The Italian's Unexpected Baby

She’d been fully anticipating him to sweep her into a masterminded and smoothly thought out seduction, and she’d been willing to go along with it, to be caught up in it and, in a way, relieved of any real and active choice…even though that was what she’d been fighting for all along.

But Alessandro wasn’t giving her that option. He was making her choose now, making her fully own the decision she thought she’d already made, back in the ballroom. This could be no silent surrender, defeat by acquiescence, overwhelmed by his sheer force of personality and innate authority that she tried to resent and yet somehow craved. Alessandro wouldn’t let it be that. He was making this moment hers, making her choose it to be theirs.

He held her gaze, his eyes burning fiercely, his hands still spread open wide, his stance one of acceptance rather than aggression or authority. For once he was giving her all the power, all the control, all she’d said she wanted…so what was she going to do?

Alessandro waited, his body tense, his heart thudding. Everything in him resisted this moment, the utter, revealing weakness of it. He didn’t do this. He didn’t let someone else choose his fate, even if just for a night, although this was so much more than a night. He’d always, always been the architect of his own ambition.

But over the course of the evening, as he’d reflected on what Mia had shared about her family and her past, he’d realised that in this, of all things, she needed to have the control. He needed to surrender it, even if everything in him still fought against it. And so he waited.

Mia stared at him for a long moment, a thousand emotions chasing across her lovely face, making her eyes sparkle and her lips tremble. ‘Do I want you?’ she repeated slowly, her voice sliding over the syllables, testing them out, and Alessandro tensed even more, waiting, expectant. Afraid.

Then, to his deep disappointment and dread, she shook her head. ‘Not like that,’ she said, with a nod towards the bedroom waiting upstairs, with its sumptuous king-sized bed and all that it beckoned and promised. The sour taste of rejection flooded his mouth, overwhelmed his senses with the unwelcome acid of it.

She didn’t want him.

‘At least, not just that,’ Mia clarified, her voice trembling. ‘I don’t want another night with you, Alessandro, amazing as the last one was, with all of its repercussions.’

She smiled wryly, straightening her shoulders, and Alessandro raised his eyebrows, his stomach clenched hard with anxiety and uncertainty, both which he hated feeling. He’d never felt so vulnerable, so needy, so open to hurt and pain. ‘What, then?’ he demanded in a raw voice.

‘I came up here prepared to be…to be swept away,’ she began haltingly. ‘I was expecting you to do the sweeping. Then I wouldn’t have had to think or wonder or doubt. I could just let myself feel.’

Which sounded pretty good to Alessandro in this moment. Had he made a mistake, in surrendering his own agency? He had been taking a risk, but it was one he had hoped would turn in his favour. Now he wasn’t so sure.

‘And now?’ he made himself ask, although he half dreaded the answer.

‘And now I want something else. Something more.’

‘More…’

‘I don’t want a night. I want…’ She swallowed, more of a gulp, her eyes huge in her face as she looked at him resolutely, her chin tilted upwards in determination, her slender body trembling with emotion. ‘I want for ever.’

Surprise and a far greater relief rippled through him. She wasn’t rejecting him. Them. ‘For ever…’

Her smile trembled on her lips. ‘I know you’ve been hoping or even expecting me to marry you. But I want this to be on my terms, and amazingly you seem to want that, too. So now I’m the one proposing. The one choosing. Will you…will you marry me?’

He laughed, the sound one of shock but also admiration. He hadn’t expected that. ‘You know I will. In fact…’ Fumbling a little, he reached for the small box of black velvet that had nestled in his pocket all evening. ‘I was planning to make you a proper proposal tonight, but I didn’t want to seem as if I was pressuring you, or arranging things somehow…’ He held the box out in the palm of his hand. ‘But I can’t think of a better moment than this one.’

‘Nor can I.’ Smiling a little, she reached for it. Alessandro held his breath as she carefully opened the box, her eyes widening at the sight of the simple solitaire diamond nestled amidst its soft velvet folds. ‘It’s beautiful, Alessandro.’

The ring was stark in its simplicity, a single diamond on a band of white gold. Alessandro had looked at various rings, but they’d all seemed fussy and officious rather than the simple, pure statement of his intent he wanted. Their intent, for a life lived together. Mia lifted her face so her eyes, now luminous with the sheen of tears, met his once more. ‘Will you put it on me?’

‘Of course.’ His fingers trembled a little as he took the ring from the box and slid it on her finger, where it winked and sparkled, a promise they were making to each other. He clasped her hand with his own. ‘Do you mean this, Mia?’

‘Yes.’

‘You want this?’ he pressed, because somewhere along the way that had become important, too. This wasn’t just about winning any more, or getting what he wanted. He needed her to want it, as well. To want him.

‘Yes.’ Her voice quavered. ‘I’m scared, Alessandro. I can admit that. I don’t know what the future holds, but I also know I don’t want to be enslaved to my past. So yes, I want this. For Ella’s sake, and perhaps even for…for ours.’ Her worried gaze searched his face as she nibbled her lip. ‘I know we haven’t actually talked about what a marriage between us would look like, besides the obvious…’

No, they hadn’t. For a moment Alessandro couldn’t speak, as realisation caught up with him and he desperately tried to order his jumbled thoughts. He’d been so focused on Ella, on their being a family, that he hadn’t completely considered what their relationship—their marriage—would actually look like. What it would mean.

And he was conscious, incredibly so, that in accepting his proposal, or, rather, offering her own, Mia was giving herself to him. Her body, her mind, and yes, perhaps even her heart. Her life. Precious, fragile gifts. And he was even more conscious that in offering them, she’d, inadvertently or not, given him back the power she hated to relinquish, and which he’d always craved.

What if he hurt her?

What if she hurt him?

The second question, he told himself, wasn’t a consideration; he would not allow that to happen. He would honour his marriage vows, and give Mia respect and companionship and so much pleasure. Of that he was sure. But as for love? His heart? The