The Italian's Pregnant Mistress

‘Why did you let them print all that stuff?’ Francesca whispered. ‘Now the whole world knows about…our involvement…and my background…’ Her eyes flickered down, seeking out the details of her past once again and re-reading them. In stark black and white it sounded even grimmer because there was no attempt to portray extenuating circumstances.

‘It was the only way.’ He shook his head and did something that was unbearably touching. He played nervously with her fingers. Francesca watched his down-bent head as the questions raced through her mind. In the most public way possible, Angelo Falcone had proposed to her, taking the bull by the horns and giving the media what they would eventually discover anyway, namely her past. But why? Did it mean that much to him that his baby was born with the Falcone name? Because there was no mention of love.

He raised his eyes to her. ‘When I left you a week ago, I didn’t know what to think. Not only was there the fatherhood situation to deal with, but in the space of an hour you had managed to trample everything I thought I knew about you into the ground.’ It was only when she had revealed everything to him that Angelo had realised, with a sickening sense of utter shock, exactly how much he had drifted into a comfort zone. Despite all his declarations of non-involvement, he had grown used to her. Like ivy curling around a column she had entwined herself around him and the pieces of her past, the past that made the present, dammit, had been like the bitter stab of treachery.

‘I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner, years before, but I knew that things would end the minute you found out about me. You’re not an ordinary man, Angelo. If you were, it wouldn’t have been so bad.’ She risked stroking his hair and he pulled her hand to him and held it. ‘Ordinary men aren’t in the public gaze. They can handle a woman with a dodgy background.’

‘I’ve been to hell and back this week, Francesca, but the one thing I know is that I want this baby of ours to have a family.’

‘And if I weren’t pregnant, Angelo? Would you still have taken out an ad in the newspaper letting the world know that you wanted to marry me or would you have counted yourself lucky to have got away?’

‘If you read the article carefully, my darling, you would see that at no point did I mention the fact that you are pregnant. Everything else, yes, but that, no.’

So he hadn’t mentioned anything about being in love with her, but nevertheless a little tendril of hope began to uncurl inside of her.

‘Because…?’

‘Because I want you for my wife, Francesca, whether you happen to be carrying my child or not.’ He looked at her steadily, willing himself to say what he needed to say in a way that wouldn’t frighten her off. ‘When we embarked on this crazy…affair, we both knew the rules. Sex without commitment. We would finish what had been started years ago and emotion wouldn’t get in the way.’

Why was he reminding her of things she didn’t want to remember? After he had called her my darling and looked at her with eyes that promised even if they hadn’t delivered?

‘But emotion did get in the way, after all. At least, it got in my way.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ She leaned towards him, straining to hear every single word he was saying.

‘I thought I was in control, but it turns out I wasn’t.’ He shot her a rueful smile. ‘And, before you say anything, just hear me out and then decide what you want to do. Whatever you want, Francesca, I’ll fall in line with.’ He breathed in deeply and expelled his breath in one long sigh. ‘I know you didn’t choose to become pregnant. I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts and then so gutted by what you told me that it never even crossed my mind to ask how you felt about having a baby and for that I’m…I’m sorry. This…is difficult for me…’

He stood up and paced the room, his movements agitated. Francesca had never seen him like this before, and she reckoned she had probably seen him in all his moods. It was a revelation of vulnerability. Finally he returned to the chair and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘I’ve spent the week going over in my head everything that’s happened between us. You made a big deal of letting me know that you were willing to let me walk away from you, or rather you walk away from me, because you didn’t feel that your background would do me any favours. It occurred to me that maybe I had got it all wrong from the start. Maybe you just didn’t want to be hooked up with me. Maybe behind the smokescreen was someone who just wasn’t willing to spend her life with someone who had all the privileges of wealth. It struck me that you might be physically attracted to a man like me but emotionally attracted to a man like Jack when it came to a permanent relationship.’ He took a deep breath and shook his head. Was he even making sense? He knew exactly what he wanted to say but he could feel that the words were not emerging from his mouth in quite the order he would have liked. For the first time, his formidable grasp of the English language had deserted him. ‘Women are attracted to me. They like the wealth, the power, the status.’ He gave a dry laugh. ‘Georgina being a case in point. Fact is, though, you’re not like other women and so all the usual yardsticks no longer apply. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?’