“You are welcome.” Odette gave a satisfied nod. “That is why young people need the older ones. To tell you about life.”
Taking off her apron, Rosalie hung it up on a hook and went back outside to where Alex waited, a hulking shadowy figure in the moonlight.
“I’ve decided I’ll come with you.”
His expression didn’t change, but his shoulders relaxed. “Va bene.”
“Just for a little while. Just so we can get to know each other.”
“I will convince you to stay.”
“Not as your nanny,” she countered. “Since I’m agreeing to move to your city, you will pay for everything, food, housing, medical care. Even a stipend for extra expenses while I’m living in Venice.”
“Yes,” he said instantly.
She was astonished at how quickly he agreed. “And once the baby is born and you have your paternity test, you will always pay child support. Whether we live in the same house or not.”
“Of course.” Alex tilted his head. “Anything else?”
Rosalie thought fast. “And you must promise, if us living together doesn’t work out for whatever reason, you will not try to bully me into giving you full custody.”
“As long as you agree to the same.”
She nearly choked a laugh, that Alex Falconeri, the wealthy, powerful Conte di Rialto, would think she could bully him into anything. But her smile faded as she looked at his face. She stuck out her hand. “Agreed.”
“Agreed.” He took her hand in his.
As his larger hand enfolded hers, she felt the warmth and roughness of his palm. His fingers pressed between hers, pushing down against her own. Electricity coursed through her body, making her breasts heavy and nipples taut.
Alex abruptly pulled his hand away.
She exhaled. Had she done it again? Revealed her pathetic desire, embarrassing herself and making him uncomfortable?
His handsome face was inscrutable.
Cheeks hot, she turned, muttering, “I’ll go pack.”
He was suddenly there beside her. “I’m coming too.”
“Why?” She could barely bring herself to look at him. She tried to joke, “Are you afraid I might try to climb out the window?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“You obviously haven’t seen the window. But fine, do what you want.”
Inside the empty restaurant, Rosalie led him up the stairs in the back, then up another flight, and another flight still, each set of stairs more slender and vertical than the last. At the last flight, he frowned. “Are you sure this is safe for you? I can go get your things, if you tell me where they are.”
Alex was being protective of her? For a moment she was touched and surprised. Then she realized it was his baby he was worried about, not her. Falling down a flight of stairs two months before her due date might lead to an onset of early labor. “I’m fine,” she said stubbornly. “I’ve done this tons of times over the last two days. Come on.”
At the very top was the tiny garret of her aunt’s small hotel, an attic room far too undesirable for any paying guest.
Rosalie switched on a small lamp, which cast a soft glow on the slanted walls, barely reaching into the shadows. A single lonely bed was stuffed against the slanted wall next to a bare clothing rack. Leaning awkwardly, she pulled her overnight bag from beneath the bed, then swiftly packed it with her few items of clothes, blushing when she packed her extra bra and underwear over her rumpled paperback copy of Murder on the Orient Express.
Coming into the room behind her, he made no comment. Because of the slanted roof, he could only stand up straight in the middle of the room. Just having him so close to her made her feel a flash of heat across her skin.
Taking a deep breath, she glanced out the window, which she’d pushed open earlier for fresh air in the stuffy room. Trying to calm her heart, she looked at the tiny village clinging to the rock beneath her, and beyond the ramparts, the moonlit sea. In the distance, she heard a seagull’s plaintive cry, like a lost soul searching, searching, searching and never finding.
“Alex—” Turning abruptly in the tight space of the room, she was suddenly pushed up against him.