Brunetti's Secret Son

Her hand went to her bare throat. ‘I...I didn’t think it was necessary.’ Which, in hindsight, sounded a little foolish. She was marrying one of the world’s richest men. Whether the marriage was real or not, she was about to be thrust into the limelight the proportions of which she was too afraid to imagine. The women Romeo had dated before were all raving beauties compared to her.

A flush rose in her face when his eyebrow quirked. ‘You may not, but we don’t wish to attract unnecessary gossip,’ he murmured, his voice deep but low enough to keep Bronagh and Lucca, who sat on the far side of the limo, from overhearing. ‘Open it.’

Fingers shaking, she prised the box open and gasped. The three-layered collar necklace contained over two dozen diamonds in different cuts and sizes, the largest, teardrop gem placed in the middle. The stunning jewels, along with a pair of equally breathtaking earrings, sparkled in her trembling hand. Maisie realised her mouth was still open when Romeo plucked the necklace off its velvet bed and held it out.

‘Turn around.’

Still stunned, she complied and suppressed a tremble when his warm fingers brushed her nape. She turned towards him to thank him and froze when he leaned forward to adjust the necklace so the large stone was resting just above her cleavage. The touch of those fingers...there...sent her blood pounding through her veins. She looked up and met dark hazel eyes. The knowing and hungry look reflecting back at her stopped whatever breath she’d been about to take. They stared at each other, that intense connection that seemed to fuse them together whenever they were close sizzling between them.

‘Wow, that’s stunning.’

Maisie jerked guiltily at Bronagh’s awed compliment. Another blush crept into her face when she realised she’d momentarily forgotten that her friend and son were in the car. To cover up her embarrassment, she hastily reached for the earrings and clipped them on. Then exhaled in a rush when Romeo produced another ominous-sized box.

‘Romeo...’

His eyes flashed a warning and she swallowed her objection. This time he opened it. The large diamond-and-ruby engagement ring defied description. And probably defied any attempt to place a value on it. Silently, Maisie held out her left hand, absurdly bemused to take in the fact that between one heartbeat and the next she’d been draped in jewels that cost more than she would earn in a lifetime.

She smiled through further gasps from Bronagh and just willed herself to breathe. She might not have fully absorbed what she was letting herself in for publicly by agreeing to marry Romeo Brunetti the billionaire, instead of Romeo Brunetti, father of her child, but she’d faced tougher challenges and triumphed. She could do this.

* * *

The marriage ceremony itself was shockingly brief.

Whatever strings Romeo had pulled to secure a special licence had pressed home his importance. They were ushered into an oak-panelled room that reeked history and brevity. The registrar read out their commitments in a deep but hushed voice and announced that they were man and wife within twenty minutes of their arrival.

Romeo’s kiss on her lips was swift and chaste, his hands dropping from her shoulders almost immediately. She told herself the wrench in her stomach was nerves as she followed him to the desk where their signatures formalised their union  .

As she signed her name, Maisie reaffirmed that she was taking the necessary steps to keep her son safe. It was what kept her going through the lavish Mayfair meal with Bronagh, after which Bronagh was driven to the airport to catch a flight back to Dublin, and they were driven straight to a private airport south of London.

Unable to stand the thick silence in the car now that Lucca had fallen asleep, she cleared her throat.

‘I didn’t know Italians could marry in London without jumping through bureaucratic hoops.’

Romeo switched from looking out of the window. The brooding glance he sent her made her wish for a moment she’d let the silence continue. ‘I’ve lived in London for over ten years. Other than two days ago, the last time I was in Italy was when you and I met.’

Surprise lifted her brows. ‘I thought you were a resident. You seemed to know your way about where...where you were staying.’

His mouth twisted. ‘I was, once upon a time. But in a much more inhospitable part.’

‘Inhospitable?’ she echoed.

That brooding gaze intensified. ‘I wasn’t always affluent, gattina. I can probably go as far as to say I’m the definition of nouveau riche. I know the streets where we met well because I used to walk there at night in the hope that I would find leftover food in bins or a tourist who was willing to part with a few euros for a quick shoe shine. Barring that, I would find an alleyway to sleep in for a night, but only for a night because inevitably I would be sent packing by the polizia and threatened with jail should I return.’