers touched the box and she opened it. The ring, an emerald with a diamond chip on either side, was pretty. Really pretty. A lovely engagement ring and only a miserable, ungrateful, shallow cow would have even thought they would have preferred a sapphire.

      She looked up at Robert. He beamed.

      ‘Like it?

      ‘It’s … lovely.’

      Even as she blinked back tears, one escaped making a lonely trail down her cheek.

      ‘So, what do you say? Monday?’ He grinned hopefully, mistaking her tears for something else.

      Numb, she stared at him. ‘Monday? What, this Monday?’ Frantically she tried to think was she was doing on Monday.

      ‘Yeah. Twelve-fifteen.’ He pulled the crinkly great-isn’t-it face, as if chivvying along her enthusiasm.

      ‘But … but I’ve got work.’

      ‘Come on, Laurie. They won’t notice if you take an extra half an hour … and if they do, just tell them where you’ve been. That lot will think it’s so romantic … just like one of those Mills & Boons.’

      ‘I … I … This is all so …’ She sounded even more clichéd than him.

      ‘Not really.’ Robert had that let’s be reasonable face on now, ‘We’ve been living together for a while now. It’s the next logical step isn’t it? We’re not getting any younger. We’ve got a house. We’ve no mortgage. We’ve both got steady jobs. Why not?’

      She frowned. Actually, her house and her ‘no mortgage’.

      They’d not been going out that long when Robert moved in pointing out it didn’t make sense paying bills on two separate homes. He’d been such a rock when her dad died so unexpectedly, leaving her so stricken and lonely she was incapable of deciding anything.

      A nagging headache gnawed her right temple as she stared down at the ring. She didn’t like green, never ever wore it. Her school uniform had been bottle green, enough to put anyone off.

      This wasn’t what she’d thought getting engaged would be like.

      Was she crazy? Most girls dreamed of this? A steady, reliable man who didn’t watch endless football, didn’t spend money foolishly, did his share of the cooking and was a dab hand with the washing machine. Even came to Sainsbury’s every Friday with her. Dependable, reliable, trustworthy.

      Someone who wouldn’t up and leave her behind.

      So it wasn’t the most romantic of proposals, but they weren’t like that were they? She’d had a few serious boyfriends over the years and Robert was the only one she’d lived with but still she couldn’t quite bring herself to say yes. This didn’t feel right but how could she articulate it without upsetting him? As excuses went it was pretty rubbish.

      ‘I … I don’t know Robert. It doesn’t feel right. The timing. Maybe because Uncle Miles …’

      It was as good an excuse as any. Death in the family.

      Robert gave her one of his tender smiles reaching for her hand. ‘Poor Laurie. I do understand.’

      Had she ever noticed before how his lips looked slightly crooked when he did that? ‘I thought this might help. Losing family, it’s hard but we can start our own family. You and me. Have children. Our own little unit.’

      Children! Plural. Was he serious? They’d never even discussed it. Having babies was big and grown up. Even though she’d just turned thirty and the old biological clock should be ticking, you had to be really, really sure before you had children. Before you had one, let alone two. If you split up … she deliberately shut out the memories. She wasn’t prepared to go there. It was a long time ago and she was over it. All grown up now … well nearly. Just not grown up enough for children. Did she even want any? Adults did so many terrible things to children.

      No, she wasn’t ready and on a purely practical note − she glanced at Robert − what if they ended up with his nose? Long and a bit bulbous on the end.

      Horrified by the unexpected thought, she stared at him. Where had that come from and when had she turned into such a cow? It was time to get a grip and stop being an idiot. She was nothing like her mother. This was just a silly, minor panic-attack.

      Squeezing his hand, she took the ring out of the box, offering it to him. As he slid it onto her finger, he pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed each finger one by one very gently, his lips whispering across each knuckle.

      It was a lovely gesture, even the waiter looked misty-eyed. Pushing her shoulders back, she ignored the small leaden lump nestling in her stomach and gave Robert a brilliant smile and asked, ‘Are you going to pour me a glass of champagne then?’

      ‘Stop it, that’s ticklish,’ she scrunched her neck up to her ear to try and stop Robert’s kisses.

      They stumbled through the front door and he pulled her to him. ‘Bed, Mrs Evans-to-be?’

      Mrs Evans! That was his mother, domineering, opinionated and disapproving of Laurie. Oh God, she’d be family!

      His hands made a quick cold foray up under her shirt.

      ‘Oooh,’ she squeaked, pushing them away before they could hit their target. ‘You’re freezing.’

      ‘Let’s go upstairs and warm them up,’ he suggested rubbing his hands together, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously.

      She