The Italian's Unexpected Baby

CHAPTER NINE

MIA STARED OUT of the window of the private jet as it lifted into the sunset sky. Her stomach clenched with nerves, her insides swooping as the plane rose and then levelled out. She was doing this. She was really doing this.

Because she had to. For Ella’s sake, for Alessandro’s sake. She’d recognised that this morning, when Alessandro had spoken oh-so-reasonably, but she still resisted. Still hated the thought that she was being backed into a corner.

Three months. She could manage for three months. She could get to know Alessandro. She could try to get along. After that…

Mia had no idea what happened after that.

She glanced across the teakwood table that separated her from Alessandro in the jet’s sumptuous living area. Since waking up in Alessandro’s penthouse that afternoon, she’d felt as if she’d fallen into a fairy tale, unsure if she was with the prince or the big bad wolf. A little bit of both, perhaps. Alessandro was certainly solicitous of her every need; she couldn’t fault him even if she was still on edge.

While she’d been sleeping, something she hadn’t even thought she’d be able to do, he’d arranged for all her things to be packed up from her apartment and put onto his private plane. He’d had bags packed for her and Ella with everything they could possibly need for the flight. They’d gone directly from the hotel to the airport, which meant Mia hadn’t been able to say goodbye to anyone.

She hadn’t made many friends in LA yet, but she still resented his high-handed manner. She didn’t think he was

even aware of it, which made it worse. Somehow, against everything she believed and hoped for her life, she was ending up with a man like her father. Maybe not in the needless cruelty or sneering manner—Alessandro was certainly better than that. Yet the result was the same—being controlled by a man.

Alessandro, at least, was showing himself to be an attentive father. When she’d stumbled from the sumptuous bed back in the suite, she’d found him on the sofa, cradling Ella in his lap as he cooed down at her, his face softened and suffused with love. Seeing him in that unguarded moment had given Mia the hope that maybe, just maybe, she really was doing the right thing by going to Italy. That maybe it could even be a good thing.

She glanced again at Alessandro, his profile both handsome and hard as he gazed down at his tablet, a faint frown bisecting his patrician brow. He’d shed his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves, revealing powerful forearms, muscles flexed.

Looking at him now, Mia remembered how irresistible she’d once found him. How Alessandro had informed her it was her choice whether or not she shared his bed. Her choice…and yet she was afraid to make it, afraid of feeling even more under his control, because she knew when he touched her she’d lose her sense of reason completely. And yet she couldn’t get the images, the memories, out of her mind.

As if sensing her looking at him, Alessandro glanced up, his frown deepening as their gazes met. ‘Is everything all right? Do you need something?’

She shook her head. She’d just fed Ella, and her daughter was asleep in her car seat. ‘No, I’m all right.’

‘Why don’t we have champagne?’ Alessandro suggested. ‘To toast our future.’

‘The next three months, you mean,’ Mia couldn’t help but correct. She needed to remind herself of that safeguard as much as him. ‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t drink too much whilst I’m breastfeeding…’

‘Surely a sip won’t hurt.’ Alessandro motioned to an aide, and then barked out a command in Italian. Mia watched him silently; he wasn’t even aware of how once again he’d exerted his will. It was a small matter, seemingly insignificant, and yet she felt it.

She also felt how, after just one day, she was too weary and defeated to challenge him. What would she be like after a month, a year, a decade? Would she become as worn out and ghost-like as her mother had been, drifting through life, half-heartedly defending her choices, or lack of them?

The staff member came back with a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes. Alessandro dismissed the man and then expertly opened the champagne, the cork giving a stifled pop before he poured them both glasses.

‘To Ella,’ he said as he handed her a glass. ‘And to us.’

Dutifully Mia clinked her glass against his before taking a tiny sip. The bubbles fizzed through her, pleasantly surprising; it had been over a year since she’d had any alcohol. In fact…

‘Do you remember the last time we had champagne?’ Alessandro murmured, and Mia stiffened.

‘I’m sure you’ve had champagne last week, if not sooner.’

‘I haven’t, but I meant when we had it together.’

Together. The word held memory as well as promise. Intent. Mia took another sip of champagne, just to steady her nerves. ‘I didn’t expect you to talk about that,’ she said after a moment.

‘Why not?’

‘The last time we were together, you wanted to forget it, just like I did.’ Her voice was unsteady, as was her hand as she put her flute of champagne on the table in front of her.

‘Things have changed,’ Alessandro answered with a nod towards a still sleeping Ella. ‘Obviously.’

‘They haven’t changed that much,’ Mia protested. ‘You said I had three months to get to know you…to decide.’ Something flickered in his face and she leaned forward. ‘Did you mean that?’

‘Of course.’