Claiming His Scandalous Love-Child

A cry broke from her. High and unearthly. It was like a blade in his lungs to hear it. She reared away from him, jumping to her feet. He did likewise, reaching for her hands again.

‘No! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me!’ She backed away, her eyes wild.

‘Eloise—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!’

Guilt lacerated him at what he had just said. Words he’d had to say, could not deny. Even though he would deny them—explain them—the moment he could.

Crimson-tipped nails snaked around his wrist like a steel cuff. ‘Time to go, Vito,’ said Carla, with that desperate, manic look still in her eyes. ‘We’ve got an engagement ring to choose!’

His head swivelled. Eyes that should have burned her on the spot lasered her. But he could do nothing except look across at Eloise.

‘I have to talk to you,’ he said. His voice was hoarse, urgent. ‘I have to explain...explain everything. Do you understand me? It’s essential that I talk to you!’

Into his words, his expression, his eyes, he poured all that he wanted her to understand. All that he so desperately wanted Carla not to understand!

‘I’m so sorry! I’m so desperately sorry it has happened like this! I wanted to speak to you earlier—to tell you—to explain.’

‘Vito!’ Carla’s nails dug into his wrist.

He prised them free, stepping towards Eloise. She flinched away. He could not bear it that he could not speak openly, truthfully. Could not bear to see her looking at him the way she was—with horror and revulsion on her face, rejection of him in every stricken line of her body.

Eloise—who was always so welcoming, so ardent, so eager for him...

But now there was only rejection. Shutting him out. Turning away from him.

He seized her hand, would not let her tear it away—not until he’d said what he could, what he must. Even in front of Carla.

‘I want you in my life, Eloise! I want you and I’ll find a way. I’ll find a way somehow!’

But there was no understanding in Eloise’s stricken gaze. Only blank horror and stark shock.

A rasp came from Carla. There was vehemence in her voice, her flashing eyes. ‘No, you damn well won’t! You won’t keep her as your mistress! You won’t make a fool of me—no man will ever make a fool of me again! And you won’t make a fool of her either!’

Vito ignored her—his only focus was Eloise.

He could see that Carla’s words had hit home. Her face was as white as a sheet. Dio, he needed to talk to her—to explain. But he could do nothing now. Nothing except say again, with all the urgency in his being, ‘Eloise—wait for me! So I can explain.’

His words were disjointed, staccato. Eloise heard them as if from very far away—across a divide, the chasm that had opened between them as if an earthquake had shaken her world to its foundations.

She wheeled around, her hands going to her face. A terrifying sob mounted in her chest, filling her whole being. A sudden wave of nausea assailed her and she turned, rushing into the bedroom to reach the en suite bathroom.

She stood, shuddering, by the basin. Emotion ravaging her. Shock pummelling her. Words pounding in her head.

What am I going to do? Dear God, what am I going to do?

She stared at herself blindly in the mirror. She couldn’t stay here—it was impossible!

With hideous mockery she heard Vito’s voice.

‘I have to explain—’

Her face contorted. Explain? What was there to explain? That woman had said it all—in a single, devastating word.

She was his fiancée—and Vito had not denied it. Had admitted it to her face.

A choke almost smothered her.

And I was asking myself if he was the man who would be my life! The love of my life—my husband!