The Sicilian's Unexpected Duty

‘I didn’t bring any.’

‘Why not?’ Whenever Cara came to Sicily she always came for at least a week.

‘I only came for the day.’

‘Really?’ He’d arrived from Paris with barely twenty minutes to spare before the christening started, avoiding the inevitable for as long as humanly possible. He hadn’t imagined Cara had done the same.

‘I didn’t want to risk spilling the beans to Grace before I’d had a chance to speak to you.’

‘That was good of you,’ he acknowledged.

‘Not really.’ Her face tightened. ‘I was worried she’d be unable to keep it from Luca and that Luca in turn would tell you.’

Upon reflection, Pepe was certain that if his sister-in-law had known she would have tracked him down at the earliest opportunity and given him hell. ‘I’ll ask Grace if she has any clothes you can borrow...’

‘You jolly well won’t.’ Cara glared at him.

‘You’re right. Bad idea.’ If he sought Grace out he’d have to explain why her best friend was sitting with scalded thighs in his bath, and then everything about the baby would become common knowledge... ‘Have you told anyone about the baby?’

‘Only my mother, but she doesn’t count.’

‘Good,’ he said, ignoring the tightening of her lips as she mentioned her mother. He had enough to think about as it was.

‘Why’s that, then? Worried all those doting Mastrangelo aunts and uncles will try and marry us off?’

‘They can try all they like,’ he answered with a shrug. Given a chance, they’d have him and Cara up the aisle quicker than it had taken to impregnate her.

That was if he had impregnated her.

He didn’t care that she’d been a virgin, he didn’t care that the dates tallied—until he saw cast-iron proof of his paternity he would not allow himself to believe anything. ‘I bow to no one.’

‘Well, neither do I. Your suggestion that I move in with you is ridiculous. How the heck would I be able to get to and from work if I have to travel all over the place with you? You work all over Europe.’

‘And South America,’ he pointed out. ‘You’ll have to give up your job.’

He noticed her shiver and remembered she’d just had a cold shower pressed against her for the best part of ten minutes.

‘Let’s get you out of the bath. We can finish this argument when you’re dry and warm.’

‘I’m not giving up my job and I’m not moving in with you.’

‘I said we can argue the toss when you’re dry.’

He could see how much she hated having to use him for support. Not looking at him, she allowed him to help her to her feet. He held her arms and kept her steady while she climbed out of the bath.

She looked like a drowned rat. Even her face was soaked.

Too late, he realised it was tears rolling down her cheeks.

‘You’re crying?’

‘I’m crying because I’m angry,’ she sobbed. ‘You’ve ruined my life and now you want to ruin my future too. I hate you.’

He took a large, warm towel off the rack and wrapped it around her shaking frame before taking a deliberate step back. ‘If you’re telling me the truth then your future is made. I’ll give you and the baby more money than you could ever hope to spend.’

‘I don’t want to be a kept woman. I just want what our child is entitled to.’

‘You won’t have to be a kept woman. The option will be there for you, that’s all. If your child is mine, you’ll have enough money to do whatever you want. You can hire a nanny—hell, you’ll be able to hire an army of them—and return to work.’

Her teeth clattered together. ‘But I won’t have a job to go back to.’

‘There are other jobs.’

‘Not like this one. Do you have any idea how hard it is getting a foot on the ladder in the art world without any contacts?’

‘There are other jobs,’ he repeated. Deep inside his chest, a part of him had twisted into a tight ball, but he ignored it. He had to. He could not allow any softening towards her, no matter how vulnerable she looked at that particular moment.

Luisa had shown her vulnerable side numerous times. It had all been a big fat lie and he had been the sucker who had fallen for it. Every day he looked in the mirror and saw the evidence of her lies reflecting back at him. He could have had surgery to remove his scar. Instead he had chosen to keep it as a reminder not to trust and, more especially, not to love.

‘You don’t have to move in with me,’ he said. He drew the towel together so it covered her more thoroughly and forced himself to stare into her damp eyes. He refused to break the hold, no matter the misery reflecting back at him. ‘You can catch your flight back to Ireland and carry on eking out an existence. Or you can stay. If you stay, I will support you and we can take the paternity test as soon as the child is born. But if you leave now, you will not receive a single euro from me until my paternity—or lack of it—has been proven. And if you choose to leave, you’ll have to go through the courts to get a DNA sample from me. That’s if you can find me. As you know, I have homes in four different countries. I can make it extremely difficult for you to get that sample.’