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THE satin skirt of the gown, admired the admittedly over-the-top ruffles of lace that fell to the floor.

      She turned to Sandro with a smile and a shake of her head. ‘I can’t believe you wore this.’

      ‘If I’d been a little more self-aware at the time, I’m sure I would have been mortified.’

      ‘Well, you were only three months old,’ she teased. ‘Isabella seems to like it, at any rate.’

      ‘She’s a smart girl.’

      They both gazed down at their daughter, Isabella Chiara Alexa Diomedi, her eyes already turning the silver-grey of her father’s, her dimpled smile reminding Liana with a bittersweet joy of her sister.

      With a smile for her daughter, Liana scooped her up and held her against her shoulder, breathed in her warm baby scent.

      ‘Careful,’ Sandro warned. ‘You just fed her and she likes to give a little bit of that back.’ He gave a mock grimace. ‘I should know. The palace dry-cleaning bill has skyrocketed since this little one’s arrival.’

      ‘I don’t mind.’

      There was nothing she minded about taking care of her daughter. She was just so happy, so incredulously grateful, to have the opportunity. Isabella’s birth had been, in its own way, a healing; no one could replace Chiara, but her daughter’s birth had eased the long-held grief of losing her sister.

      A gentle knock sounded on the door, and then her mother poked her head in. ‘May I come in?’

      Liana felt herself tense. Her parents had arrived last night for Isabella’s christening; she hadn’t actually seen them save for a few formal functions since her wedding. And as usual when she saw her mother, she felt the familiar rush of guilt and regret, tempered now by Sandro’s love and her daughter’s presence, but still there. Already she could hear the note of apology creep into her voice.

      ‘Of course, Mother. We’re just getting Isabella ready for the ceremony.’

      Gabriella Aterno stepped into the room, her features looking fragile and faded as always, her smile hesitant and somehow sad.

      Sandro stepped forward. ‘Would you like to hold her?’

      ‘Oh—may I?’

      ‘Of course,’ Liana said, and, with her heart full of too many emotions to name, she handed her daughter to her mother.

      Gabriella looked down into Isabella’s tiny, impish face and let out a ragged little laugh. ‘She has Chiara’s dimples.’

      Liana felt a flash of shock; her mother had not mentioned Chiara once since her sister’s funeral. Twenty-one years of silence.

      ‘She does,’ she agreed quietly. ‘And her smile.’

      ‘Perhaps she’ll have her dark curls.’ Gently Gabriella fingered Isabella’s wispy, dark hair. ‘You two were always so different in looks. No one would have thought you were sisters, save for the way you loved each other.’ She looked up then, her eyes shining with tears, the grief naked in her face, and Liana knew how much just those few sentences had cost her.

      ‘Oh, Mother,’ she whispered. She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. ‘I’m so sorry—’

      ‘I’m sorry Chiara isn’t here to see her niece,’ Gabriella said. ‘But I like to think she still sees, from somewhere.’

      ‘Me too.’ Liana blinked hard, focused on her daughter in her mother’s arms, and said what had been burning inside her for too many years. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t save her.’

      Gabriella jerked her head up, her eyes wide with shock. ‘Save her? Liana, you were eight years old.’

      ‘I know, but I was there.’ Liana blinked hard, but it was too late. The tears came anyway. ‘I saw— I watched—’

      ‘And you’ve blamed yourself all this time,’ Gabriella said softly. ‘Oh, my dear.’

      ‘Of course I blamed myself,’ Liana answered, batting uselessly at the tears that trickled down her cheeks. ‘And you blamed me too, Mother, and Father as well. I’m not angry—I understand why—’ She choked on the words, felt Sandro’s comforting hand on her shoulder, and she pressed her cheek against it, closed her eyes against the rush of pain and tried to will the tears back.

      ‘Liana, my dear, we blamed ourselves,’ Gabriella confessed, her voice trembling with emotion. ‘Of course we did—we were her parents. She was our responsibility, not yours.’

      Liana opened her eyes, stared at her mother’s grief-stricken face. ‘But you never said anything,’ she whispered. ‘Father hasn’t even so much as hugged me since—’

      ‘We didn’t like to talk about it,’ Gabriella told her. ‘As I’m sure you realised. Not because of you, though, but because of us. We felt so wretchedly guilty. I still do.’

      ‘Oh, Mother, no—’ Impulsively and yet instinctively Liana went to put her arms around Gabriella, the baby between them.

      ‘All three of us have been consumed by guilt, it seems,’ Gabriella said with a sniff. ‘And I know your father and I didn’t handle it properly back then, or ever. We should have been there for you, spoken to you about it, helped you to grieve. We were too wrapped up in our own pain, and I’m sorry for that.’ She shook her head slowly, her eyes still bright with tears. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t realise how much you blamed yourself. I just assumed—’ Her mother drew in a quick breath. ‘Assumed you blamed me.’

      Liana shook her head. ‘No, never.’

      They were both silent for a moment, struggling with these new revelations and the emotions they called up. In Gabriella’s arms Isabella stirred, gurgled, and then gave her grandmother a big, drooly smile.

      Gabriella let out a choked cry of surprise and joy. She turned to Liana with a tear trickling down one pale cheek. ‘Then maybe this is a new start for all of us, Liana,’ she said, her voice wavering, and Liana nodded and smiled.

      She knew there was more to be said, to be confessed and explained and forgiven, but for now she revelled in the second chance they’d all been granted. A second chance at happiness, at love, at life itself.

      Gabriella handed the baby back to Sandro and slipped down to the chapel where the christening would be held. Liana gazed at her husband and daughter and felt her heart might burst with so much feeling. She felt so much now, all the emotions she’d denied herself for so long. Joy and wonder, grief and sorrow. She wouldn’t keep herself from feeling any of it ever again.

      ‘I couldn’t have imagined any of this before I met you,’ she said softly. ‘Talking to my mother so honestly. Having a husband and child of my own. Loving someone as much as I love you. You’ve changed me, Sandro.’

      ‘And you’ve changed me. Thank God.’ He smiled wryly and then, with the expertise of a father of a baby, he shifted Isabella to his other shoulder and drew Liana towards him for a kiss. ‘This really is the beginning, Liana,’ he said softly as he kissed her again. ‘Of everything.’

      * * * * *

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