Bound to the Tuscan Billionaire

She had learned these lessons from the past and could look after herself, Cass reassured herself, as she closed her hand tightly round the scan of her baby. She would shut her heart to Marco di Fivizzano, if it meant bringing up their child free from guilt and heartache. And if Marco was an example of how the rich and famous lived, she was glad to be poor and no one.

Not so glad to be sick again, though...

Leaning her hand against the wall, she retched on an empty stomach. Hyperemesis gravidarum, the doctor had called it, telling her that her morning sickness should ease soon.

Soon couldn’t come soon enough for Cass. She was usually so healthy and full of pep, but these days she felt tired from the moment she woke up to when she fell exhausted into bed, and she was feeling particularly nauseous today. She was pale and grey, with an unattractive green tinge, she acknowledged ruefully as she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Bloodshot eyes didn’t do much for her either. She wasn’t blooming, as pregnant women were supposed to do, according to the magazines—she felt wretched and too ill to work. Thankfully, she had an understanding manager, but his compassion would only stretch so far, Cass suspected. The upside of her situation was the news from the midwife that her baby was thriving. So she’d keep on keeping on—what else could she do? And she would try to eat healthily—when she could bear to eat at all.

It was all in a good cause, she told herself firmly as she picked up a nourishing snack on her way back to bed in the vainest of hopes that she could keep it down. She took the phone with her to call her manager to ask if she could change shifts, and then she crawled back under the duvet with relief to wait for her twitchy stomach to calm down.

* * *

He had called his pilot, who was having the jet made ready before his PA had a chance to ask him if there was anything more she could do for him. His investigators hadn’t disappointed him, though their latest report had thrown him. If Cassandra was sick it changed everything. As a past member of his staff, he had a certain responsibility towards her, whether or not the baby was his.

A baby that might be his...

And he missed her. Dio! Just admitting those words made him frown. Had he grown soft?

No. He was merely doing what had to be done, and it was a job that couldn’t be delegated. After she’d called the office, he wouldn’t put anything past her, so he had to see for himself exactly what was going on. The fact that, according to his sources, Cassandra had been living an exemplary life didn’t really surprise him, but it was welcome news. He wanted her to look after herself. His experience of women before Cass was hardly reassuring, and it was in his nature to be suspicious and think the worst. When the baby was born there would be a DNA test. He would have to be sure before committing himself further. With a shake of his head he cursed at being the cause of history repeating itself. Because of him another child would come into this world subject to scrutiny, subject to suspicion, and then maybe that child would be discarded...and by him.

* * *

He stopped outside the modest door and checked the address. Lifting the serviceable knocker, he rapped sharply three times. He waited and knocked again.

The door opened and there she stood. His whole body tensed as she stared at him in amazement. ‘Marco?’

Her voice was faint with surprise, but it was the fact that Cassandra was so diminished in both body and spirit that shocked him. He had expected to be greeted by the robust woman who had taken him on and fought back, but this frail-looking girl seemed incapable of doing anything. She was like a wraith, a mere shadow of her healthy, sun-kissed, capable self. To say he was concerned would be an understatement. ‘May I come in?’

Wordlessly, she stood back.

The interior of the small terraced house was as neat as the exterior. It was compact but functional, with a tiny kitchen at the street end of the room. At the other end there was a solid fuel burner with a couple of battered sofas either side of it, and a fireguard already in place.

The fireguard looked new, as if she was planning ahead and buying things bit by bit. A narrow staircase led up to what he suspected would be a maximum of two small bedrooms and a simple bathroom. Her front door opened directly onto the street, and he guessed there was no garden. There was certainly no display outside the front door to say that this was the home of an avid gardener, though he noticed that the pot plants on her windowsill were drooping. Seeing that almost jolted him more than anything else.

Emotion got the better of him, and he launched straight in. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant as soon as you knew?’