Then as he helped her out, and they walked through the private gate into the luxurious, formal rooms of the palazzo, she abruptly decided it didn’t matter.
Because as he’d said, their kiss had been a mistake. He didn’t intend to marry again, and she wasn’t interested in a one-night stand. Their baby deserved a stable home, a stable family.
Even if Rosalie did not. Not really. Not after the way she’d abandoned her parents to their fate. A lump rose to her throat.
Alex turned to her at the bottom of the sweeping staircase, beneath the chandelier and painted frescoes. “I’ll show you to your room.”
He led her upstairs to a long hallway, and then pushed open one of the doors. Inside, she saw an enormous four-poster bed, and a flower-strewn balcony that overlooked the canal.
“Will this do?” he asked quietly.
She looked from the antique writing desk, to the elegant chair beside it, to the shelves filled with leather-bound books. A portrait of some supercilious Circe in seventeenth-century clothes stared down from the marble fireplace. “Who is that?”
He shrugged. “Some ancestor. Or perhaps a painting bought by one for its intrinsic value. I can’t keep track of them all.” He opened the enormous, empty closet. “For your clothes.”
As he set down her small satchel, she stared at him incredulously. “I don’t need all this.”
Alex smiled. “You will. I’m taking you shopping tomorrow. Right after you get a checkup with the doctor.” He held up his hand to stop her protests. “I’m sorry, Rosalie, you cannot survive in Venice with just a few sundresses and a single pair of sandals. Dinner will be in one hour in the dining room. I’ll leave you to freshen up. My room is next door if you need me.” He paused at the door. “Thank you for coming here.”
His intense gaze made her heart race faster. “You didn’t leave me much choice,” she said, and despised the tremble in her voice. He shook his head.
“There is always a choice.” And he closed the door behind him.
Always a choice.
As Rosalie went into her en suite bathroom and took a long, hot shower, she thought about his words. Brushing out her wet hair, she took her last sundress out of the satchel, grateful it had been washed and pressed by the hotel staff in Paris. She would wear it for dinner tonight, then perhaps tomorrow, as well.
Perhaps Alex was right. At least for the foreseeable future, her life had changed. It was time to accept that. She didn’t just need new clothes. She needed to call her boss and roommates in San Francisco and let them know she wouldn’t be coming back.
But how long would this last? Once her stay here was finished, where would she go to start over, yet again? How would it even work for her and Alex to share custody after the baby was born?
So many questions, so few answers. With a sigh, Rosalie glanced at herself in the mirror then went downstairs to find the dining room. She stopped on the staircase when she heard voices from the foyer below.
She saw Alex speaki
ng to a beautiful blonde woman in a tight, sexy dress. The woman was moving toward Alex with a low, intimate laugh, pressing her hand against his chest, as she said something in Italian.
Rosalie must have made a noise, for they both turned to her.
She blushed. A moment before, she’d been feeling almost pretty in the white cotton sundress, but now, compared to the other woman, she felt hugely pregnant and ungainly as a whale.
Stop it, she told herself angrily. She wasn’t Alex’s wife or girlfriend. Who cared if the blonde was looking at Alex like a Persian cat looked at a bowl of fresh cream? It didn’t matter to Rosalie. She had no claim on his romantic life.
Forcing her lips into a warm smile, she came forward.
“Hello.” She held out her hand. “I’m Rosalie.”
The blonde just stared at her as if she had two heads. Her eyes dropped to Rosalie’s pregnant belly, then she turned to ask Alex a sharp question in Italian.
He responded coolly in the same language.
“Fine,” the woman snapped in English. “Who is this?”
“I’m Rosalie,” she repeated, dropping her hand. “Rosalie Brown. Are you one of Alex’s friends?”
“One of Chiara’s friends,” the woman said, looking at her as if she were some dog poo she’d just discovered beneath her sleek designer high heel.
“Rosalie and I just arrived home,” Alex said smoothly. “So as you can see, we’re busy now, Giulia. Perhaps you can visit some other time—”