The Italian's Christmas Secret

Remember the things he said to you, she reminded herself. But the memory of his wounding words seemed to have faded and all she could think was the fact that here stood Santino’s father and that, oh, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

For here was the adult version of the little baby she’d just rocked off to sleep before the doorbell had rung. Santino was the image of his father, with his golden olive skin and dark hair, and hadn’t the midwife already commented on the fact that her son was going to grow up to be a heartbreaker? Keira swallowed. Just like Matteo.

She felt an uncomfortable rush of awareness because it wasn’t easy to acknowledge the stir of her body, or the fact that her senses suddenly felt as if they’d been kicked into life. Matteo’s hair and his eyes seemed even blacker than she remembered and never had his sensual lips appeared more kissable. Yet surely that was the last thing she should be thinking of right now. Her mind-set should be fixed on practicalities, not foolish yearnings. She felt disappointed in herself and wondered if nature was clever enough to make a woman desire the father of her child, no matter how contemptuously he was looking at her.

She found herself wishing he’d given her some kind of warning so she could at least have washed her hair and made a bit of effort with her appearance. Since having a baby she’d developed curves and she was shamefully aware that her pre-pregnancy jeans were straining at the hips and her baggy top was deeply unflattering. But the way she looked had been the last thing on her mind. She knew she needed new clothes but she’d been forced to wait, and not just because of a chronic shortage of funds.

Because how could she possibly go shopping fo

r clothes with a tiny infant in tow? Asking her aunt to babysit hadn’t been an option—not when she was constantly made aware of their generosity in providing a home for her and her illegitimate child, and how that same child had disrupted all their lives. The truth was she hadn’t wanted to spend her precious pennies on new clothes when she could be buying stuff for Santino. Which was why she was wearing an unflattering outfit, which was probably making Matteo Valenti wonder what he’d ever seen in her. Measured against his made-to-measure sophistication, Keira felt like a scruffy wrongdoer who had just been dragged before an elegant high court judge.

She forced a polite smile to her lips. ‘Would you like to sit down?’

‘No, I don’t want to sit down. I want an answer to my question. Why did you contact me to tell me that I was a father? Why now?’

She flushed right up to the roots of her hair. ‘Because by law I have to register his birth and that brought everything to a head. I’ve realised I can’t go on living like this. I thought I could but I was wrong. I’m very...grateful to my aunt for taking me in but it’s too cramped. They don’t really want me here and I can kind of see their point.’ She met his eyes. ‘And I don’t want Santino growing up in this kind of atmosphere.’

Santino.

As she said the child’s name Matteo felt a whisper of something he didn’t recognise. Something completely outside his experience. He could feel it in the icing of his skin and sudden clench of his heart. ‘Santino?’ he repeated, wondering if he’d misheard her. He stared at her, his brow creased in a frown. ‘You gave him an Italian name?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘Because when I looked at him—’ her voice faltered as she scraped her fingers back through her hair and turned those big sapphire eyes on him ‘—I knew I could call him nothing else but an Italian name.’

‘Even though you sought to deny him his heritage and kept his birth hidden from me?’

She swallowed. ‘You made it very clear that you never wanted to see me again, Matteo.’

‘I didn’t know you were pregnant at the time,’ he bit out.

‘And neither did I!’ she shot back.

‘But you knew afterwards.’

‘Yes.’ How could she explain the sense of alienation she’d felt—not just from him, but from everyone? When everything had seemed so unreal and the world had suddenly looked like a very different place. The head of Luxury Limos had said he didn’t think it was a good idea if she carried on driving—not when she looked as if she was about to throw up whenever the car went over a bump. And even though she hadn’t been sick—not once—and even though Keira knew that by law she could demand to stay where she was, she didn’t have the energy or the funds to investigate further. What was she going to do—take him to an industrial tribunal?

She’d been terrified her boss would find out who the father of her unborn child was—because having sex with your most prestigious client was definitely a sacking offence. He’d offered her a job back in the workshop, but she had no desire to slide underneath a car and get oil all over her hands, not when such a precious bundle was growing inside her. Eventually she’d accepted a mind-numbingly dull job behind the reception desk, becoming increasingly aware that on the kind of wages she was being paid, she’d never be able to afford childcare after the birth. She’d saved every penny she could and been as frugal as she knew how, but gradually all her funds were running out and now she was in real trouble.

‘Yes, I knew,’ she said slowly. ‘Just like I knew I ought to tell you that you were going to be a father. But every time I picked up the phone to call you, something held me back. Can’t you understand?’

‘Frankly, no. I can’t.’

She looked him straight in the eye. ‘You think those cruel words you said to me last time we spoke wouldn’t matter? That you could say what you liked and it wouldn’t hurt, or have consequences?’

His voice grew hard. ‘I haven’t come here to argue the rights and wrongs of your secrecy. I’ve come to see my son.’

‘He’s sleeping.’

‘I won’t wake him.’ His voice grew harsh. ‘You’ve denied me all this time and you will deny me no longer. I want to see my son, Keira, and if I have to search every room in the house to find him, then that’s exactly what I’m going to do.’

It was a demand Keira couldn’t ignore and not just because she didn’t doubt his threat to search the small house from top to bottom. She’d seen the brief tightening of his face when she’d mentioned his child and another wave of guilt had washed over her. Because she of all people knew what it was like to grow up without a father. She knew about the gaping hole it left—a hole which could never be filled. And yet she had sought to subject her own child to that.

‘Come with me,’ she said huskily.

He followed her up the narrow staircase and Keira was acutely aware of his presence behind her. You couldn’t ignore him, even when you couldn’t see him, she thought despairingly. She could detect the heat from his body and the subtle sandalwood which was all his and, stupidly, she remembered the way that scent had clung to her skin the morning after he’d made love to her. Her heart was thundering by the time they reached the box-room she shared with Santino and she held her breath as Matteo stood frozen for a moment before moving soundlessly towards the crib. His shoulders were stiff with tension as he reached it and he was silent for so long that she started to get nervous.