The Price Of A Dangerous Passion

“Because we do. It’s my child.”

“But that doesn’t mean we have to decide everything tonight. We have months—”

“No. We’re not putting this off, and we’re not going to try to negotiate with you in California. We’re going to come to an agreement now, while you’re here, and we get it in writing, and notarized, so that it’s legal and binding.”

“I’m not a runaway bride, Brando. I’m not going to disappear on you.”

“How do I know that?”

“Because I’m giving you my word.”

“That’s a start.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“You waited six months to tell me I’m going to be a father.”

“As I said this morning, I wanted to be sure the pregnancy was viable.”

He said nothing for the longest time, and then, “Are we going to need lawyers? Should we just take it to court...?”

“Why would you say that? We don’t need lawyers, and we don’t need anyone else telling us how to do this. We’re smart and reasonable. Surely we can come up with a plan between us.”

“So, you’d be willing to live here?”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“You’d rather a newborn baby spend its first year in the air, flying back and forth between Los Angeles and here? That must be eleven hours or more in the air, without connections.”

“No, of course not. That’s why I think the first year the baby should be with me.”

“And then you hand the baby over to me for a year?” he asked, expression blank.

She shuddered. “No. I’m not ever handing my baby over, not to you, not to anyone.”

“So, we do need lawyers.”

“Don’t go straight there. Can’t we at least try to talk this out?”

“I think you should live here the first few years. Your work is flexible. Your work isn’t tied to a place. Whereas I’m a vintner. I can’t abandon the grapes.”

“Not all your work is in Chianti. You have other business endeavors—”

“So, let me get this straight. You want me to know about my child, but not be involved. You don’t want support, either. You just want me to pretend this child doesn’t exist, and let you do whatever it is you want?”

Her stomach cramped. She balled her hand into a fist. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then how are you including me? Where is the space for me, cara?”

She didn’t answer the question, but then, how could she? Her answer wouldn’t have been positive, or flattering, but at least Brando understood Charlotte’s intentions. She was doing the correct thing—informing him of the pregnancy—but then she was shutting him out. She didn’t truly want him raising the baby with her. She wanted to be mother and father on her own.

That wasn’t an option, but he chose to change the subject to keep her from jumping up and leaving.

He asked about a publicity campaign she’d been part of last winter, and as the subject changed, so did the tension. After a few minutes, he could see her relax. They discussed friends they had in common, as well as what was happening with the Ricci business right now.

Dinner arrived and conversation died as they ate, but at least it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. If anything, Charlotte looked thoughtful. He caught her looking at him several times, her brow furrowed, lips pursed.

“I hope you know that I would have never not told you about the baby,” she said quietly after Brando ordered a coffee. “I wouldn’t have ever kept his or her existence a secret from you. I’m not duplicitous. I genuinely needed time to wrap my head around the pregnancy, and the ramifications. Being a single parent will take work, but we can make it work.”

“Why didn’t you ask me to come to you in California?” he returned.

“And what would I have said to lure you there?”

“That you’re pregnant. That you need me.”

She ducked her head, but he could see the wash of hot pink in her cheeks. “I don’t generally need people,” she said after a moment. “They need me.”

Suddenly he understood her in a way he never had before.

Charlotte wasn’t playing games. She wasn’t trying to cut him out—not in the way he’d first imagined—but she truly believed she was better off trusting no one, relying on no one, and just taking care of everything herself. It wasn’t out of cockiness, or arrogance, but survival. This was how she functioned. This was what had allowed her to be successful.

“People make messes and I clean them up,” she added with a faint smile, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m good at problem-solving. Rather exceptional, if I do say so myself.”

“It’s why we hired you last summer,” he answered. “You were exceptional.”

“I still am.”

This was why he’d been so drawn to her. She was smart, articulate, gorgeous and passionate. The one night only hadn’t been his rule, but hers. He hadn’t liked making rules, or liked letting her make the rules, but he’d agreed because he’d wanted her that much.

He still wanted her, but everything was different now. This, between them, was no longer about sex, but family, and commitment. He couldn’t think of her as an object of desire, but as the mother of his child.

“You might not like admitting it, but you do need me, cara,” he said quietly, “and our child needs me, too. Let me in. Try to trust me a little bit.”

“I will try, but it’s not easy.”

“You said you fly out Monday.”

“Yes.”

“It’s Friday. That gives us the weekend to talk and make plans. Let’s go to my house in the country. It will be quiet there, and we can discuss the future undisturbed.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Being alone together created this situation we’re now in.”

“I’m not going to seduce you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I don’t expect you to, not when there are other women in your life now, but I think we have to be clear in our intentions. Yes, I’m carrying your child, but I’m not yours, and you’re not mine, and we don’t have a relationship. We’ve never had a relationship. We had sex.”

“Your point being?”

“One night of intimacy doesn’t equate a relationship, so it’s going to be very difficult for me to imagine a future where we do anything together, bu

t I will try provided you realize that I’m not going to give up who I am, and what I want to do, just to please you.”

Charlotte tried not to fidget as they waited for the bill to be brought. Her pasta had been excellent, but her nerves had kept her from eating too much. Their waiter, who had been attentive during the meal, now seemed to have disappeared, perhaps going on a dinner break of his own. Worse, she and Brando weren’t speaking.

They sat at the table looking in opposite directions when he suddenly reached for his phone, tapped the screen and read something.

“The results are in,” he said, his tone without emotion. “I am the father.”

“There never was doubt at my end,” she answered.

“Nor mine.” He put away the phone. “But at least we have definitive confirmation, because people will ask.”

“You mean, your family will ask.”

“Of course they’ll be interested.”

“Even though it’s none of their business?”

“That’s where you’re wrong, cara. It is their business. My child will become part of the business. You of all people, having worked with my family, should know that.”

After returning Charlotte to her hotel, Brando drove home, and parked his car in his garage, but couldn’t make himself go inside, his thoughts too tangled, his emotions intense, to the point of being overwhelming.

He was going to be a father.

A father.

It wasn’t a hoax this time, or a game. The paternity test was positive. Charlotte was carrying his baby.

His.

Brando pocketed his car key and walked away from his house, heading toward the Arno, which flowed through historic Florence on its way to the sea. He walked along the riverbank to the medieval Ponte Vecchio with its multitude of shops.

Brando knew Florence intimately. He’d grown up here, not far from this very spot, just as his father had, and his grandfather before him.

Now he’d be a father, and he could raise his child here, too, or maybe in the countryside, maybe at his castello in the Chianti Valley.

Either way, his child would know and love Tuscany, just as he loved Tuscany, and the soil and grapes of Tuscany.