The Secret Kept from the Italian

Instinctively Maisie clutched Ella closer to her, and her daughter protested, squirming as she sought to latch on again.

‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ Maisie whispered, and made herself relax. In ten minutes Ella would have finished feeding and she’d give her back to Max, who would take her back to their apartment. Antonio would never know he had a child. That was the decision she had made a year ago, and she was sticking to it now. Nothing Antonio had done or said had made her want to reconsider.

* * *

Antonio paced the ballroom and lobby and even the kitchen of the hotel, looking for Maisie. Why he was looking for her, he couldn’t articulate, even in the privacy of his own mind. Surely he should have let sleeping dogs lie—lie being the operative word. He’d blown his cover, calling her by her name, and that would hardly endear him to Maisie. What he didn’t know was why he cared.

He hadn’t spared her a thought this last year, or at least not much of one. Admittedly, he hadn’t spared women much of a thought, in general. Work had taken over, as he sought to expand his empire further into America, and the few dates he’d gone on had been unsatisfactory in the extreme. Women, at least the women he dated, had started to bore and irritate him, and that was when he tended to think about Maisie. To remember their night together, in all its glory and shame.

But why was he looking for her now? He didn’t want to rekindle their romance, not that Maisie would even be interested. He didn’t want anything from her. He wanted to forget that that night, incredible as it had been, ever happened. Because he couldn’t stand the thought of Maisie, or anyone, knowing his weakness. Seeing him exposed and needy and in pain as she had.

Antonio stood in the centre of the lobby, his mind spinning as he realised how foolish he was being. He should return to the table and the tedious dinner he’d been suffering through. And then he should stop by the bar and find a sexy, willing woman to help him forget about Maisie Dobson. Of course that was what he should do. It was what he always did.

Instead he just stood there, silently fuming at his own idiotic inability.

‘Maisie.’

Antonio looked up at the sound of her name on another man’s lips. The man was standing by the entrance to the hotel, a smile on his face as he held out his arms. Slowly Antonio turned and saw Maisie walking towards the man, a tremulous smile curving her lush lips, a baby nestled in her arms.

A baby.

Antonio stared as the man took the baby from her, cuddling the little bundle as he cooed down at it.

‘Hey, sweetie.’

Jealousy fired through Antonio, although he couldn’t even say why. So Maisie had moved on, found a boyfriend or husband, and had a baby pretty darn quick. That was fine. Of course it was. Except...

They’d spent the night together a year ago, and although Antonio wasn’t an expert on babies by any means, the child nestled in the man’s arms looked to be at least a few months old. Which meant...

Either Maisie had been pregnant when she’d slept with him, or had fallen pregnant immediately after. Or, he realised with a sickening rush, had become pregnant by him.

He hadn’t used birth control. He’d been too drunk and emotional even to think of it at the time, and later he’d assumed Maisie must have been on the pill, since she hadn’t seemed concerned. But now he remembered how she’d come to see him—how many weeks later? Two, three? She’d wanted to talk to him. She’d looked distraught. What if she’d been pregnant?

Why had he not considered such a possibility? Antonio retrained his shocked gaze on the man and baby, only to realise they’d already gone. M

aisie had turned around and was walking back towards the ballroom, and presumably her waitressing duties. And his child might have just been hustled out of the door.

‘Maisie.’ His voice came out in a bark of command, and Maisie turned, her jade-green eyes widening as she caught sight of him. Then her face drained of colour, so quickly and dramatically that Antonio felt another rush of conviction. Why would she react like that if the child wasn’t his?

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked in a low voice.

‘I’m a guest at the dinner.’

‘Yes, but...what do you want from me, Antonio?’ She looked wretched, and more than once her gaze darted towards the doors and then back again.

‘Let’s talk in private.’

‘You weren’t so interested in doing that the last time we met,’ Maisie snapped, summoning some spirit.

‘Yes, I know, but things are different now.’

‘They’re different for me too.’ She took a step backwards, her chin raised at a proud, determined angle. ‘You didn’t want to know me a year ago, Antonio, and now I don’t want to know you. Doesn’t feel very good, does it?’ She gave a hollow laugh.

‘This is not the time to be petty,’ Antonio returned evenly. ‘We need to talk.’

‘No, we don’t—’

‘Maisie.’ He cut her off, making her flinch. ‘Is the baby mine?’