“Then—” Rosalie blinked, confused. “I don’t understand. What exactly are you suggesting?”
Alex lifted a dark eyebrow. “You will live with me. I will provide for you. I’ll give you an allowance, more than you can possibly spend—”
“I’m not a gold digger! I’m not interested in your money!”
“Fine,” he said, annoyed. Then he had a sudden idea. He gave her a grin. “As you wish. You can get a job and pay your own way, every step. You’ll come to Venice and live with us.” He tilted his head. “As the nanny.”
CHAPTER THREE
ROSALIE STARED AT HIM in shock. Then she lost it.
“The nanny?” she screeched.
“Is that a problem?” Alex replied.
She put her hands protectively over her belly. “I’m his mother. Not some employee!”
“A few days ago, you were just a hired womb. I’d think becoming the baby’s nanny would feel like a promotion.”
“Are you drunk?” she demanded. “You must be, if you think I’d ever agree to be my own child’s nanny!”
Alex looked her over slowly, at her black shift dress and waitress’s white apron. “Am I correct in believing you are not in possession of a trust fund? That you have no...” he paused “...private estate?”
Rosalie thought of her family’s thousand-acre farm as it had been, and the warm golden patina on the hundred-year-old Victorian house she’d grown up in. Then she blinked, remembering it as it was now, nothing but a thousand acres of charred ash. She’d only looked at it for a millisecond, on the way to the funeral, but it would forever be burned into her mind.
Swallowing hard, she focused on Alex. He was looking at her strangely.
“No trust fund,” she said shortly. She didn’t mention her parents’ life insurance, because it made her feel sick to think of it, and anyway it wasn’t very much. “Just a job in San Francisco. Where I’m expected on Monday.”
“I see.” His sensual lips curved. “But since you’ve made it clear you won’t accept any handouts from me, you will need to earn money somehow while you’re living in Italy, will you not?”
“I haven’t said I’m moving to Italy, but if I did, I’d get an actual job—”
“It can be difficult for an American to get a job in the European Union without a work permit. Unless, perhaps, you are highly skilled in some technical field?”
She thought of her job answering phones for a seafood wholesaler on the Embarcadero. “No,” she said tightly.
“You perhaps have the capital to start a business that will create jobs for Italian workers?”
Not without selling her land. Which she couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “No.”
“Do you speak Italian?”
“No,” she whispered.
He changed tactics. “Well, let’s say, for the sake of argument, you still found a full-time job. Then you’d spend all your daytime hours away from our newborn son, and that would defeat the whole reason for you moving to Italy, would it not?”
Rosalie stared at him, feeling dizzy. His words were spinning her in circles, making her doubt herself, making her actually wonder if his argument was reasonable. “I haven’t said I will live with you.”
“Or here’s another idea.” He looked at her sideways. “You could simply allow me to support you.”
“No,” she cried. “I don’t want your money!”
He shrugged. “Then—nanny it is,” he said lightly. “It is a compromise. A way for us to raise our son in Italy together.”
“Funny compromise. It seems I’m the only one making any sacrifices here, quitting my job and moving around the world.”
Alex looked at her. “Would you really be giving up so much by leaving San Francisco?”