“You will answer me! How many others were there?”
She wrenched free of his hands. “A hundred. A thousand. Ten thousand! Are you satisfied?!”
The expression on his face was terrifying. She didn’t care. Let him think whatever he liked. Let him think anything, so long as he went away and left her alone.
“I assume,” he said, his voice clipped, “that is an exaggeration. Still, all things considered, do you actually know who the father is?”
She’d asked for the insult by her behavior that night and by her answer a moment ago. Still, it took all her control not to launch herself at him and claw out his eyes.
“Whoever it is, it isn’t your problem.”
“That is not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re going to—”
He caught her again, pulled her roughly into his arms and kissed her savagely.
“Does that shake your memory, Aimee? Does it remind you that I have every right to demand answers—or have you forgotten I spent half the night spending myself inside you three months ago?”
Her face flamed. “I hate you,” she said, struggling against his iron grip. “You’re a bully. You’re disgusting. You’re—”
He kissed her again, harder than before, his lips, his teeth, his hands all a harsh reminder of his power.
“I am all that and more. Now answer the question. Who fathered the child you carry? Was it me?”
Her mind raced. All she had to do was say no. That would be the end of it.
And yet, how could she?
She didn’t care about lying to Nicolo. But lying to the tiny life within her…
There was something terrible in that.
She knew thinking that way was crazy but everything that had happened today was crazy. Why not this, too?
Besides, the truth wouldn’t change anything. This was her responsibility. She wasn’t naïve; she knew how these things went. In school and then here in the city, she’d known women who’d been in the same fix. Things always ended the same way. The men denied being responsible. Or, if confronted by irrefutable proof, made some kind of settlement to avoid a nasty legal action and then went on with their lives.
The women ended up making decisions that would affect them forever. Abortion. Adoption. Single-mother-hood. Choose the one you hoped would be best for you, for your baby, then live with it.
This would be no different. Considering that Nicolo hadn’t already run out the door, his solution to the problem was surely going to be money.
Not that she gave a damn.
She was not weak. She could handle this on her own, and to hell with Nicolo Barbieri.
The sooner he understood that, the better.
“Is this baby mine?” he demanded.
Aimee looked up in defiance. “You’re goddamned right it is.”
Except for the almost-painful tightening of his hands on her flesh, he showed no emotion.
“You are certain?”
An ugly question, but she didn’t flinch. “Absolutely.”
“There was no one else who could have—”