Brunetti's Secret Son

She must have on some level, surely, or she’d never have given him her virginity so easily.

Stop!

The only way to find out what was going on was to talk to Romeo. That wouldn’t happen unless she stopped dawdling and got on with it.

She fixed Lucca’s meal and set it up in the dining nook attached to her kitchen. Seeing Romeo sprawled on his side on the living-room floor stopped her in her tracks. Between father and son, they’d built a giant castle and were debating where to station the knights, with Lucca in favour of ground sentry duty and Romeo advocating turret guards.

He sensed her watching and looked up. Again Maisie was struck by the determination on his face.

And again, he shuttered the look and handed the knight to Lucca.

Maisie cleared her throat before she could speak. ‘Lucca, your food’s ready.’

‘One more minute!’

Romeo lifted an eyebrow and gave a mock shudder. ‘Do you enjoy cold spaghetti, Gianlucca?’

Lucca shook his head. ‘No, it tastes yucky.’

‘Then I think you should eat yours now before it turns yucky, sì?’

‘See what?’ Lucca asked, his eyes wide and enquiring.

Romeo reached out and hesitantly touched his son’s hair. ‘Sì means yes in Italian,’ he said gruffly.

‘Are you Ita...Itayan? Mummy said I’m half Itayan.’

Romeo’s eyes flicked to Maisie for a moment, then returned to his son. ‘Yes, she’s right. She’s also waiting for you to go eat your dinner.’ A quiet, firm reminder that brought Lucca to his feet.

He whizzed past her and climbed into his seat at the small dining table. He barely waited for Maisie to tuck his bib into place before he was tearing into his spaghetti.

Romeo leaned against the doorjamb, a peculiar look on his face as he absorbed Lucca’s every action.

Then he turned and looked at her, and her heart caught. Nothing could keep down the geyser of apprehension that exploded through her at what that absorbed look on Romeo’s face meant for her and her son.

In that moment, Maisie knew that nothing she said or did would stop what was unravelling before her eyes. It didn’t matter whether Romeo loved his son or not, he would do exactly as he’d said in her office this morning.

Romeo Brunetti had every intention of claiming his son.

* * *

Maisie entered the living room and paused to watch Romeo’s broad frame as he looked out of the window at the street below. With the endless horrific thoughts that had been tumbling through her mind for the past three hours, she wondered if he was just pavement-watching or if there was some unseen danger lurking out there.

He turned and her breath caught at the intensity in his face, the dangerous vibe surrounding his body. Wanting to get this over with quickly, she walked further into the living room.

‘He’s out like a light. When he’s worn out like that, he won’t wake until morning.’ Maisie wondered why she’d been dropping little morsels like this all evening. Then she realised it was because Romeo voraciously lapped up each titbit about his son.

Because a part of her hoped that, by doing so, she could get him to rethink whatever he was plotting for Lucca’s future? Did she really think she could turn Romeo’s fascination with their son into love?

Love couldn’t be forced. Either it was there or it wasn’t. Her parents had been incapable of it. They’d cared only for their academic pursuits and peer accolades. None of that love had spilled to her.

She balled her fists. She would rather Romeo absented himself completely than dangle fatherhood in front of her son, only to reject him later. ‘You wanted to talk?’ she ventured. The earlier they laid things out in the open, the quicker she could get back to the status quo.

Romeo nodded in that solemn way he sometimes did, then remained silent and still, his hands thrust into his pockets. He continued to watch her, dark hazel eyes tracking her as she straightened the cushions and packed away the toys.

Too soon she was done. Silence filled the room and her breath emerged in short pants as she became painfully aware that they were alone, that zing of awareness spreading wider in the room.

She realised she was fidgeting with her fingers and resolutely pulled them apart. ‘I don’t mean to hurry this along, but can we just get it over—’

‘Sit down, Maisie.’

She wanted to refuse. Just on principle because she wouldn’t be ordered about in her own home, but something in his face warned her she needed to sit for what was coming.