He got up, restless—angry now without knowing why, since he had managed to gain the upper hand over her in every way that he could. He could still taste her kisses on his tongue and feel her hands on his body, still feel her moving against him in that oh-so-sensuously pleading way and the warmth of her breath on his face as she’d whispered those soft, honest words to him: He’s your son, Enrico…
‘You begged me, cara,’ he informed her brutally. ‘You took hold of my hand and placed it where you wanted to feel it most. Then you came all over me in a sweet-scented, clingin
g rush and I—’
The phone went dead. Enrico was not that surprised that it had. He swung round to glare at his office, then swung back to look out of the window again.
Freya threw herself back on the pillows, eyes closed tightly, the racing thump of her heart locking up her chest so she couldn’t breathe.
Her dream! The one she’d had so many times before. She’d thought she’d experienced it again so vividly last night. But it had been real!
She’d been somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. She remembered everything now: he’d come to her bed and drawn her against him, then kissed her softly on her mouth. ‘Enrico.’ She could hear herself whispering. ‘Shh,’ he’d said. ‘Go back to sleep.’
And she’d tried. She remembered sinking back down into the fluffy clouds of slumber where that dream always waited for her. But he’d moved then, tasted her mouth with the tip of his tongue and the rest had been—
Shameless; totally indefensible.
And, during their phone call, she hadn’t even asked him about Nicky, which was even worse.
With a guilty groan she rolled off the bed and hit redial.
‘You’ve stolen my son again,’ she husked out.
‘Our son is where he always is at this time of the morning—in my crèche with my very efficient care staff looking out for his well-being.’
Freya did not miss a single syllable of who was in possession of all the power.
‘But I didn’t even get to see him before you took him—’
‘I didn’t get to see him for two damn years,’ Enrico said.
‘So this is your idea of punishing me, is it? To separate the two of us and punish Nicky at the same time?’
‘I am punishing no one.’ His voice was heavy. ‘I am merely attempting to make the best of a difficult situation for all of us—and don’t cry, Freya,’ he warned grimly when she tried to stifle her tears with a sniff. ‘Weeping will only infuriate me in the present mood I am in. Our son is fine,’ he assured her. ‘He understood this morning when I explained that you were very tired so we were going to let you sleep. He came in to see you, gave you a kiss on your cheek. You smiled in your sleep, and he laughed because he seemed to recognise that smile in some special way. Then he was happy to let me wash and dress him—under his instruction,’ he added drily. ‘And for Sonny to feed him—with his supervision again. And for Fredo to deliver him to the crèche once we reached here.’
‘I suppose it pleases you to make me redundant to his needs on all fronts,’ she said.
‘Except as a mother,’ Enrico pointed out. ‘For as long as he needs you as a mother, you will be there for him. For as long as he needs a father, so will I be. Get used to it, Freya. For this is how it is going to be from now on.’
‘Hence the marriage announcement in the newspaper? “Enrico Ranieri will marry Freya Jenson, the mother of his two-year-old son, in three weeks—”’
‘Attempt to hide the truth and we risk turning it into a scandalous sensation,’ Enrico cut in. ‘We will present a united front on this,’ he warned. ‘For I will not have Nicolo subjected to taunts and mockery when he grows older because we tried to hide the truth.’
If you believed the truth to be Enrico’s short statement explaining exactly how it had happened—and without Luca’s name thrown in; he had so cleverly turned a twenty-four-hour disaster into the most romantic love lost, love found story.
‘He’s going to be very impressed when he’s old enough to read it,’ Freya muttered. ‘But hear this, Enrico, because I mean it,’ she then lashed angrily at him. ‘You might succeed in possessing me as a wife, but you will never possess me, the person, again!’
Because her heart belonged to Luca? Enrico’s fingers tightened around his telephone handset. ‘And Nicolo need never know that his mother was a thieving, faithless love-cheat,’ he responded coldly, ‘so long as she never tries the same thing again, of course. Console yourself with that.’
Freya was to console herself with that bitter threat many times over the next week, as Enrico demonstrated in every which way he could who was the one in complete control.
Like when she was sent out shopping with Sonny that same morning to refurbish her wardrobe, only to return and discover that Fredo had come back with Nicky at lunch-time—and a nice new nanny for her son.
Her name was Lissa and she was young, dark-haired and fluent in both English and Italian. Lissa, it turned out, had spent the whole morning with Nicky in the crèche so that by the time Freya saw them together they were like two very old friends.
When she discovered the bedroom she’d used the night before had been cleared of her stuff so that Lissa could use it and she was to sleep in the master suite—with the master, of course—Freya consoled herself by freezing Enrico out so totally that she actually shivered as she clung, wide awake, to the edge of the bed, and Enrico paid her back by not reaching for her once throughout the long, cold nights.
Each morning they played happy family across the breakfast table. Each morning Freya smiled nicely as she waved off Nicky, Enrico, Lissa and Fredo as they all trotted off to Hannard’s without her, and only let the hurt ooze out when she was alone.