Silence followed her words. Charlotte knotted her hands in her lap, feeling raw and exhausted. Was it only yesterday she’d arrived in Florence? Was it only yesterday she’d knocked on Brando’s door, feeling confident of her plans?
“It doesn’t have to be acrimonious between us,” Brando said, breaking the silence. “There’s no reason we can’t be unified, and supportive of each other, and when the baby is with me, he or she will have a supportive and stable family. A loving family. The Riccis might argue over succession within the business—”
“Might argue? Brando, you all hired me because your fights were making headline news.”
He shrugged dismissively. “We’re Italian. We’re passionate.”
“It’s more than being passionate. Your family is in the middle of a battle over leadership, and the Riccis don’t separate business from family. You might call yourself the Ricci family, but it’s truly about the Ricci business.”
“Your point being?”
“I don’t want my child to be dragged into that. I’d hate for our child to become part of that scramble for power and position.”
“Any child of mine will automatically become of the Ricci family, and thus the Ricci legacy. Boy or girl, he or she will play a role in the family—”
“Business,” she added.
His broad shoulders shifted again. “You’re right, in my family, it is one and the same. Family. Business. We’re one family working together to succeed.”
“Except you all weren’t working together. You were at odds with each other—”
“We were, until you came along and helped shift the focus on what we weren’t doing right, onto what we were doing right. You helped us focus our vision, our mission and our internal communication.” He glanced at her, lips twisting. “We’re stronger than we were before, thanks to you.”
His words gave small comfort. She put a hand to her taut belly, uneasy, and worried. “Will an American child be welcomed into your very Tuscan, old-world family?”
“You’re not American. You’re British.”
“I like living in America, though. I plan on remaining there, raising the baby there, so yes, the baby will be—”
“No.”
She stiffened at his brusqueness, and for a moment there was just silence before she said quietly, “You like America. You have many American friends, particularly in Napa Valley.”
“Yes, I do, but I’ll never agree to my child being raised apart from me. That’s not even an option.”
Her pulse kicked up a notch. “Since we’re being honest, tell me. What would you do with a small baby?”
“The same thing you’d do.” He glanced at her, features hard. “I’m an uncle to a half-dozen nieces and nephews and we get together a lot. I’ve been part of their lives since they were born.”
“Being an uncle isn’t the same thing as being a father. Parenting is full-time work—”
“Which is why we should do it together, not forcing the baby to bounce between us.”
“Well, the baby won’t be bouncing anywhere for quite some time. He or she will need to be with me since I’ll be nursing.”
“I have no desire to separate the baby from you, but no Italian court will decide to give you custody based on breastfeeding.”
She gripped her hands tightly together to hold back the whisper of panic. She hadn’t flown all this way to lose her child. She hadn’t begun this trip to be told she’d have only partial custody, either.
In her heart, she believed that babies belonged with the mother. It was her mother who did all the heavy lifting when Charlotte was small. Well, her mother and the fleet of nannies and housekeepers who were employed to keep the family running.
She blinked hard, fighting emotion she didn’t understand.
He shot her a swift glance. “You should have come to me right away, you know. You should have told me the moment you knew you were pregnant. Instead you’ve had all this time to imagine life the way you wanted it to be, versus what it must be.”
“You don’t have to want the baby,” she said under her breath.
“But I do.”
She turned away, glancing out at the river, and the light bouncing on the bridges and elegant historic buildings. “During the ultrasound, I was asked if I wanted to know the baby’s gender, and I said I didn’t, because it doesn’t matter if I’m expecting a boy or girl. I’m simply excited about being a mom, and the goal is a healthy baby.”
“Agreed,” he said. “But that baby is going to need a family. A healthy family. Neither one of us can do that on our own.”
Brando drove, concentrating on the road, and Charlotte watched the city suburbs give way to rolling hills of gold and green.
For the next forty minutes, Brando drove the narrow, winding road that connected Florence to Siena, a road famous for its scenic beauty through hills and valleys dotted with villages and vineyards, while Charlotte admired the beautiful landscape. This was the renowned Chianti Valley, an area famous for its wines, olive trees and medieval villages.
She knew about his estate, but had never been there, and she was curious about the undulating hills, and the picturesque villages, each with its own bell tower rising above tiled roofs.
They were between villages when a tire blew in a loud pop and the sports car pulled sharply right. Brando slowed, and parked on the shoulder of the road, before climbing out to inspect the damage.
“It’s just the tire,” he said, opening her car door to speak to her. “Stay put. I can change it while you’re in there.”
She watched him roll his sleeves higher on his arms. His arms were sculpted of corded muscle. His skin the loveliest shade of bronze. “I heard it was dangerous to do that,” she said, remembering how his shoulders had been equally powerful, and his torso endless lean muscle.
“You’ll be safer in the car than standing on this narrow road.”
“But what about you?” she asked, shading her eyes to look up into his face.
“Nothing’s going to happen to me. You’re the one I’m worried about.” He closed the door firmly and she turned in her seat to watch him go to the boot and pull out the spare tire, the jack and tools.
He made changing it look effortless—well, except for the part where he lay on the ground, partway under the car to check the jack’s position, and then he was out again and th
e car was up, the lug bolts off, tire swapped, lug bolts replaced and car back down. Brando stowed the flat tire, dusted himself off and returned to the driver’s seat, flashing her a wry smile. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” he said.
His olive cheeks had a dusky flush and his eyes were bright from exertion, but he looked sexier than ever, and she thought a man who knew how to do things with his hands was incredibly appealing.
“That was impressive,” she said, smiling at him as he buckled his seat belt.
“You must be easily impressed, then.”
“Actually, I’m not. I have very high standards.”
He shot her an amused glance. “Then how did I get you into my bed last New Year’s Eve?”
It was her turn to blush, and she felt herself go hot all over. “Can we blame the champagne?”
“You weren’t drinking that night. Everyone tried to hand you a glass of something. You refused.”
“I rarely drink.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not that I don’t like alcohol, but I’m a control freak.”
“I see. You lost control, hated yourself for it and then promptly ghosted me.”
“I didn’t ghost you.”
“What would you call it, then? No calls, no emails, no communication?”
“We didn’t have sex to start a relationship. We had sex because we were attracted to each other and we were curious to see if it would be good.”
One of his black brows lifted mockingly. “I hadn’t realized I’d left you disappointed.”
“You didn’t. You know that night was incredible. But it wasn’t something that we could do again. I was hired to work for your family, not bed the rebel son.”
“I’m no longer the rebel son. I’ve become the good son.”
“Then why do Enzo, Marcello and Livia all work together at the Ricci headquarters in Florence and you have your own office? And why are they no longer involved in the wineries, and you alone manage that arm of the Ricci business?”
He shrugged. “Because I have an affinity for the land, and they don’t.”