The Italian Billionaire's Secret Love-Child

The boardroom was literally a suite. One vast room was dominated by a long walnut table with sufficient seating for twenty. Spanning out from that central space was a luxury bathroom, which perplexed Charlotte as she took advantage of arriving twenty minutes early to snoop around. What executive would suddenly find himself in need of a quick shower before the next high-level conference? Then there was a library stocked with shelves of books, the titles of which were sufficient to induce sudden sleepiness, and a table on which was fanned out every national newspaper. Including, she noticed wryly, the ones best known for their salacious girlie pictures. Finally, there was a big sitting area, decked out in soft sofas and chairs, and along one wall all the facilities needed to make drinks of both an alcoholic and non-alcoholic nature.

Charlotte took up position on one of the pale blue comfy chairs facing the door and leant forward, hands clasped over one crossed knee.

As always, the impact of seeing him momentarily took her breath away as he entered the room, one hand tucked elegantly into his trouser pocket. It was still early. The tie was still on. Usually, when he’d returned to the house in the early evenings, the tie would have been off, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, as though restlessness had got the better of him during the course of the day.

She winced at the unwelcome reminder of what it had been like to share a house with him.

‘How could you?’ she demanded bluntly, watching as he sauntered over to a chair and book up position facing her. Charlotte stood up, walked across to the table groaning under the weight of newspapers, and picked up one of the tabloids, opening it to the centre pages and dumping it on his lap so that he could see the headlines in all their glory—TYCOON’S LOVE-CHILD IN TUG OF WAR!

Riccardo glanced down at it with disinterest. ‘You should never read the gossip columns, Charlie. I never do.’

‘Well, bully for you, Riccardo!’ She planted herself in front of him, hands on her hips. ‘I have no ivory towers to hide behind! I have to go out to work and take Gina to school, and there are reporters swarming everywhere!’ Slight exaggeration, prompted by his cool-as-a-cucumber attitude. ‘They’re making life a living hell for us, Riccardo,’ she continued, gratified to see that he at least seemed to be giving her words some consideration. ‘They’re asking questions, and even though I don’t give them answers they’re still jotting stuff down, so I’m in constant fear of what I’ll read in the press!’

‘How is Gina dealing with the attention?’

Seems fairly thrilled. ‘Distraught.’

‘She didn’t seem too distraught when I spoke to her on the telephone last night.’

‘She’s hiding it well. She doesn’t want to let you down.’ She swept one hand through her hair and returned to flop down on the chair. ‘Did you have to go and tell them all that stuff about proposing marriage and being turned down? You could have just kept a low profile and everything would have blown over by now. Instead, what do you do? Blather on about values and tradition, making me out to be selfish and heartless!’

‘I did warn you that the press might get involved.’

‘Yes, I know that! But did you have to be so…long winded with them?’

‘I’ve found that it’s the only way to get rid of them. The slightest hint of any cloak and dagger stuff and they immediately think that there’s something to hide. Give them the barest bones and then walk away.’

‘I wouldn’t call your marriage proposal the “barest bones”. Actually, I think that would come under the heading of some pretty meaty stuff,’ Charlotte said waspishly.